( photos by Alicia Karpetsky)
I met some amazing souls during my time at AUP. The spoken word crew was tight. When we first started it was only a handful of us. We would invade someone's apartment, light up and just breathe poetry. Each person had their own style, their own personal platforms and their exclusive passions. I heart those days. When the calm streets of the 7th quarter were sleeping , we were just beginning our climax- spitting verses while wiping away tears and sharing emotions at the top of our lungs - expressing our love, anger or admiration of any one thing, event, person, idea. Fall 2006 is etched in my memory. Sophia had exchanged emails with a Spoken word collective from the Bay area , Ill-literacy, and they were interested in coming to AUP to perform. The idea of an AIDS conference was born from a lot of hard work and determination. I had never seen AUP host such an event. I mean, hip hop culture in Europe generally does not go beyond the most mainstream of the mainstream, let alone spoken word...but when i think about it, what better place to live spoken word than Paris...a city that holds art as one of the most sacred of gifts to humans...
So0000, this is part of a poem that I wrote for our spoken word performance in commemoration of International AIDS day (we made it international ma'freakin aids WEEK up in dat biiiatch). Joe and I worked on this poem together and turned out a beautiful duo piece but i haven't included the parts we did together cos I havent spoken to him in forever and a day...if i track down his globe-trotting behind ill see if i can get his blessing to publish the whole piece.
That being said,
What Next?
It's a question asked, but often missed
hiding behind God’s prayer and below his mist
I rest no hopes on his future’s hiss
We live to die amongst each other’s midst
Foggy and blue
lives loosen around my finger tips
and its my felt tip with which words inscript my wish to live
Beyond crypted lists of ten commandments
And wishlists of things we should do
But fail
Frail hands eclipse the shadows of death that surround my loved ones hips
They surface on his figure
Prints
Of his life reduced to minutes,
His physical thighs diminished
from years of insistence on living life
To images of soars bleeding strife, beyond violations of human rights
His fight
Was to mate with the memory of what was, his life
How can I bear Witness to What’s next
When my future has been displaced years behind today’s current events
I live his yesterday’s dreams like it’s the present tense
Because he
did not deserve to die bent over his knees trying to defeat death
He
did not deserve to cry
in the reflection of his daughter’s eyes
Watchin’ her father release his last breath
And I ask myself where does God draw the line
so fine and meticulous
so divine and articulate
when he says, “It’s Time”…
So0000, this is part of a poem that I wrote for our spoken word performance in commemoration of International AIDS day (we made it international ma'freakin aids WEEK up in dat biiiatch). Joe and I worked on this poem together and turned out a beautiful duo piece but i haven't included the parts we did together cos I havent spoken to him in forever and a day...if i track down his globe-trotting behind ill see if i can get his blessing to publish the whole piece.
That being said,
What Next?
It's a question asked, but often missed
hiding behind God’s prayer and below his mist
I rest no hopes on his future’s hiss
We live to die amongst each other’s midst
Foggy and blue
lives loosen around my finger tips
and its my felt tip with which words inscript my wish to live
Beyond crypted lists of ten commandments
And wishlists of things we should do
But fail
Frail hands eclipse the shadows of death that surround my loved ones hips
They surface on his figure
Prints
Of his life reduced to minutes,
His physical thighs diminished
from years of insistence on living life
To images of soars bleeding strife, beyond violations of human rights
His fight
Was to mate with the memory of what was, his life
How can I bear Witness to What’s next
When my future has been displaced years behind today’s current events
I live his yesterday’s dreams like it’s the present tense
Because he
did not deserve to die bent over his knees trying to defeat death
He
did not deserve to cry
in the reflection of his daughter’s eyes
Watchin’ her father release his last breath
And I ask myself where does God draw the line
so fine and meticulous
so divine and articulate
when he says, “It’s Time”…
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