“He's a real nowhere man
in his nowhere land
Making all his nowhere plans…”
—John Lennon / Paul McCartney
He slices/dices street heat from fiery
formulations he finds awkward. He froze on
Ferguson and Flint. And Arab Spring wasn’t his
thing. He wasn’t high on Occupy. George Floyd
Summer was a bummer. He cursed Striketober
when he was sober…
“shift:” To hell with Harlemites fighting to re
name a confederate-christened school after one
of their own
“option:” He tells Star-bucked baristas—sick and
tired of being sick and tired—and Amazon workers
Organizing on Staten Island: His wise words are in
dispensable:
“Slow down—lemme catch up—And lead you, fools!”
“caps lock:” Wagging his finger he moves the masses
in Manilla, Managua, Minneapolis, Gaza off
struggles for democracy costing years, ribs, eyeballs,
teeth and
Lives…
American. Wants it all. Now. Like his coffee, like his
croissant. He clicks socialist—communist—revolution!
“control:” He establishes ‘air superiority;’ ‘no fly zones;’ puts ‘boots,
on the ground.’ Screaming missiles; exploding bombs; smells of fear
unwashed for weeks; unburied bodies are canceled by sizzling bacon
and eggs and steaming espresso… In harm’s way—17” screen—he
practices palace anti-imperialism; Colorizing revolutionary mass
movements; Arguing force fully for Nationalist International
strongmen get out of The Hague cards. He knows which smart bombs
work best for backwards bus drivers, janitors, truckers, teachers,
warehouse workers without agency.
“command:” He hasn’t marched since the president began every
sentence with “Well…” fired striking air traffic controllers and
claimed Contras were Freedom Fighters. He felt the Bern—twice.
Hopping mad—chaffing—he chastised those whose pants weren’t
similarly on fire.
“return:” Just saw him again—off command and control—for a
New York minute—swapping blue light for sunlight; and monitor
screen for sunscreen
“esc:” Omniscience in fact… he’d held Sugar Hill high ground…
Supermarket or pharmacy, I see him once every other year;
Still wondering if he can
Organize himself and other two-time losers for lunch without the
same arguments Dylan heard when he hit The City? Organize
Uber rides crosstown without he and comrades splitting fifteen
times along the way—and unity DOA?
Can he dial down meds, locate a coffee shop, deli or diner; sit a
few hours with
Competitors…ORGANIZE—just ONE—unitary, militant Mayday
March of millions in Manhattan—or 12-step off; Admit his power
lessness; and
Pump the brakes on tonight’s post for proletarian revolution? ©
Former forklift driver/warehouse worker/janitor, Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet;
BAR's Poet-in-Residence; and founder/co-leader of the jazz-poetry ensemble UpSurge!NYC.
You can Vote for his work at: GoFundMe PayPal: paypal.me/towncrierRNT
"Psy-Op Satan’s Speech on Capitalist Hill" is the latest from BAR's Poet-in-Residence.
If Biden wins, Kamala Harris will be put forward as a kind of “co-president,” as a palliative for the lack of substantive relief from the forces that are plaguing Black lives.
The election interference and subsequent US backed protests in Venezuela are another attempt to destabilize the nation and stop the ongoing Bolivarian Revolution. But the masses will remain strong.
AFRICOM is growing more bold in its attempts to maintain dominance over the African continent. Now is the time for Pan-African and Black Nationalist forces to organize to sabotage those efforts…
The Democratic Party dug its own grave decades ago when it began trying to siphon from the GOP by appealing to conservatives and ignoring the needs of its strong base of African American people.
