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Today is Juneteenth
Yay! A public holiday
Now we can forget
Parades and marches
Especially in Texas
How about a t-shirt?
The old slavery days
A questionable legacy
How soon we forget
The seeds of conflict
Uncomfortable memories
Buried in fine print
And if we must pay lip service to unease to save face
Recall that in earlier arrangements, everyone knew their place
A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)
Bonus beats: Remember the time by Michael Jackson
They played Fight the Power
As if to remind everyone
That the struggle continues
The firemen and city workers dispensed candy
My son had borrowed my hat for easier collection
Before long, his belly was full
The black cowboys would come later
Deftly riding their brown horses
The soundtrack was Maze, Before I Let Go
My daughter's school principal
Was giving out candy
We stopped for the marching band
The grocers touting their flour tortillas
HEB was founded by Charles Butt
On the float, they danced to Cameo's Candy
Concealed carry state
The Central Texas Gun Works
A grim reminder
Oakland meets Texas
Too Short dog: Blow the Whistle
The aunties got loose
The old Cadillacs
The newfangled sound system
Nightmare for the ears
Good competition
Battle of the marching bands
Cell phones were pulled out
The heat of midday
The scent of marijuana
Think about the children
The cowboys arrived
It's hard to be cynical
God bless America
The red, black and green
The colors of memory
In God's own country
Juneteenth 2025
See previously: The Last Holdouts and Bloodbath, South Carolina
File under: culture, observation, perception, race, memory, USA, history, slavery, hatchet job, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, toli
Writing log: June 19, 2025
Yay! A public holiday
Now we can forget
Parades and marches
Especially in Texas
How about a t-shirt?
The old slavery days
A questionable legacy
How soon we forget
The seeds of conflict
Uncomfortable memories
Buried in fine print
And if we must pay lip service to unease to save face
Recall that in earlier arrangements, everyone knew their place
Juneteenth, a playlist
A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)
- Slavery days by Burning Spear
- Celebration by Kool & the Gang
- How soon we forget by Colonel Abrams
- Holiday by Madonna
- Life can be so nice by Prince
- I keep forgettin' (every time you're near me) by Michael Mcdonald
- Forget regret by The RH Factor
Bonus beats: Remember the time by Michael Jackson
They played Fight the Power
As if to remind everyone
That the struggle continues
The firemen and city workers dispensed candy
My son had borrowed my hat for easier collection
Before long, his belly was full
The black cowboys would come later
Deftly riding their brown horses
The soundtrack was Maze, Before I Let Go
My daughter's school principal
Was giving out candy
We stopped for the marching band
The grocers touting their flour tortillas
HEB was founded by Charles Butt
On the float, they danced to Cameo's Candy
Concealed carry state
The Central Texas Gun Works
A grim reminder
Oakland meets Texas
Too Short dog: Blow the Whistle
The aunties got loose
The old Cadillacs
The newfangled sound system
Nightmare for the ears
Good competition
Battle of the marching bands
Cell phones were pulled out
The heat of midday
The scent of marijuana
Think about the children
The cowboys arrived
It's hard to be cynical
God bless America
The red, black and green
The colors of memory
In God's own country
Juneteenth 2025
See previously: The Last Holdouts and Bloodbath, South Carolina
File under: culture, observation, perception, race, memory, USA, history, slavery, hatchet job, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, toli
Writing log: June 19, 2025
High intensity
Low impact
Sloganeering
Mission possible
Curated profiles
Instagrammable
Menus with truffles
Plant based delicatessen
Crypto bandwagon
Ethical living
Bio fuels
Renewables
Locally sourced
Recycling
Durables
Contactless payment
Sensors, amenities
Modern conveniences
Look, creature comforts
Signs of urban renewal
Progress is the rule
A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)
Writing log: September 7, 2022
Low impact
Sloganeering
Mission possible
Curated profiles
Instagrammable
Menus with truffles
Plant based delicatessen
Crypto bandwagon
Ethical living
Bio fuels
Renewables
Locally sourced
Recycling
Durables
Contactless payment
Sensors, amenities
Modern conveniences
Look, creature comforts
Signs of urban renewal
Progress is the rule
Renewal, a playlist
A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)
- We can be new by Amel Larrieux
- Revival by Martine Girault
- Confection by Omar & Mica Paris
- Crystal clear by Howard Hewett
- Welcome to changes by Carleen Anderson
- Dream on dreamer by Brand New Heavies
- Nouveau western by MC Solaar
- Chameleon by Jazz Warriors
- Feelin' Alright by West Coast Revival
- Groove conclusion by Carleen Anderson
- Infinite possibilities by Amel Larrieux
Writing log: September 7, 2022
"Can I help who's next?"The mantra of the person at the service counter
An aggravation. A provocation to this grammar pedant
For the question always sounds awkward to these ears
As it appears to be a contraction of "Can I help whoever's next?"1
A contraction born of sheer number of times the question is uttered every day
Mind you, I too would seek to minimize the number of syllables I have to say
I too would pay lip service to the corporate overlords that write my welcome script
It struck me, however, that a little syntax could come to the rescue
That my naysaying can be remedied with some punctuation
For, if rendered as "Can I help? Who's next?"
The insertion of a question mark would solve the concern
The only problem is that, in practice, it never sounds like two questions
And so my ears continue to screech at the damn contraction2:
"Can I help who's next?"
Contraction, a playlist
A mostly dance soundtrack for this pedantic note (spotify version)
- Can I help you? by Amnesty
From the crate digger's soul/funk holy grail album - Can I help you by Dani Hageman
- Who's next? by Neighborhood Kids
- What can I help you with now? by Slick Stomp
- Contraction by Dxstxnce
- Can I help you by Adam Veldt
- Can I help you by Notches
- Contraction by Copy
- Next! by NCTS
- Contraction by Pau viguer
- How can I help you by Riverlabs
Bonus beats Excuse me Miss by Jay-Z
...
- A former linguist pointed out that "Can I help the person who is next?" might be a better source for the contraction. I concur, although like the service industry invocation of Can I help the next customer? (or client, guest or whatever term The Company's service manual recommends), it is quite the mouthful. ↩
- A political scientist harkened to the more salutory New York City contraction "Next!" which, with its conscision and emphatic declarative stance, minimizes the demands on the speaker, clarifies the intent to the bearer, reframes the mooted question as an exclamation, serves the proletarian interest being amenable to be uttered by a grunt while still paying lip service to the transactional demands of capital. I heartily recommend the practice. ↩
See previously Public Nuisance Number 64 and Ode to the word nuisant
File under: Small Things, language, syntax, grammar, bureaucracy, culture, observation, perception, humour, poetry, toli
Writing log: May 31, 2025
Default deny is a very simple policy
Easily defended on grounds of complexity
What with the ease of implementation, even if cruel
With the golden excuse, we were just following the rules
Insurance companies often take refuge in it, it's a frequent addiction
Imposing on their customers by default, as it were, this untoward friction
Cynical, in their time of loss when they need rapid compensation
They instead offer up the burden of these inconvenient fictions
In the full knowledge that many won't bother and simply drop it
Their bean counters salivating in the back office thinking: profit
Mind you they're quick to pretend that the end result was not intended
And that it is perfectly normal to shy away from services rendered
Even if the sheer outrage is hard to countenance
It speaks to the perils of living with your fellow man
It's the injustice of it, all those years you duly paid those premiums due
Then it turns out that, all along, they were taking you for a bloody fool
Hence the importance of norms, rules and regulations and enforcement
But also the stick of tort, laws, oversight and, ultimately, punishment
The constant need to redress the wrong and put them on notice
To do the right thing by default and resist the temptation
And shame too has been known to work its charm
Applying the fear of god to prevent such harm
Brand damage remains a powerful tool for compliance
Eternal vigilance being the price of soul insurance
Default deny is also well known in networking technology
Firewalls, those gatekeepers, often turn to this strategy
Out of the box it gets you up and running very quickly
It's the low hanging fruit, good enough, the poor man's security
Protection from without but, sadly, it doesn't cover every layer
'Tis quite the pity, you still need to guard against bad actors
The real world is complicated, it's merely the start of a fight
Trust in Allah, goes the proverb, but always tie up your camel at night
A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)
Timing is everything
Observers are worried
File under: humour, strategy, culture, observation, policy, insurance, economics, friction, regulation, law, standards, capitalism, incentives, outrage, networks, technology, security, poetry, Observers are worried, toli
Writing log: September 18, 2022
Easily defended on grounds of complexity
What with the ease of implementation, even if cruel
With the golden excuse, we were just following the rules
Insurance companies often take refuge in it, it's a frequent addiction
Imposing on their customers by default, as it were, this untoward friction
Cynical, in their time of loss when they need rapid compensation
They instead offer up the burden of these inconvenient fictions
In the full knowledge that many won't bother and simply drop it
Their bean counters salivating in the back office thinking: profit
Mind you they're quick to pretend that the end result was not intended
And that it is perfectly normal to shy away from services rendered
Even if the sheer outrage is hard to countenance
It speaks to the perils of living with your fellow man
It's the injustice of it, all those years you duly paid those premiums due
Then it turns out that, all along, they were taking you for a bloody fool
Hence the importance of norms, rules and regulations and enforcement
But also the stick of tort, laws, oversight and, ultimately, punishment
The constant need to redress the wrong and put them on notice
To do the right thing by default and resist the temptation
And shame too has been known to work its charm
Applying the fear of god to prevent such harm
Brand damage remains a powerful tool for compliance
Eternal vigilance being the price of soul insurance
II. Coda
Default deny is also well known in networking technology
Firewalls, those gatekeepers, often turn to this strategy
Out of the box it gets you up and running very quickly
It's the low hanging fruit, good enough, the poor man's security
Protection from without but, sadly, it doesn't cover every layer
'Tis quite the pity, you still need to guard against bad actors
The real world is complicated, it's merely the start of a fight
Trust in Allah, goes the proverb, but always tie up your camel at night
Default Deny, a playlist
A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)
- You Can't Deny It by Lisa Stansfield
- Turned Away by Chuckii Booker
- Strategy by Archie Bell & the Drells
- You Can't Turn Me Away by Sylvia Striplin
Timing is everything
Observers are worried
File under: humour, strategy, culture, observation, policy, insurance, economics, friction, regulation, law, standards, capitalism, incentives, outrage, networks, technology, security, poetry, Observers are worried, toli
Writing log: September 18, 2022
Legitimacy and exile
Aliens must go
Papers and passports
Inspection of identity
Stamp of approval
Proof of residency
Overstayed welcome
Fairweather friends
Fiasco
Exigency
Scapegoats
Contingency
Indefinite leave to remain
There's a price to be paid
Fraught deadlines
Tight timetable
Hasty evacuations
Explicit threats
Swift deportation
Fractured boundaries
Unkind labels
Verbal taunts
Herd of illegals
Circling touts
Overnight precarity
Status in doubt
Expulsion orders
Border crossings
Crowded ports
Land checkpoints
Dispersed families
Rushed upheaval
Overstuffed bags
Hurry
Tension, loss
Worry
Official decisions
Informal penalties
Enforcement actions
Emboldened gatekeepers
Entry permits
Mournful exits
Brethren
Neighbors
Rivals
Strangers
State of emergency
Failure of diplomacy
Ancestral memory
Histories of dislocation
Politics of closures
Season of migration
Internally displaced
Traditional evacuees
Modern travelers
Sudden refugees
A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)
See previously Bags and Stamps (Ghana must go) and Expulsion orders
...
My current publishing schedule means that what you read above today was written three years ago (Indeed, if I don't pick up the pace, the trifle I wrote today will only see the light in 2038, 12 1/2 years from now). That being said, I am struck that the above musings on displacement, forced and otherwise, that I wrote in 2022 still seem timely.
I was then in the process of digitizing the Talking Drums archive and taking in the reverberations of arbitrariness and the reign of strongmen in khaki in what I read in those pages. The ripple effects continue over the surface of our regional politics.
My friend Senam had just published her dissertation and was sharing some of the stories that she'd unearthed in her excavation of this, our signal topic. Ghana must go has a very tangible legacy beyond Nigeria and Ghana. It is a living history, disclosed often by artful omission and subject to the opacity of our elders. It a family history and, in its sweep, marks its bearers.
More recently, I've been thinking about the exodus from Sudan and what that country has suffered in the past two years, the reign of locusts, if you will. You don't hear much about the strain on the surrounding countries and the fodder for resentment that any old demagogue could harness if they chose to do their worst. I've been thinking of the smaller but no less disruptive waves in the Sahel region where many leaders are indeed inclined to do their worst for fear of losing their positions. Displacement seems to be the rule and many of our neighbors' houses are on fire.
This is a time of brutes.
And here, again, I welcome the US to the Third World. The Stephen Miller incited and Trump led assault on everything is hitting many near and dear to me. Things have long moved far beyond rhetoric. Livelihoods and personal safety are affected, even moreso than usual for those darker than blue. Unspoken threats now explicitly verbalized. And horizons have contracted. Many now adopt a fetal pose to shield from the incoming blows heeding the warning: protect yourselves at all times.
This is a time of precarity.
And exhaustion. Take, say, immigration for example. Many of my cousins are on student or other immigrant visas in the US, and are currently weighing the calculus of just being themselves versus adopting a studied pose of neutrality and normalcy.
No sudden moves is the refrain, don't become a target etc. It looms, that culture of silence. It's present, the retreat to that mask of civility that we wear all too well.
This is a time of erasures.
People disappear, sometimes literally pulled off the streets, bodies are snatched with glee. But worse is the eclipse of the soul. Pieces of identity are being erased. The spark and joie de vivre in many is being extinguished, curtailed by cruelty and disembodied by vindictiveness. I can't recognize so many folk.
Sidenote: one of my cousins was recently accepted by Harvard, all his hard work paying off. After the initial celebrations, however, everyone in the family has been holding their breath as we watch that institution and others being targeted. The saving grace is that he was born in the USA and so is somewhat shielded from the trials of non-citizens. (I'm still somewhat curious about whether the currenly stymied attack on birthright citizenship would notionally affect him, or if that strange interpretation would only affect births going forward). I don't envy him. He gets to wear multiple mantles as a living embodiment of Stephen Miller's worst fears, a foreign student but also an American-African and that's before he even opens his mouth. I really don't envy him. What paradise have we lost?
Anyway... Perhaps, this is all background noise, and, as I'm often reminded, the virus sets the timeline. The ongoing pandemic can make all this turmoil in the world moot, a sideshow at best, in very short order.
Aliens must go. I too will make my accommodations. I continue to focus on small things and move to my own tune. The present collection of toli, being doled out every week, bears a title that is all I aspire to: A Comfortable Unease.
File under: Ghana, Nigeria, culture, immigration, displacement, exile, memory, Africa, history, politics, dictator, coup, loss, observation, perception, refugee, Things Fall Apart, Ghana must go, poetry, toli
Writing log: September 6, 2022
Aliens must go
Papers and passports
Inspection of identity
Stamp of approval
Proof of residency
Overstayed welcome
Fairweather friends
Fiasco
Exigency
Scapegoats
Contingency
Indefinite leave to remain
There's a price to be paid
Fraught deadlines
Tight timetable
Hasty evacuations
Explicit threats
Swift deportation
Fractured boundaries
Unkind labels
Verbal taunts
Herd of illegals
Circling touts
Overnight precarity
Status in doubt
Expulsion orders
Border crossings
Crowded ports
Land checkpoints
Dispersed families
Rushed upheaval
Overstuffed bags
Hurry
Tension, loss
Worry
Official decisions
Informal penalties
Enforcement actions
Emboldened gatekeepers
Entry permits
Mournful exits
Brethren
Neighbors
Rivals
Strangers
State of emergency
Failure of diplomacy
Ancestral memory
Histories of dislocation
Politics of closures
Season of migration
Internally displaced
Traditional evacuees
Modern travelers
Sudden refugees
Aliens must go, a playlist
A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)
- Gone baby, don't be long by Erykah Badu
- Uptown by Raphael Saadiq
The plaintive refrain and coda is the sound of wist: "I'm leaving this town" - I gotta get away by Gloria Barnes
- Pack'd my bags by Rufus ft Chaka Khan
- Leavin' by Tony Toni Tone
- I gotta go by Lizz Fields
- Don't talk to strangers by Prince
- Gone baby, don't be long by José James
- Don't talk to strangers by Chaka Khan
See previously Bags and Stamps (Ghana must go) and Expulsion orders
...
Postscript (June 3, 2025)
My current publishing schedule means that what you read above today was written three years ago (Indeed, if I don't pick up the pace, the trifle I wrote today will only see the light in 2038, 12 1/2 years from now). That being said, I am struck that the above musings on displacement, forced and otherwise, that I wrote in 2022 still seem timely.
I was then in the process of digitizing the Talking Drums archive and taking in the reverberations of arbitrariness and the reign of strongmen in khaki in what I read in those pages. The ripple effects continue over the surface of our regional politics.
My friend Senam had just published her dissertation and was sharing some of the stories that she'd unearthed in her excavation of this, our signal topic. Ghana must go has a very tangible legacy beyond Nigeria and Ghana. It is a living history, disclosed often by artful omission and subject to the opacity of our elders. It a family history and, in its sweep, marks its bearers.
More recently, I've been thinking about the exodus from Sudan and what that country has suffered in the past two years, the reign of locusts, if you will. You don't hear much about the strain on the surrounding countries and the fodder for resentment that any old demagogue could harness if they chose to do their worst. I've been thinking of the smaller but no less disruptive waves in the Sahel region where many leaders are indeed inclined to do their worst for fear of losing their positions. Displacement seems to be the rule and many of our neighbors' houses are on fire.
This is a time of brutes.
And here, again, I welcome the US to the Third World. The Stephen Miller incited and Trump led assault on everything is hitting many near and dear to me. Things have long moved far beyond rhetoric. Livelihoods and personal safety are affected, even moreso than usual for those darker than blue. Unspoken threats now explicitly verbalized. And horizons have contracted. Many now adopt a fetal pose to shield from the incoming blows heeding the warning: protect yourselves at all times.
This is a time of precarity.
And exhaustion. Take, say, immigration for example. Many of my cousins are on student or other immigrant visas in the US, and are currently weighing the calculus of just being themselves versus adopting a studied pose of neutrality and normalcy.
No sudden moves is the refrain, don't become a target etc. It looms, that culture of silence. It's present, the retreat to that mask of civility that we wear all too well.
This is a time of erasures.
People disappear, sometimes literally pulled off the streets, bodies are snatched with glee. But worse is the eclipse of the soul. Pieces of identity are being erased. The spark and joie de vivre in many is being extinguished, curtailed by cruelty and disembodied by vindictiveness. I can't recognize so many folk.
Sidenote: one of my cousins was recently accepted by Harvard, all his hard work paying off. After the initial celebrations, however, everyone in the family has been holding their breath as we watch that institution and others being targeted. The saving grace is that he was born in the USA and so is somewhat shielded from the trials of non-citizens. (I'm still somewhat curious about whether the currenly stymied attack on birthright citizenship would notionally affect him, or if that strange interpretation would only affect births going forward). I don't envy him. He gets to wear multiple mantles as a living embodiment of Stephen Miller's worst fears, a foreign student but also an American-African and that's before he even opens his mouth. I really don't envy him. What paradise have we lost?
Anyway... Perhaps, this is all background noise, and, as I'm often reminded, the virus sets the timeline. The ongoing pandemic can make all this turmoil in the world moot, a sideshow at best, in very short order.
Aliens must go. I too will make my accommodations. I continue to focus on small things and move to my own tune. The present collection of toli, being doled out every week, bears a title that is all I aspire to: A Comfortable Unease.
File under: Ghana, Nigeria, culture, immigration, displacement, exile, memory, Africa, history, politics, dictator, coup, loss, observation, perception, refugee, Things Fall Apart, Ghana must go, poetry, toli
Writing log: September 6, 2022
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