[A "Post Turtle" (via an email from mah mama)]

While suturing a cut on the hand of a 75 year old rancher, whose hand was caught in the gate while working cattle, the doctor struck up a conversation with the old man. Eventually the topic got around to Palin and her bid.

The old rancher said, ‘Well, ya know, Palin is a ‘Post Turtle.” Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a ‘post turtle’ was. The old rancher said, ‘When you’re driving down a country road you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that’s a ‘post turtle.’

The old rancher saw the puzzled look on the doctor’s face so he continued to explain. ‘You know she didn’t get up there by herself, she doesn’t belong up there, and she doesn’t know what to do while she’s up there; and you just wonder what kind of dummy put her up there to begin with.’

*SIGH*

In the long run, its not really the turtle’s fault it can’t do sh*t when put in a high position; however, we do need to become weary of a turtle who thinks she got up there by herself… =T

[www.psychopseudochristianlooneybinsfromalaska.org]

If you missed the VP debate last week, it went a lil sumpin like this…

[The Jumpoff Street Battle (via illdoctrine)]

If you haven’t done so already, REGISTER TO VOTE!!!

Better Luck Tomorrow,
Senbei

Wrote this essay for my Asian Amerikan Studies M.A. Immigration Course. I love this class because it’s sort of a place to process everything that is happening in my other classes and in my life. Our Professor is of Okinawan heritage and was raised in Hawaii. His spirit of Aloha and abilty to “talk story” with all of us, GOES.

Q: Is Class Adequately Addressed in Asian American Studies? Why or Why Not?
A: *DEEP INHALATION*…

Binary Refinery by Colin Masashi Ehara

In my lifetime, socioeconomic status, almost as much as race has been a confusing realm in which the borderlines are blurred in and around my existence. I have known people whose life experiences and dwellings made me feel as if I bathed in opulence, scrubbed with vanity and rinsed with privilege; and I have experienced feelings of indescribable inadequacy in the surroundings of others. I found as an undergrad that class status in regards to Asian American studies was generally something that did not tell my story. Various Asian American ethnic groups seemed to be racialized with immediate class-status roots, wrapped up, tied with a bow and presented to students in a nice little package. Chinese, Korean and especially Japanese Americans were “economically successful.” Filipinos, Vietnamese and other South/Southeast Asian and Pacific Islander groups were “colonized and stratified into poor/working-class backgrounds.” As a mixed race Japanese/Scottish/Iroquois American, I am often as an East Asian/Caucasian, racialized by others as someone whose experience should not know economic hardship. Growing up in the east bay during the 1980’s with a father who sold cash registers and mother who did clerical work at Kaiser Hospital in Oakland, combined with 12 years in Richmond Public school education is not what one would typically label a “Japanese” or “”Caucasian” experience. I have resided for the majority of my life (until recently), in the grey area of the Asian American binary of a poor/working-class labor force and a entrepreneurial, professional middle-class. The mere fact that my story has yet to be told, is itself a testament to the current inadequacies of Asian American Studies in regards to class study; however, my being allowed to testify now points to a new direction.

Famed African-American comedian Chris Rock once stated, “to me, America is like that uncle in your family who paid your way through college…but molested you.” In regards to my family history, I know this statement to be particularly true. Prior to WWII, my Jichan’s family owned a large amount of land in the Napa Valley wine country. After Pearl Harbor was attacked by Japan and all people of Japanese ancestry were interned in concentration camps, my grandfather’s family was forced to sell this land at rock-bottom prices. I have been told by my parents on separate occasions that this vineyard in Napa today accrues upwards of about $1,000,000 annually and is owned by a white family. During the war, my Bachan was granted early exit by enrolling in a nursing school, while my Jichan was drafted into the U.S. Army’s military intelligence services as a translator. After the war ended, my Bachan continued her work as a nurse and my Jichan worked freelance as a gardener. When the Civil Liberties Act was signed into law by President George H.W. in 1992, my grandparents were each given $20,000 and a written apology for their internment as surviving internees. The money, while nowhere near what might have been incurred with the land in Napa, was used to 1. take our entire extended family on vacation to Hawaii, and 2. finish the last of their payments on their home in El Cerrito. My grandparents were in essence removed from an upper-class future, placed into a working-class existence due to internment and eventually placed into middle-class status due to reparations from that same incarceration.

Due to the untimely conception of myself, my father was forced to leave graduate school before receiving his M.A. degree in Mass Communications. While my father and mother both possessed Bachelor’s degrees, neither occupied a career whose monetary benefits were very substantial. My parents both loved working closely with other people and having a sense of community and service to that community in their lives. When I came into the world, the options they had been presented with didn’t necessarily meet those expectations. I can recall both low points as well as high points in the memories of my socioeconomic history. One of these low points came in the realization that we could no longer afford the house we lived in. We were fortunate enough to have both family and friends who were A. willing to take us in, and B. willing to rent out our house themselves while we got “back on our feet.” We moved in with my Uncle Ronnie who was a Nisei man, born inside the barbed wire of Japanese American internment camps. He possessed a sharp temper, a contempt for white people (which my mother was) and a fatalistic attitude that lead to his eating fried foods, drinking beer every day after work, ignoring his diabetes and never caring for his health. Ronnie died in his early 50’s and while I am eternally grateful to have had him as a “safety net,” living with my Uncle Ronnie didn’t always feel “safe.”

The day things began to change was when my father was hired by what was then the Richmond Unified School District (after going bankrupt and being bailed out by the State of California, the name was changed to the West Contra Costa County School District), as the new Public Communications Officer. For one, we were able to afford moving back into our small house in the Richmond Annex and two, my mother was then allowed to quit her job and return to school to pursue a LCSW (Licensed Clinical Social Worker) degree. The fact that both of my parents had been given access to higher education was the determining factor in our ability to transition from a working-class lifestyle, living month to month, paycheck to paycheck, to a lower middle-class standing in which a home, savings account and hope for a better future were possible. Education was stressed in my household intensely and in many ways, even after school ended my education did not.

My parents enrolled me into the 1st Grade at Kensington Elementary in the hills above Richmond where we lived. It was touted as the best elementary school in our area due to the wealth (and epidermal hue) of the residents in its vicinity. I found in this institution a rude awakening as to the fact that to other students here I was both “Chinese” and “poor.” My hand-me-down clothes combined with my slanted eyes and thick, black hair inevitably got me picked last in all sports or even rejected to the point of not playing at all and languishing on the bench by myself. I recall feeling enough anxiety each morning my parents took me to school, that I threw up in the hallway or in the classroom on multiple occasions. It didn’t take long for my parents to see that I might fare better in a different social setting.

I began the 2nd grade at Fairmont Elementary just a 5 minute drive from my house. This school was about 40% Black, 25% Latino, 20% Asian and 15% white. It was at this school that for the first time in my education, being a person of color did not seem an immediate disadvantage. It was here that being white many times made you a target of insults and name-calling, isolation and internal anxiety. In the span of two years I had been freed from the strata of middle-class Asian America and flung towards the opposite binary of working-class Asian-America. It was here among other working-class people of color that I learned “coolness” - the suit of armor that shielded you from insult and attack; whose shine could be used to attract the attention of the opposite sex, but at the same time often prevented its wearer from showing their true, full selves to the world.

The blatant differences I noticed in my upbringing came when visiting the homes of some of my Black, Latino and Southeast Asian American friends. With some of these peers I noticed that unlike my house, their education primarily ended when the bell rang at school. There was often no one home to help or encourage completing homework assignments and television was the babysitter. In others’ homes parents might be physically present, but alcohol or other drug induced comas kept them from being mentally, spiritually, parentally present. While my parents resided in the same vicinity (even the same block) and sent me to the same under funded schools as my peers, they did not possess any drug dependency, had a two-parent household and had attained access to higher education. Within the frameworks of race and class, I was given a deep look into varying worlds as they crashed into each other in front of and around me without remorse.

Today I feel jaded and clear eyed, hopeful and pessimistic, extremely positive and very disillusioned. Asian American Studies has been offered a wealth of information as to the experiences of a plethora of different Asian Americans in regards to their class ties and experiences through data and a multitude of statistical analysis. This knowledge is of the utmost importance and remains extremely valuable. However, if a picture is worth a thousand words, these myriad data complete a picture of the tip of an iceberg. I believe that to truly convey a thorough understanding of the socio-psychological effects of class (especially coupled with race), that stories need to be told and heard. The oral histories of Asian Americans who reside in the grey areas between the binary poor/working-class and entrepreneurial/professional middle-class will play a fundamental role in completing the “big picture.” The mere opportunity to write this essay in an Asian American Studies Graduate course not only addresses inadequacies within common sense understandings of the racialization of Asian Americans, but makes me feel more hopeful for the prospects of deeper study of socioeconomic standing within an Asian American studies framework. My story and our further study of class-status within Asian American Studies is a step away from the “black-white” binary socioeconomic map America creates and reproduces.

_________

“Only God can judge me so I’m gone, either love me or leave me alone…”

Colinresponse

TOP 10 REASONS YOU NEED TO CLICK THIS> LINK <AND ORDER THE NEW BAMBU LP RIGHT NOW:

1. Bambu’s (and Kiwi’s) connection to his respective community/ies should be reason enough to support the art, but I’ma give you 9 OTHER reasons as well…

2. Bambu is a walking, living, breathing contradiction to the “model minority” myth

3. On “Quit,” he offers some scholarly advice to MySpace/Facebook/Internet Thugs and Gangsters who “photoshop bullet-holes on their cd covers…”

4. Production by Amp Live, Illmind, Sabzi, Fatgums, I.D., Nick James, etc. slaps, bangs and knocks at the same time.

5. He reps L.A. to the fullest but shows Bay love throughout the entire LP.

6. Bam love the kids. (”Misused”)

7. He loves people of color and is fighting for them on a daily basis.

8. He is against seeing poor/working-class people go to an illegal war in Iraq to die.

9. Hip-Hop saved his life and his love, respect and adoration for it is unquestionable.

10. Machine (native) Gun Flow: ie: “Iron Bam” (sample below)

[I see you, Phatty!]

I realize that we are living in a time when most people have begun to believe that they should never have to pay for music. I won’t lie, Megaupload links see my computer every cotdam day but Bambu is someone who seriously deserves some getback for all his hard work and honest expression. SERIOUSLY MUHF*CKA, BUY THE CD.

Swing,
Senbei

[PON DE REPLAY!]

I’ve always believed that different music speaks to different people in different ways. As a mixed race Asian male, raised working-class but currently middle-class due to the upward mobility my parents higher education afforded them, I am a mix of what feels like a proletariat-murderous rage at racism/oppression and at the same time, liberal guilt from the privilege I am afforded due to my racial, ethnic, gender, class identity. It’s a confusing mess, but at the same time I hate giving people the impression that mixed heritage people are confused so I make attemps at stifling these feelings. It’s a cold game (as most of you know).

This post is dedicated to the musical artists’ albums that save my life on a daily basis when I feel like I’m boutta go off the deep end and kill myself and/or someone else. =P Universal language/magnetic:

Gnarls Barkley - The Odd Couple

I’m not sure what I would’ve done this past year without Cee-Lo Green and Dangermouse. I literally felt as if every song was made with me in mind. I will follow these two no matter what they do in life.

Green Day - American Idiot
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There’s really no better contradiction to the way I view Amerika, than 3 white dudes (from the east bay!) vehemently protesting the last 8 years of the U.S. foreign policy, domestic policy, pseudo-democracy, mysoginy and hypocrisy. Whie I am an emcee and a Hip-Hopper, I credit Billie Joe Armstrong as one of my biggest inspirations as to the way I write songs. To quote Armstrong: “There’s nothing wrong with me. This is how I’m supposed to be, in a land of make-believe that don’t believe in me.”

Outkast - Aquemini

My mind warps and bends floats the wind count to ten
meet the twin Andre Ben. welcome to the lion’s den
original skin many men comprehend
I extend myself so you go out & tell a friend
Sin all depends on what you believing in
Faith is what you make it that’s the hardest shit since MC Ren
Alien can blend right on in wit’ yo’ kin
look again ’cause I swear I spot one every now & then
It’s happenin’ again wish I could tell you when
Andre this is Andre y’all just gon’ have to make amends…

-Andre3000

Need I say more?

Coldplay - Parachutes

I don’t care who you are. If you don’t feel all warm inside when Chris Martin sings, you just might wanna seek therapy. This album makes me feel like I’m being reminded that the world is so much f*cking bigger than I can comprehend. Its musicality is so beautiful that I actually begin to believe it when Chris Martin sings: “We live in a beautiful world…”

Nas - Illmatic

I often question if I would feel the same love and adoration for Hip-Hop if it hadn’t been for this record. Never before in my life had I heard such a transcendental amalgamation of gritty street life, spirituality and intellect all at the same time. It’s probably how older Hip-Hoppers felt when they first heard Rakim Allah. Life’s a b*tch, but as long as I represent, it aint hard to tell that there’s one love.

Lupe Fiasco - The Cool

Being raised working-class I notice the myriad ways in which “coolness” is perceived. To me growing up, it was a suit of armor. I donned it everyday in an effort to attract the attention of girls, snap on anyone that had ill words for me, and most importantly used it to avoid being the target of violence and terrorization. While this “armor” no longer “suits” me or serves me in the way it once did, I realize fully that the remnants of its internalization still remain in tact in many ways. Lupe Fiasco’s personification of “The Cool” gave me chills in the way that ‘her’ allure and the promises ’she’ makes look enticing to the point that gambling your future and compromising yourself and your inner integrity, makes sense. What is so dope about Lupe (and I attempt with all my might to do the same thing in my art) is that he is able to use his “cool” to honestly express himself, while many others’ “coolness” keeps them from doing just that. Coolness. What a muhf*cking paradox.

Bob Marley - Legend

I am fully aware that this album was jampacked with his “safer” material in an effort to accrue the capital of liberal white people in the UK and United States, but that doesn’t mean revolutionaries, organizers and activists can’t enjoy it yo! While it is problematic that the undertones of the songs in this compilation suggest Marley was a passive, peaceful pothead, those of us who know songs like “War,” “Slavedriver,” “Crazy Bald Heads,” etc. can rest assure knowing that the love in his heart is not taken for granted on this cd. Sometimes for those of us dedicating our lives, time and energy to combatting the world’s mulltitude oppressive forces, it’s nice to be told by our elders: “Don’t worry about a thing, ’cause every little thing is gonna be alright…”

2pac - Me Against the World

Not unlike myself, Tupac Shakur was a gemini and had many faces, sides and complexes to him. It was during this period in his life that I like to remember 2pac by. He had been recently shot and jailed (for the first time) and was using this record to process the world both giving and taking so much from him at the same time. I remember listening to this record as a teenager and hearing someone so full of hope feel so deflated, someone so full of anger feel so much love, someone so brave sound so vulnerable and someone in so much danger sound so fearless.

With all this extra stressin
The question I wonder is after death, after my last breath
When will I finaly get to rest? Through this oppression
they punish the people that’s askin questions…

The title of this album says it all.

Looking back at the albums that save my soul on a daily, weekly, monthly, yearly basis I feel the question I continue to ask myslef is: When is an Asian Pacific Amerikan gonna make some sh*t that moves me?!?!?! It’s been said many other times, by many other people, many times wiser than me: BE THE CHANGE U WANT TO SEE.

Hey Deejay, keep playin’ that song…

Senbei

[grown 'n sexy]

It happened a ways back, but I am finally getting to this post.

I did it. I married the love of my life and am on my way to being a (fake-lightweight) grown-ass man. There is no doubt in my mind that this was the best day of my life. Surrounded by friends, family, loved ones, allies (and caterers), Emalyn and I made a commitment to each other that contradicted what I believe to be many people’s feelings about this world. There exists a multitude of hopelessness in this life, and when one wittnesses two people pledging to love, respect and support each other for the rest of their existence, these feelings are challenged. I know my hopelessness was challenged this day, and I could tell by the looks on my loved ones’ faces, that theirs were too (they also told me “damn blud, you and Em give me hope for the future again!”). =P

["Look! New Kids on the Block and Danity Kane got a new video, blud!"]

To me, one of the most special things about this day, was that my Bachan (pictured right, below) was in attendance. For those of you who didn’t know, she passed away the very next night right in front of my family and I, all the time reminding us how much she loved us. As her eldest grandson, I felt we had exchanged gifts that weekend. Her hanging on to see Emalyn and I married, and I giving her a reason to hang on that much longer. Emalyn and I moved in with her during the last year of her life when things were the most difficult for her, and while it was very hard to see her fiery soul trapped inside this cage of an old body, I am eternally greatful for the time I had living with her. Even when she was in trememendous pain, she always smiled everytime I came into her room to check on her.

[Stuntin' like my Grannies...]

For those of you who were not in attendance during the ceremony, I thought it’d be a good idea to drop a few things into this post so you feel some of what went on that day. I am including in this post, the wedding vows that Emalyn and I wrote together and read to each other:

I promise to love, honor, respect, support and cherish you for the rest
of my life.
I promise to rub your feet, massage your back and hear you cry when days
are long and difficult.
I promise to continuously support your growth and individuality as we
progress through life together.
My love is not based on material posession but based on respect,
devotion, selflessness and resilience.

I continue to offer you the bond of friendship and a lifetime of
unconditional love
I will always stand beside you and encourage you to pursue your hopes
and dreams and to overcome your fears, disappointments, and
frustrations.
I will always remember that the world is not perfect and that we are not
perfect.
I embrace your imperfections and recognize that it is these
imperfections that make us truly human and unique as individuals.

As we continue this partnership, I look forward to beginning a family
with you and creating new life in a world that can take the blessings of
this world for granted.
I will always remember that I own this partnership but not this person.
As we unite together in marriage, I recognize that we are not only two
individuals coming together, but the coming together of many cultures,
languages, beliefs, customs, traditions, and histories.
I will always continue to honor, love and respect your family members as
my own, sharing in the joys and burdens of our collective lives.

I will remind you to never sweat the small stuff. I will remind you that
it’s all “small stuff.”
I anxiously await the hours, days, weeks, months and years of laughter
together, and the tears of joy that come when we bring Filipino,
Spanish, Japanese, Scottish, German, Native American babies into the
world.
I will hold your hand at Warriors games, share popcorn with you at Will
Ferrell movies, dance with you at parties, and talk with you late into
the night about nothing at all, as we continue to love, support and
welcome friends and family into our lives.

I will remember both our insignificance, as well as our vast potential
in this world as we wander through the rest of our lives together. I
love you Colin Masashi Ehara/Emalyn de la rama Lopez.

I’d like to thank OUR PARENTS, our extended families, our entourage (best men, maidens of honor, wittnesses, groomsmen, bridesmaids), Rev. Debbie Lee, the Wake familia (Amanda, Steve and Barbara), DJ Joedobo, Tilden Park in Berkeley and a kazillion other folks who helped to make this day as beautiful as it was.

[multicultural rainbow coalition mafiosos =P]

["the mamas and papas"]

[stueyness that would NOT rival that of the evening time... wow.]

August of 2008 was a great time in Amerikan history to get married. While currently under mad scrutiny, Gay/Lesbian/Bi/Transgenedered/Queer brothers and sisters are legally allowed to marry one another at this very moment. Emalyn and I made a point throughout the ceremony to never use the words “man,” “wife,” “husband,” “bride,” etc. and instead inserted the term “parnter/s” into the slots these forementioned words would normally fall. Afer pronounced “Colin and Emalyn, united in marriage,” Rev. Debbie Lee turned to Emalyn and said: “Emalyn, you may now kiss your groom.” Contradiction my people, is so critically necessary.

For those of you who didn’t see it (or were too faded at the after-party to notice), here is our slideshow (THANK YOU MATEO!!!):
pt. 1

pt. 2

AND…

["Where Em&Colin Happens..."]

If you’d like to see more pictures of the wedding AND our HONEYMOON in the Fiji Islands, click HERE.

Thank you so much to our respective communities. Keep fighting for love & contradicting the bullsh*t in your life that just doesn’t make any sense. This is for you Bachan. Rest in Peace.

“Those who are dead, are NOT dead, they’re just LIVING in my head…”
-Chris Martin (Coldplay)

I f*cking LOVE you, Emalyn. Thank you baby.
Senbei

[Senbei in Fiji having a convo with his Bachan]

[J-Smooth's VLOG, ill-doctrine is superfulously fresh ta def]

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE LITTLE HATER IN MY HEAD.

Dear Little Hater in my head,

F*ck you blud. I need to make something very clear with you. While I realize I may never be rid of you entirely and that we are inseperably linked because I am a human being and reside in the United States of Amerika, I refuse to engage with you in the same way I always have. Little Hater, you and I have shared too many meetings to recall and these meetings have taken place in a frequency that exhausts both of us. 

I guess what I’m trying to communicate to you is that I think we need some time apart. I would be lying if I thought you’d never been of assistance to me in my life. I remember the time I considered skydiving and you kept shouting “you’ll fall out of a f*cking airplane and f*cking die, C!” Now insome respects, you might have saved my life LH. I may have gone up in that plane, leaped into the abyss, my chute might now have opened and BLAOW: Senbei pancake. On the other hand, your hateristic ways MIGHT have kept me from one of the most exhilirating experiences of my life.

When you told me not to make Hip-Hop music, because “no one would listen to a Japanese-whiteboy,” you were wrong. When you told me no woman would love me, for me, you were wrong. When you told me the people I could hang out with were relegated to my race, class, gender and sexual orientation, you were wrong. When you told me this letter was the corniest sh*t you’d ever seen, you MIGHT have been right…but more importantly than feeling smart or cool, is my letting you know our relationship is about to change.

From now on, if I know I want something, I aint even gonna engage in a dialogue with you about it. If something presents itself that will assist me and those I love in our future aspirations for greatness, I’ma make it happen. If you try and stop me, I’ma burp and blow it in your face. The fact is, you’ve abused the power you have over me for far too long and I become fed up. You’ve kept me from my goals for the majority of my life and I think this codependant relationship has run it course.

I realize fully, that I need you in my life in SOME ways. However, the way we’ve interacted with each other in the past will never be the same again. I will look to you in the future at times, to remind me of my supreme insignificance when I grow arrogant and overconfident. At the same time, I will not continue to allow you from reaching my vast potential. In other words, IT’S NOT ME, IT’S YOU.

I’m sure I’ll see you around sometime Little Hater in my head, but I think it’s important that we not see each other for a good amount of time. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. In the meantime, I’ll be staying with the Little Lover in my head.

[Look Baby, they're playin' our song!]

Later,
Senbei

p.s. F*ck you blud.

[NEVER FORGET that he sat there, not knowing what to do for 15 minutes.]

Today is the 7 year anniversary of a tipping point. Because many in power use the memory of those who died this day for political, economic and monopolistic gains, I sometimes expend much of my energy focusing on how and why this day took place. I am guilty of at certain times forgetting the individuals who literally had their lives taken on this day.

The first song I recorded for the “Literary Ca{n]non” project is about a love story between two people who find each other at last, oly to lose it all the same day. It is dedicated to Chinua Achebe, Saul Williams for his beautiful prose in “, Said the Shotgun to the Head” and for those who left this world so violently that day.

You can listen to this song for free at the Broken Halos’ MySpace page.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Senbei & Dynamic Souls - Things Fall Apart
(Produced by Akiyoshi Ehara)

V1:
The day I died, I woke-up in the morning, stretching, yawning, made my coffee, toast and butter, fighting sleep off, crack of dawnin’ / and I jumped inside my ride, headed for the Brooklyn Bridge, dreaded looking into traffic that I knew I wouldn’t miss. Ya dig? / On the way to my job, Dunkin Donuts? Why stop? I’ll have another cup of coffee at the office, why not? / I might be late as it is, an occupation like this, calls for punctuality as a normality, sh*t! / the world trade center! The world pays members of my staff to have class and wear a suit and tie / I might be scrutinized if I don’t truly fall in line and gamble with my country’s life, today I’ve chosen suicide / I walk into the lobby, hop inside the elevator, and press the number “62” by now I’m well aware / that at the front desk, I’m falling like a Prom Dress, because of our receptionist son, it aint no contest / her name is Emily, and man she’s more than friend to me, she lights a fire, die beside her, lives inside my memories / but this just in, we’re just friends, she’s pledged herself to someone else, my bliss just ends / I walk up to her desk and smile, wave, exchanging pleasantries, talk and “chew the fat” awhile, YAY! Could stay for centuries / the Boss walks by, and we lock eyes, it’s time to find my desk and stress about the NASDAQ highs. No lie.

HOOK:
Let me speak from the heart, and teach about how things fall apart, the brightest light becomes a beacon of dark, and man it’s menacing, the world’ll spin then rumble and shake, ‘cause everything’s impermanent: it crumbles and breaks… 

V2:
On my 3^rd cup of Java, the caffeine makes me wanna holler, coursing through my veins, today my karma’s for the dollar / cell phone and email, Dow Jones and retail, my cubicle aint beautiful, this shroud blows, I feel ill / as I’m buggin’ out, there’s a tap on my shoulder, it’s Emily, it’s break-time now, she asks me to join her / amazing grace, how sweet the sound, her angel face retreats the ground, with danger pace heart beats and pounds, my anger fades, depletes, I’m found! / I keep it together, grab my coffee, head for her desk, the sweetest of treasures, passing madness: head is a mess / we talk, she sips her cup o’ noodles, I sit there stuck and drooling, smitten, sick, I’m so uncool and feeling like a f**kin loser / but then a glimmer of hope is what she starts to unfold, she tells me that the guy she’s dating dropped her heart and it broke / he’s a cheating, lying, two-timing sunuvab*tch, a ho-ing, scheming, noose-tying, pile of sh*t / “I shoulda chose a guy like you, someone that’s compassionate. I shoulda rolled my eyes at dude, he only wanted ass & t*ts!” / tells me that she’s glad it happened, that she finds it mad attractive that I care enough to listen, sniffling - so I grab a napkin / she wipes the tears from her face, we smite our fear and embrace, I look into her eyes, all fear gets erased / we confess our feelings, I damn near keel over, but then I look up at the clock and our last meal is over…

(HOOK X2)

V3:
Overwhelmed by happiness, I’m sitting back at my desk, I sort of felt spectacular, I’m kicking back without stress / overjoyed like Stevie Wonder, I hear the sound of thunder rumble through our office and causing panic and I stumble / the lights go black and fright attacks, it’s like a trap, I might react by running out, but not without the one that makes my life climax / smoke and fire, evil, crying, co-workers bleeding, dying. It came from up above, but just enough to leave these people blinded / I shout her name in pain, the ceiling pieces start to rain. I’m scared-insane. I search in vain and find my boss’s dead remains / almost vomit from the trauma, keep on moving. I keep on calling for her, holler: “please be lucid.” I hear her calling for me, hollers weak and muted. I fear our karma’s called for horror, reach her: moving! / I help her up, she’s semi-conscious, it’s hard, I’m no Adonis, but I make a solemn promise that I’ll help her leave the office. / Hand in hand, the elevator’s out of the question. Ran and ran, both hella scared without a direction / fire blocked the fire escape, with no desire to wait, I broke a window open, staring at the direst fate: / burn or jump together, either way we’ll meet in heaven, inching toward the ledge, I look straight at the one I keep and treasure. / Our exchange of vows was truly different than most: we jumped the broom and fell until we turned into ghosts. No joke. 

(HOOK X2)

Refrain:
And this is how I always will remember from heaven, the day I fell in love was on September 11 / And this is how I always will remember from heaven, the day I fell in love was on September 11…

["Never get used to the unspeakable violence and vulgar disparity of life around you."]

“Dont ever let anyone make you think God chose America as his own divine, messainic driving force, to be a sort of policeman of the whole world…I can hear God saying to America: ‘You are too arrogant, and if you dont change your ways, I will rise up and break the backbone of your power and I will place it in the hands of a nation that doesn’t even know my name.”

- Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

…come September,

ColinMasashiEhara

p.s.

[Wake Me Up When September Ends]

p.p.s.

[Mad World]

So I HAD to shout-out my dear sister, Ruby Veridiano-Ching of the uber-dope spoken word collective, iLL-Literacy.

Sister ‘Bing’ is one of the strongest, most outspoken (and always fashionable) Filichina (Chinese/Pinay) womyn you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. Her new book entitled: “Miss Universe” will be available for your purchasing pleasure THIS FALL!

[Bing Punisher]

Click HERE to download an excerpt from her new work entitled, “Only the Happy Things.”

Keep on, keepin’ on young Roobz. When Emalyn and I have a daughter (someday =P), we’ll read her your poetry and prose as a reminder of the stuey/mango/bananas potential that mixed-heritage API sisters possess. YEE.

[www.knowaboutrubyyoudumbbastards.edu]

Church.
Senbei

[Where I'm tryna be in 2 years...]

I just started school last week and it is at the same time, ree-dick-u-less-lee exciting AND flabberghastingly overwhelming. My mind is working in new ways each day and I’m overjoyed at the blessing of this privilege and opportunity. I’m finally in a place where I can fully appreciate school and in no way do I plan on squandering this time in my young life.

I am posting my first essay in SFSU’s Asian American Studies M.A. Program. It is for my AAS 810: Immigration Seminar and asks me:

“How would you respond to Asian American Studies intro class students notion that ‘Things are better now for Asian Americans’?”

Long-Ass *SIGH*… =T

Please bear with me on this. It’s my first time, I’m a lil’ nervous and I’m only getting started. Be gentle. =P

____________________________________________________________________________________________

I have known and experienced for the majority of my life that the way racism affects Amerikans of Asian ancestry, not always, but many times differs when compared to the experiences of Amerikans of Black/African, Indigenous and/or Latino heritage. To even begin examining a question like this, others must be asked. These questions range from: “Who is asking this question,” to “What is their ethnic background and how do they identify (or not identify) in regards to race, class gender and sexual orientation,” and “When they speak of ‘Asians,’ who are they really talking about?” My answer to this question is two fold. I would first wholeheartedly disagree with the undertones of the fore mentioned statement, in that it holds connotations of the non-existence of racism in the everyday lives of Asian Pacific Amerikans. Secondly, my answer would depend entirely on who this person was and how they had come to arrive at their chosen (or un-chosen) identity.

I disagree with the statement “Things are better now for Asians,” because of the mere fact that it dismisses the oppression that still exists explicitly and implicitly in the lives and minds of Asian Pacific Amerikans. While progress has been made in many arenas of the everyday lives of people of color in general, capitalism (in its current state) will continue to work in a way that maintains a fundamental need for oppression. The majority of this oppression is rooted in a systematic ability to categorize people by race, gender, class and/or sexual orientation, and attach an essential code of characteristic traits to these groups. When these “categories,” coupled with their fundamental characteristic traits, are implanted into the minds of young people from a very early age through (mis)education, the media, familial exchange as a tool for survival and safety and/or access to privileges, oppression is self-perpetuating and does not cease to exist until actively addressed with the intent of seeking it out and destroying it.

While a plethora of “rights” and “privileges” have been won for and by Asian heritage Americans (and Asian people living in Amerika) though hard work, resilience and determination, the statement: “Things are better now for Asians,” ignores the psychological damage inflicted during times past, that has been internalized and passed down from parent to child, for generations. When people of Japanese heritage (of which about 50% were Amerikan citizens) were incarcerated in “relocation centers” during WWII, a phrase commonly used by Issei (first generation Japanese Amerikans) was Shikata ga nai. It meant literally: “Nothing can be done,” “It cannot be helped.”

While interned people of Japanese heritage did not all use this phrase and/or act accordingly, this ability to suffer in silence has not been a trait occurring without consequence. I have not had the ability to study statistics, nor would I know how to document these statistics as of yet, but I have witnessed countless occasions in which Japanese-Amerikans have remained silent in shared spaces with people of other ethnic groups because of the internalized feeling that finds safety in silence. Amerikans of Japanese ancestry are not genetically predisposed to being stoic, “quiet people.”

Once upon a time, we spoke out against oppression and attempted to form labor unions and unify with working-class whites, demanding that we be accepted as “Americans.” For it, we received the fist of racial hatred, square upon our upper lip. In the early 1900’s the majority of white, working-class laborers not only resented Japanese competition, but our mere presence in Amerika, and would not accept us in their labor unions. After many attempts at assimilating, Amerikans of Japanese heritage were notified in very obvious ways (violence, verbal abuse, refusal of service, etc.) that their physical characteristics would not allow them to do so under the current power structure. Japanese-Amerikans were forced into their own ethnic enclaves and ethnic solidarity, and then labeled and chastised for being “clannish.” Asian Pacific Amerikans needed be “assaulted” only so many times before we began to reply: “Shikata ga nai.”

Today, the racism I encounter personally as a Japanese-Amerikan, differs vastly in its blatancy than that of yesteryear. While growing up, Anglo-Amerikan children would make fun of my slanted eyes, sing rhymes with words like: “Ching,” “Dong,” “Ping-Pong” to me, and ask me if I “knew Karate,” but I have never (yet) been assaulted physically because of my Asian heritage. I have been called “Jap,” only once in my life (as opposed to the everyday harassment that my great Jichan may have received) and if I want to, I can purchase land anytime I wish. Within the Amerikan social illusion of racial hierarchy, I am far from the “top” and far from the “bottom.” The majority of Amerikans of Asian heritage today find peace and prosperity through silence; be it in subservience to white supremacy or in being sanguine in their behavior as Black and Latino Amerikan men are brutalized by Police and targeted for incarceration and/or destruction.

The racism encountered by Asian Amerikans has in the past and present day, always been about a need to compromise yourself and/or your beliefs in order to get “ahead.” In the past, Asian people could come to Amerika, but couldn’t own land. Today, you can apply for a job, but having an Anglo-Saxon/“Christian” first name will make your chances that much better of being hired. In the past, Japanese Amerikans were seen as “sneaky,” “not to be trusted,” and were “perpetual foreigners.” Today, South Asian, Arab and/or Muslim Amerikans are seen as “sneaky,” “not to be trusted,” and are “perpetual foreigners.” While my Grandparents were harassed by white people on a daily basis growing up, I have grown up in an era and time when Anglo Amerikans are forced to think twice before explicitly perpetuating racism. I have found that today, the job whites once did in explicitly perpetuating oppression is now promoted implicitly, and/or has been “handed-over” to people of color themselves. While white youth were “not allowed” to make fun of people of color to their faces in my high school, Asian kids relentlessly tormented F.O.B.s (“Fresh Off the Boat” Immigrant children), Chicano/Latino students harassed their own brethren for not being able to speak “proper English,” and I cannot erase the vivid memory of Black/African-Amerikan heritage youth, showering their own with the harshest of insults in regards to dark skin, and any or all African features that one possessed.

The general sense of our accomplishments as an “Asian” people in mainstream Amerika is rooted in internalized racism and the myth of us as the “model minority.” In an effort of the time-honored tradition of “divide-and-control,” we have been used to perpetuate ideas that again, attach concrete, fundamental characteristics to other groups of color as “lazy,” “inferior,” “savage,” “unintelligent,” “criminal,” etc. Statistics that display the large numbers in which “we” enroll into the best universities, won’t inform the public that these numbers are overwhelmingly students of Chinese, Japanese and Korean ancestry (usually of lighter skin tone), while disproportionate numbers of children of Vietnamese, Laotian, Cambodian, Filipino and Hmong heritage (usually of darker skin tone) languish in poverty and despair. Statistics in widely published magazines will tell Amerika that “Asian-American families have the largest familial income in the U.S.,” but won’t tell you that these households overwhelmingly have two, three or sometimes more, working people residing inside them, in comparison to most Anglo- Amerikan households where one person is primarily responsible for the households income. Amerika will speak of one of “our own” who has made a successful living as a lawyer, but will not tell you how many times, and for how many years that person has been passed over to become a “partner” in the firm - their face pressed against a bullet-proof “glass ceiling.” The role of Asian Amerikans as the “model minority,” is a myth used time and again to perpetuate racism and internalize in “us,” a sense that we are at the same time, superior to other groups “of color,” yet “perpetual foreigners” and inferior to white Amerikans.

I have personally, more compassion and understanding for a younger person who has internalized racism from an “oppressed” standpoint, than I do from an “oppressor” standpoint. What I mean by this, is that I feel more invested in having a drawn-out dialogue with someone who says “Things are better now for Asian Americans,” and is not benefiting from believing it to be true. If this statement is coming from an Asian American (or any person of color), I do not fault them in the same way I would an Anglo-Amerikan. Racism in Amerika sets-up both people of color and white people to play our designated “roles” (in regards to white supremacy); however, the life I have lived and the racism I have witnessed and experienced does not allow me the extreme patience I would need to assist a white person in unlearning the misinformation they might have internalized during their lifetime.

I have no doubt in my mind that there are some fiercely intelligent white allies who realize fully, that race does not exist and is an illusion, but that it also has and does play a behemoth role in the world we live in today. I would most likely respond by directing an Anglo-Amerikan AAS intro class student who stated: “Things are better now for Asian Americans,” to one of these good people. I have found that it is usually easiest to discover you that have been lied to, from someone who has little or no investment in your knowing the truth about something.

I have come to understand that when most Amerkans use the term “Asian,” they mean quite literally “East Asian” (Chinese, Japanese, Korean, etc.). The word “Asian,” encapsulates the clothing, food, art, history, cultures, religions, beliefs and people of about 2/3 of the earth’s population. By lumping such an exorbitant amount of people into one “race,” and having that narrow definition then include only those groups with which European and Amerikan governments had first contact with, or “respected” because of the “other’s” ability to participate in the perpetuation of oppression for their own benefit, renders certain groups of people “invisible” and left out of the equation.

If it is true when Arundhati Roy states: “The American way of life is not sustainable because it does not acknowledge that there is a world beyond America,” then the Anglo-Amerikan way of life is not sustainable, because it does not acknowledge that there is an Amerika outside of Anglo-Amerika. While my own group (Japanese) is usually accounted for in the rigid definition of what most Amerikans perceive “Asian” to be, my acceptance of the way Amerika operates in terms of race today would mean both my compliance to white supremacy, as well as my standing by passively as peoples’ potential value as human beings remains in a multitude of ways, based upon melanin and your place of origin. “Shikata ga nai”: These are two things I simply cannot and will not do.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

ALL my love to those who need it. We just gettin’ started, family.

Paz y Amor - Your brethren in all things yeetadee,

Senbei

[Barack Obama's acceptance of the nomination for President of the United States at the Democratic National Convention]

“The establishment of democracy on the American continent was scarcely as radical a break with the past as was the necessity, which Americans faced, of broadening this concept to include Black men.”

-James Baldwin

My Brother KC over at TheCheddarbox already spoke on this a bit, but I had to pay homage to the historical day that took place recently.

I was flipping through the channels on Thursday, on my way to CNN when I discovered that BET would be broadcasting live from the Democratic National Convention with Jeff Johnson (host of “The Truth with Jeff Johnson”). While Aaron McGruder’s “The Boondocks” has pointed out to me, the myriad ways in which BET is actually “Black, EVIL Television,” coupled with Rocsi and Terrance consistently stating: “THAT’S A GOOD LOOK!” no matter how TURRIBLE the “look” is on “106&Park,” I found this coverage to be pretty f*cking fantabulous when compared to CNN’s Wolf Blitzer (is it jus me or does that sound like the name of a Gestapo Policeman who came to arrest/murder Anne Frank? =T ).

Thursday night’s BET coverage of the DNC included: “The Dream: 45 Years Later,” an inside look at Martin Luther King Jr.’s historic speech of August 28, 1963 and “his” dream exactly 45 years later as it relates to the 2008’s presidential race and this defining moment in history as Barack Obama accepts the Democratic Nomination for President of the United States of America.  

Best of all of this in my own opinion, was Jeff Johnson. He had a way of being extremely authentic in his feelings and reminding people how historic of a night this was not only for Black people, but for Amerika and the world at large. At the same time, he never spoke of Obama as some “savior,” sent to cure racism/oppression and reminded the viewers at home to hold anyone elected President responsible for their actions and decisions. He interviewed Democratic politicians of Black/African heritage from all over the country as to their opinions about the night’s events. To me, it was amazingly refreshing to hear something other than a White Amerikan, mainstream voice (even if it was still a “mainstream voice”).

[Johnson, warning: "Don't look for Obama to be a Messiah."]

It needs to be reminded that there were upwards of 85,000 (f*cking) people in Mile High Stadium in Denver, who came to hear this speech(!). It feels hopeful to me to see so many people from different walks of life refusing another 4 years of Black/Brown youth dying in horrific numbers, jobs being lost, illegal war, immigrant discrimination, blatant sexism, homophobia and white supremacy. This could just be a “feeling,” but it “feels” as if white folks are, in larger numbers than ever before, realizing that the concept of what “American” means, doesn’t encapsulate only those who lack pigment. I am not naive and do NOT believe that Obama winning will bring some kind of “post-racial” utopia, but I do see that some of the dreams of those who have fought and died for equity and social justice for SO long, MIGHT be realized come November. What is worrysome is whether or not he will see what he has promised through, or if this historic moment in time goes to sh*t and the only change is the race of our “leader.” I for one, pray it is not the latter. This historic night of course, was held on the 45th anniversarry of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream Speech.”

[Another "memorable speech," given by an Amerikan leader of Black/African heritage, 45 years earlier.]

Standing at the pue panoramic view of the seating / Greeting, I’ve been meaning to do me some letter reading, to the King / He forever breathing, your messages never leaving / Some of your homies, phonies I should say it when I see them / Them sleazy bastards, some greedy pastors, jerks / Some should never be allowed in Ebenezer Baptist Church, in Atlanta / Some people be patient I know this ghetto grammar / But im a street dude normally I just speak rude / Martin Luther, the martyr, the trooper, hate killed him / Noble peace prize winner they duplicate the feelin / As a kid I aint relate really, I was sayin Dreams speech jokingly / Till your world awoken me / First I thought your were passive, soft one who ass kissed / I was young to be honest, I was feelin Mohammed / I aint even know the strength you had to have to march / You was more than just talk you were the first real “Braveheart” / We miss you…

-Nas (”Letter to the King”)

I NEVER GAVE A FLYING 747 F— ABOUT A PRESIDENTIAL RACE WITH LIARS STRESSING OVER PENANCE, HOW THEIR “CHRISTIAN MORALS AND ETHICS,” IMPLORED ‘EM TO SENTANCE CHILDREN THAT THEY’VE NEVER MET TO SIT IN COURT AS DEFENDANTS… PEOPLE THAT ARE NOT “NORMAL” (QUOTE, UN-QUOTE) TO STAY SEALED-IN AND LOCKED, HORRIBLE. HOPE’S NO JOKE. I’LL CELEBRATE ALL NIGHT WHEN BARACK GETS THE TICKET, BUT THE NEXT DAY, BELIEVE I’LL BE HIS HARSHEST OF CRTITCS. DIG IT.

[Bambu & Do.Dat - International Guerilla's Anthem via P.SANI]

YA BASTA!
Senbei