Benjamin Zephaniah (b.15/08/58) - What Stephen Lawrence Has Taught Us

Yesterdays sentencing , gives us nothing to celebrate. In the words of Ms Lawrence " How can I celebrate when my son is buried? Had the police done their job properly I would have spent the last 18 years grieving for my son rather than fighting to get his killers in court.". If their had not been so much institutionalised racism, perhaps Stephens killers would have been jailed much earlier, but the police failed to arrest anyone at the time, back in 1993. Where's the justice too for Lakhvider " Ricky"  Reel , murdered 4 years after Stephen, and the many other victims of racist violence.
Two have know been convicted for Stephens brutal murder,( Gary Dobson and David Norris)  time for the rest of them Neil Acourt, Jamie Acourt and Luke Knight to be sent down too.They should not be allowed to rest easy.
Their sentences should be long, despite the fact that they were juvenille at the time, they have shown no remorse, consistently lied and flaunted and paraded their arrogance. Shown themselves as the cowardly racists they are.
Sadly the ugly reality of racist hatred still lingers. It needs to be crushed and condemned at all times. Only then can we really move on. Perhaps the media can stop pandering to the venomous views of the historian David Starkey and others like him (  the odious newspaper 'the Daily Mail and its many rabid columnists is particularly alarming )  who contribute largely to perpetuating racist belief. Not all racists fit the stereotype of a skinhead in bovver boots anymore, they come in all shapes and sizes. For some rascist abuse is a daiy reality. We cannot tolerate it anymore, we should not let hatred consume us, and if that means banning the British National Party and other racist organisations, so be it.
I leave you with this , that the brilliant Dub poet Benjamin Zephaniah, wrote back in 1999, still pertinent, still raising questions.

What Stephen Lawrence Has Taught Us.

We know who the killers are,
We have watched them strut before us
As proud as sick Mussolinis',
We have watched them strut before us
Compassionate and arrogant,
They paraded before us,
Like angels of death
Protected by the law.

It is now an open secret
Black people do not have
Chips on their shoulders,
They just have injustice on their backs
And justice on their minds,
And now we know that the road to liberty
Is as long as the road from slavery.

The death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us how to love each other
And never to take the tedious task
Of waiting for a bus for granted.
Watching his parents watching the cover-up
Begs the question
What are the trading standards here?
Why are we paying for a police force
That will not work for us?

The death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us
That we cannot let the illusion of freedom
Endow us with a false sense of security as we walk the streets,
The whole world can now watch
The academics and the super cops
Struggling to define institutionalised racism
As we continue to die in custody
As we continue emtying our pockets on the pavements,
And we continue to ask ourselves
Why is it so official
That black people are so often killed
Without killers?

We are not talking about war or revenge
We are not talking about hypothetics or possibilities,
We are talking about where we are now
We are talking about how we live now
In dis state
Under dis flag, ( God Save the Queen),
And God save all those black children who want to grow up
And God save all the brothers and sisters
Who like raving,
Because the death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us that racism is easy when
You have friends in high places
And friends in high places
Have no use whatsoever
When they are not your friends.

Dear Mr Condon,
Pop out of Teletubby land,
And visit reality,
Come to an honest place
And get some advice from your neighbours,
Be enlightened by our community,
Neglect your well-paid ignorance
Because
We know who the killers are.

Reprinted from Too Black , Too Strong
Bloodaxe 2001.

For more Benjamin Zephaniah go here
http://www.benjaminzephaniah.com/content/index.php

'' Jazz is our religion '' documentary ( 1971 )

U.K, 1971.
Directed by John Jeremy, documentary focuses on the photography of Valerie Wilmer, while various voices, Rashid Ali, Bill Evans, Marion Brown, Dewey Redman and others comment, with jazz poems by Langston Hughes and Ted Joans.
For some their is a mystical faith in their devotion and service to music. Take a look at  the work of John Coltrane, Charles Mingus, Thelonious Monk, Sun Ra and a multitude of others.
Does it have to have soul to make it real? Probably, but in jazz in particular there is a diverse devoted breed. There are many false prophets,and some refuse to follow any leader, many wrong turns and blandness that follow the order of money and corporate marketing machines that I refuse to worship.
I follow unities notes and chords, and all those who push the boundaries a bit. The tone  of endless freedom , to me is a love supreme.

Jack Kerouac ( 12/3/22 -21/10/69) on Slim Gaillard - ' There You Go-Orooni'

Jack Kerouac
(playing with consiousness )

Slim Gaillard was the perennial MC and hipster about town, whose impact and influence in the bop n beat generation of the 1940s ant the 50s is hard to exagerrate. Born in Detroit in 1916, he was a singer, songwriter, pianist , saxophonist and guitarist, noted for his immaculate appearance . As well as speaking eight languages, Arabic, Syrian, Bulgarian, Turkish, Armenian, Portugese and fluent Greek he had time to invent a new one, 'Vout' a hipster slang generated by adding -'oroonie' to every significant word,  he became known for his use of alliteration and his dazzling wordplay, with his hip nonsensical but inventive patois leading things.He was not however just a mere novely act, his playing was good enough for him to contend and play with many of the all time jazz greats. A true polymath, in periods away from music he worked as a cook, an airline pilot and a merchant seaman.
At the time of Americas witchhunts by the so called moral majority, Gaillard became a target. Among one of his songs to be singled out as being a prime cause in the decline of morals amongst the country's youth were the ultra-suggestive Drei Six Cents (actually Yiddish for thirty cents) and even the more sinister Cement Mixer with its onomatopoeic 'putti, putti.  In other songs he alluded to all manner of dubious activities. Subversive stuff to some , eh. His song 'Yep Roc Heresay''is considered one of the first Jazz songs in Arabic. He carried on doin what he did, recording with Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie among many. Carried on regardless with his outrageous humour which manifest throughout his work , energetic, exciting. Gregarious and overflowing with tales, and wild vernacular eruptions.
In later life he settled in London , where he turned on a new generation of British players.
Often when life gets to serious when I need a little distractions from dark reality I play his records for a bit of a lift, listen to some cool , unexpected sounds. A nice cocktail for the senses when engaging in  lifes balancing acts. Improvised scatterings, interplay arrives at  a truly international language.  A joy to listen to a truly original voice. Hip idiosyncracy with a dash of versatility, I'll forgive him 'Absolute Beginners' brilliant book turned into shoddy film,oh and 'Charlies Angels'!! we all make mistakes, he simply walked his own way.
He died in London  on February 26th 1991.
I will leave you with  some words from todays sponsor Mr Jack Kerouac.

                                                         Slim Gaillard

'But one night we suddenly went mad together again; we went to see Slim Gaillard in a little Frisco night-club. Slim Gaillard is a tall, thin Negro with big sad eyes who's always saying, 'Right-orooni' and 'How 'bouta little
bourbon-orooni.' In Frisco great eager crowds of young semi-intellectuals sat at his feet and listened to him on the piano, guitar, and bongo drums. When he gets warmed up he takes off his shirt and undershirt and really goes. He does and says anything that comes into his head. He'll sing 'Cement Mixer, Put-ti Put-ti'  and suddenly slow down the beat and brood over his bongos with fingertips barely tapping the skin as everybody leans forward breathlessly to hear; you think he'll do this for a minute or so, but he goes right on, for as long as an hour, making an imperceptible little noise with the tips of his fingernails, smaller and smaller all the time till you can't hear it any more and sounds of traffic come in the open door. Then he slowly gets up and takes the mike and says, very slowly, 'Great-orooni... fine-ouvati... hello-orooni. . . bourbon-oroonie. . . all-orooni. . . orooni. . . how are the boys in the front row making out with their girls-orooni. . . . orooni. . . vauti. . . orooirooni. . . ' He keeps this up for fifteen minutes, his voice getting softer and softer till you can't hear. His great sad eyes scan the audience.
Dean stands in the back, saying, 'God! Yes! and clasping his hands in prayer and sweating. 'Sal, Slim hnows time, he knows time.' Slim sits down at the piano and hits two notes, two Cs, then two more, then one, then two, and suddenly the big burly bass player wakes up from a reverie and realizes Slim is playing 'C-Jam Blues' and he slugs in his big forefinger on the string and the big booming beat begins and everybodystarts rocking and Slim looks just as sad as ever, and they blow jazz for half an hour, and then Slim goes mad and grabs the bongos and plays tremendous rapid Cubana beats and yells crazy things in Spanish,in Arabic, in Peruvian dialect, in Egyptian, in every language he knows, and he knows innumerable languages. Finally the set is over; each set takes two hours. Slim Gaillard goes and stands againsy a post, looking sadly over everybody's head as people come to talk to him. A bourbon is slipped into his hand. 'Bourbon-orooni- thank -you-ouvati. . . ' Nobody knows where Slim Gaillard is. Dean once had a dream that he was having a baby and his belly was all bloated up blue as he lay on the grass of a California hospital. Under a tree, with a group of coloured men, sat Slim Gaillard. Dean turned despairing eyes of a mother to him. Slim daid, 'There you go-orooni.' Now Dean approached him , he approached his God; he thought Slim was God; he shuffled and bowed in front of him and asked him to join us. 'Right-orooni,' says Slim; he'll join anybody but he won't guarantee to be there with you in spirit. Dean got a table, bought drinks, and sat stiffly in front of Slim. Slim dreamed over his head. Every time Slim said, 'Orooni,' Dean said, 'Yes!' I sat there with these two madmen. Nothing happened. To Slim Gaillard thewhole world was just one big orooni.'

Extract from
'On the Road'- Jack Kerouac
Andre  Deutsch 1958.

Vout Oroonie Folks!
VoutOroonie!
 
Dreix Six Cents- Slim Gaillard

Cement Mixer - Slim Gaillard

Yep Roc Heresay -Slim Gaillard Quartette.

Jazz Juke Box

George Melly interview with Slim

Arena 1983.

George Melly shows somes hort films made in 1940's ,sublime .

Slim Gaillard  live 1947.

LET FREEDOM RING

Bob Black: The Abolition Of Work.

I guess work is done by most out of necessity, not by choice. When I have worked however I did not define myself through my work or my pay packet. Some people are lucky, today I spend time doing things I find useful and simply enjoying it, but   without money perhaps we'd all be rich.
Anyway had my letter from the benefit agency, like many up and down the country, must say there timing is impeccable, so soon it looks that I might be conscripted.
All this is work where there is nothing.

Watch your thoughts, for they become words,
watch your words, for they become actions,
watch your actions, for they become habits,
watch your habits, for they become character,
watch your character, for it becomes destiny.

" The most wasted day of all is that during which we have not laughed."
- Sebastion D.N.Chamfort.

Willam Empson (27/09/06 - 15/4/84 ) - Let it go.

It is this deep blackness is the real thing strange
  The more things happen to you the more you can't
   Tell or remember even what they were.

The contradictions cover such a range.
   The talk would talk and go far aslant
       You don't want madhouse and the whole thing
        there.

1949

Simon Munnery's Cluub Zarathustra 1996.

Back again
Bored of the festive  T.V offerings ,so  here's a clip that was piloted for Channel 4 but was never actually shown.So here's some surreal experimental comic caberet from yesterday, featuring the talents of Simon Munnery, Kevin Eldon and Stewart Lee.
I find it rather enjoyable.
Hope you enjoy it too.

Cluub Zarathustra Pilot Part 1

Club Zarathustra Part 2

Follow earth's whimper.

Pentre Ifan - Pembrokeshire

David Cameron says
the U.K is a Christian Society
"and we should not be afraid to say so"
during a speech on the 400th anniversary of the King James Bible.

Be grateful
depends from which basket
one has borrowed
this same country
that has abolished universal jurisdiction
that elects a government that preaches
an eye for an eye
moral collapse mirrored in politicians lies.

On this shortest day
celebrate love
the sun's rebirth
as spirits of fire,
twinkle in sky,
dance with old silver moon,
grant secret wishing prayer.
Man speaks of faith
trapped in ideological indulgence,
outside
time is stilled,
slips backwards
towards journeys end.

Quarks
act irresponsibly,
a puzzle of perception
within or without.
Take away our parachutes
and love is the key
that does not oppress
justice shared among neighbours,
and hope that convinces even the bleakest of nights
nature too has a soul, a voice.

I follow earths whimper
shining through humanities glimpses
her beauty for all to share
fix me up a murmour
and long echoes that search for peace
nature's spirit does not discriminate
and the great world rolls on  interminably
in the still of the night  follows diversity
uniting us together to lifes real necessities
it is possible for our minds to reel in wonder
reasons whirl along the changing seasons .

Happy Winter Solstice

" Who , out of the theory of the earth and of his or her body
understands by subtle analogies all other theories."

- Walt Witman.

A Festive Phone Call

As part of a  National Month of Festive action against Atos , there is now taking place a mass telephone complaint to Atos. Starting on Monday 12th December, this campaign is running up until Christmas, benefit claimants, disabled people and their supporters will be ringing both local and national Atos Offices to complain about theor obscene treatment of sick and disabled people.

Sometimes talking to someone at this time of the year can make a difference,  it's that seasonal radiance that makes some of us shout, some of us scream.
for more infomation  about this talkback  go here.

http://benefitclaimantsfightback.wordpress.com/2011/12/08/a-rolling-festive-phone-in

Mr Cameron and his allies like a bit of division, heaping more and more burden on those in society that cannot defend themselves. In times of hardship, the conservatives historically look out for scapegoats, at a time when our elected leaders (M.Ps ) have the audacity to demand thousands more pounds in expenses.
Matbe greedy politicians should look inwards before targetting the more marginalised in society.
There is much hypocricy.
If your feeling strong, how about some solidarity with some people who are at moment in time are being pilloried and stigmatised.
Seasons greetings.

Thomas Evan Nicholas ( Niclas y Glais) (6/10/1879 -19/4/71) - To a Sparrow

                                                                    
                                                                   TO A SPARROW
                 
                                                               ( Swansea Prison 1940)

                                                Look, here's another bread-crumb for your piping,
                                               And a piece of apple as a sweetener.
                                               It gladdens me to hear your steady pecking;
                                               It's good to see your cloak of grey once more.
                                               You've travelled here, perhaps, from Pembroke's reaches,
                                               From the gorse and heather on Y Frenni's height,
                                               And mabe on grey wing you've trilled your measures
                                               Above  fair Ceredigion at dawn's first light.
                                               Accept the bread: had I a drop of wine
                                               Pressed from  a distant country's sweet grape-cluster,
                                               We could take, amid war's turbulence,
                                               Communion, though the cell lacks cross and altar.
                                               The bread's as holy as it needs to be,
                                                Offering of a heart not under lock and key.

Translated  from the Welsh by Joseph P.Clancy
reprinted from  Twentieth Century Welsh Poems, ( Gomer,1982)

Born at Llanfyrnach. T.E Nicholas  was a congregational minister and a founding member of the Communist Party of Great Britain, and was a political journalist as well as a poet. He was twice imprisoned,  not the first or last Welshman to be imprioned by spurious charges.'To a Sparrow ' was a poem he wrote whilst incarcenated.
Main themes of his poetry were of injustice that stemmed from his  strong socialist faith.The Spanish Civil War gave rise to his verse denouncing fascism.  In later life  translated the internationale into Welsh.
It was whilst in prison though that he wrote some one hundred and fifty sonnets. The smallest incident would provide inspiration. Denied writing paper , he wrote on the slate in his cell, and on toilet paper. Main themse were  of injustice and the power of capital. 'Cana'r Carchar'  Prison Songs and 'Llygad y Drws' (referring to the eye hole of the prison door) were both collections that were written  whilst he was in prison.
He continued writing into his old age, his support for left wing causes undimmed.
Ke died in Aberystwyth in 1971 aged 91.