Brother Malcolm

Come Away With Me

This image reminds me of this image I have in my mind of my dream home. Sure the home here is a lot smaller than the one I imagined, but the scenery is more along the lines of what I’d like for a cottage-like getaway home.

...and we'll kiss

The water close by, lots of green. A place close by for the night-time bonfire.

If I could merge the above with these other images, and find that place in real life, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it mine.

my own personal horse, Zulu

Reminds me of some scenes in films. The first two that come to mind, are strangely, both starring Russell Crowe and directed by Ridley Scott; Gladiator and A Good Year. The scenes in Gladiator where he is imagining being reunited with this family, running his finger tips over the tips of the tall wheat stalks. And in A Good Year, almost every damn scene, the French language, the love of fine wine, and of course a beautiful belle to share it all with. Throw in a stable for horses, a long pier/dock complete with paddle boat, and I’m good.

monet

Sing it Norah!

 

me and you

Want to join me?

The Importance of the Male Pedicure

Dear Gents,

If you’re like me, and read that book years ago that shows Michael Jordan’s corn and callus ridden feet, and used your own frequent sport playing to justify your ugly feet, you like me, need to change.

I’m not new to pedicures. On the contrary, my mother insisted I get them when I was still living with her. But now that I am on my own I have to motivate myself to get out to the salon what-have-you and get my feet tended to.

The main motivation? As with most things for us gentlemen, the driving force is women. They don’t want us to keep our socks (and shoes if you’re a black male porn star, no homo) on while we’re in bed. And we shouldn’t want to either.

There’s nothing like that completely unhindered, unfettered, unobstructed feeling of being stark naked in bed with a woman.

There’s also nothing quite like the embarrassment of when your sharp toenails slice open her achilles tendon. Of course, I’m using hyperbole to accentuate my point; I have never done that to a girl. But I have cringed and shied away when our feet touched, and I felt my rough, dry feet, mingling clumsily with hers.

Men, we don’t have to be soft all over like our women. Oh no! I will be the first to advocate chest hair (though trimmed like all other excessive body hair: pits, pubs). But this is one thing we can do for ourselves and for her.

get comfortable

Maintain your feet. She’ll thank you for it.

Stay classy,

Black Ty

If by Runyard Kipling



The Man Who Would Be King, The Jungle Book, and more from Runyard

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream---and not make dreams your master; If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same:. If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!

 

String Theory

In an earlier post this month, I mentioned my frustration when attempting to send a postcard back home to Canada.

I must have deleted the picture of the postcard, but I found the words I typed before writing them on the postcard by hand.

Here they are:

Strings attached.

My Dearest _ovial _lluring _electable _xception*,

There’s a relatively new “theory of everything” in physics called string theory which takes on the lofty challenge of describing the fundamental forces and matter found in our universe and unifying them in one complete, mathematically sound system.

The theory has yet to be proven, but if true, it would mean that there are an infinite number of unending, invisible, yet incredibly powerful threads connecting everything and everyone, everywhere. Even the strings on the face of this postcard, cut in some places, are not cut off from those around it, from the camera which captured their image, or from the photographer who pointed and clicked. All are one. All are connected.

I have ran my fingers over the entirety of this postcard. Thus weaving the strings which run through me, through this card. When it reaches you and you take it in your hand, you will instantly intertwine your strings with my strings, and in a matter of speaking fold time and space so that our hands touch, even if only on a dimensional plane not entirely perceivable by the ordinary human.

But of course, you are far from ordinary*, and I like to think that our bond was forged with some pretty strong thread.

Pull on a string. Can you feel it. We’re attached.

❤ Ty

can you feel it?

Runaway, why don’t you?

So moments after Kanye’s short film Runaway hit the internets, people started chiming in with their opinions.

Bruce Willis 80s action movie Kanye fans wasted no time in touting the flick a masterpiece. While the Biggie Smalls Life After Death Disc Two Track 6’s immediately hit the artist with labels the likes of Fag-o-tron and phoney-try-hard.

Masterpiece or not, musical genius or not, brilliant artist or not, Kanye and his work continues to make noise because he has the guts to do what so many other artists don’t out of fear of criticism backlash; be himself.

Here is my scene by scene breakdown of what I interpreted from Runaway. Of course, like all great art pieces, it should touch different people in different ways. I think you (yes you) understood it too.

Yalla Bina!

  • Scene One:

Tom Cruise in a big budget action movie worthy all out sprint in the beginning is intense.

Nikki Minaj narrates, “gather round children, zip it listen”.

Dark Fantasy Plays, produced my RZA, this beat is haaaarrrrrd!

Kanye drives alone is his Lambo (Mirtzialago) raps about being fly “Can we get much higher?” “Don’t make me pull the toys out!”

He’s stunting here, enjoying his Power and Fame, but at the same time he is alone, driving fast, almost dangerously so, through a winding lush country side road. We see a family of deer, and we can’t help but think for a moment that he’s about to hit one. He’s alone, there’s a family, living at peace in nature beside him. He has so much Power, but he doesn’t have what they have.

Maybe he’s wishing for this one last piece of the puzzle to be added to his life. His Power pulls what he wants most right into his path, in a flaming ball of hot fire. Or in the form of the hottest possible girl a brother could want.

She’s just laying there, all for him, he asked for it, so he takes her. Doh! A deer, a female deer, stands in the background, watching, almost skeptically, as if to say “you’re going to mess this up to” or “you shouldn’t be going after that flashy shit Ye, you need something simple, more natural, like me”. No Beasto!

  • Scene Two:

Phoenix wakes on Yeezy’s couch in his pad. News reports on TV that fires are raging across the forest, caused by just how hot this lady is. In other words, a bad b!tch just stepped on the scene, and she’s drawing all kinds of attention. Tabloids.

“First rule in this world baby, don’t pay attention to anything you see in the news” Kanye says to her and it’s here we learn that this girl is new to Earth and it’s ways. She needs to be instructed. My reading, Yeezy bagged a bad b!tch, but she needs training, she doesn’t know how to act in certain situations, not just “proper etiquette, how to hold your knife”, but maybe she is too hood, or too bougy (“ghetto university”), either way she is on one level of extremism and can’t handle all situations. She is a fish out of water, but she loves this new world, she is fully basking in its beauty.

Then she finds the beauty in her captor’s art and Stockholm syndrome sets in. We see Ebanks fully naked body here. My reading, that’s one helluva a body! lol but no, seriously, Kanye shows her what he’s all about here and she loves it (Power plays in the background), and he loves that she loves it! So much so that…

  • Scene Three:

…a child incarnation of him runs through a field and pops the smoke; a sign that usually a bomb should be dropped on the spot where the smoke is. A good bomb maybe, at first, as we see when the next track plays.

All of the lights blasts! Fireworks go off. The whole brass section is out and marching. Yeezy and his girl are so happy that it brings out that feel good Michael Jackson type vibe.

Explosion from the intial crash is shown again. A bomb dropped on Yeezy’s existence. It looks beautiful right, but wait, it’s a bomb, it destroys. I mean, this really doesn’t need that much breakdown, but if you read this, you’ll see that it’s all quite obvious, even though its masked in sometime absurb visual metaphors. The girl is a blessing, but a curse. “never make a pretty woman your wife” as the calypso song goes.

  • Scene Four:

Meet the crew. Yeezy watches as his new flame toys with a tea cup. More out of her element that Julia Roberts before she got schooled my Richard Gere. This isn’t literal, Yeezy is telling her what to expect from his family and friends. “They will judge you. I know you’re a bird, and you gotta spread your wings, but chill, just this once, please!”

At the table, Ye debuts his new girl, and is met with cold stares, secret whispers, and judges all around. Yeezy wants her to be herself, so he doesn’t ask her to hide her wings. The attention she draws though, is a little too much.

All black dinner party, dressed in white, served by an all-caucasian staff. Why are they all white? Come on, we’re descendants of slaves. We’re not gonna whip and torture and not pay our staff, but we’d like to be served now. And we’d like to humble your cracker ass while you serve us.

“You’re girlfriend is really beautiful”

“Thank you.”

“Did you know she’s a bird.”

“No,” Kanye replies sarcastically, “I didn’t notice that.”

“I mean like. Date the monkey in the zoo?”

Furious, Ye retreats to his music. He’s happy to have this girl. He connects with her. But his fam and friends won’t let him have that. They’d rather criticize what they see on the surface just like the tabloids would. “So I think it’s time to have a toast!” F you! I can’t be happy! Ok fine, here’s to you! Baby, get outta here, runaway from me, ain’t nothing but pain here.

You think he’s calling himself a douche, and maybe on some level he’s admitting that he’s a egomaniac at times, but while you toast him, his toasting you right back, making himself a mirror, showing you your intolerance and hypocrisy.

Powerful female figures, dancing rhythmically. I think he’s reminiscing over the many great women he’s had in his life, none of them perfect, but all with their perfections. Maybe his fam and friends like some of his old girlfriends better. But he’s moved past them, they are just images dancing in his memory now.

Maybe he feels regret here. Maybe one or more the past gfs would really have made great wives. As we see in his selected solo ballerinas, showcasing their special moves. “But I always find something wrong.” Like she eats her peas one a time time type shit.

The bird served for dinner. I read this as Ye’s date saying “wow, really, we’re gonna put all the attention on me? Eat me up, shit me out? Just because I’m being myself and you’re not? F YOU ALL!”  she coos and caws.

Ye holds his head and she cries, like “yeah, i told you to tone it down, just this once!” We see the bomb again, the firery mass that brought this bad b!tch into his life. It loses some of its beauty now, and looks more like a piece of hell now.

  • Scene Five:

Back in the backyard. “Whose fault?” Things are far simpler here. It’s just Ye, his girl, and their pet…sheep. lol. We can read into that if we like. Sheep are usually seen as followers, the bird-girl is always shown with the sheep, like she is part of that flock. Yes there is only one sheep. So maybe Ye thought that she was unique, but now his is doubting that idea, and seeing her as just another follower. She’s the white sheep, a follower. Ye, dressed Black, is the black sheep, inside the house, but out of the cage that is that backyard boxed wilderness.

Entropy has a hold of their bond now. “Blame Game” plays.

White fluffy clouds. Expanding a lot like the bomb that dropped but a lot easier on the eyes. Duality themes of love.

“Statues are phoenix turned to stone!…I have to burn! Or I’ll turn to stone.”

“No, I’ll never let you burn!”

I have to leave your world, or I’ll just be another thing for these people to stare at. I want to be flashy and fly, but on my own terms.

I won’t let you go.

I won’t be something for you to stare at either.

“Who will survive in America?”

I don’t know….

4/5 Black Ties

Stay classy world.

Foreign Frustrations

When you fly across the globe to spend time in a strange place, for a long or short time, language is always the first barrier you encounter. I had to deal with this frustration in China as well. Naturally, there is an adjustment period where you start to pick up certain words that will help you survive from day to day (directions, numbers, greetings and goodbyes).

This frustration is acceptable and I know that it is up to me how fast I learn Egyptian Arabic just as it was up to me when I was learning Mandarin.

What really peels my oranges is the apparent ignorance and/or inability of people to accomplish seemingly simple tasks. I thought it might be because I don’t speak the native language that I’m being given the run-around when it comes to me getting what is rightfully mine. But the people I’m dealing with speaking English as well! In some cases, I’m sure that I’m treated differently because I am a foreigner. In other cases, I’ve learnt that some people are just porch monkeys by habit.

I know I’m being vague, and that is for a reason. What I can tell you is that I tried sending a postcard to a great friend of mine and it has now been lost in the system. This friend is held in such high esteem by me that I put a considerable amount of work into ‘jazzing’ up the postcard with my personal aritistic touches. I hand wrote a paragraph that was so long, it really had no business fitting on such a small piece of paper. I hurt my hand and eyes trying to craft this masterpiece.

your word ain't worth shit

When it came time to send the thing. I took my time making sure that I could send it and that it would actually get to its intended destination. I had DHL and FedEx options available to me, but someone here said that I could send it through the normal mail with limited postage and it would still get to Canada; just not nearly as fast.

The speed of the postcards arrival wasn’t that important to me. I figured it would be a welcome arrival in my friend’s mailbox no matter the time or date. So I listened to this local person’s advice and went with him one afternoon to the post office. He asked an officer there where to go to send this international mail,  and yadda yadda yadda, I asked him if he was sure, then asked him to ask the officer is he was sure, both agreed, and I dropped the postcard into a mailbox.

Did it arrive?

A few weeks later the guy who took me to the post office said we went to the wrong post office and put the postcard into the wrong box and that it had probably been lost or thrown out by now. He informed me of this mistake so nonchalantly that I wanted to rip his sandy throat out (like MacGruber would). I refrained from any display of violence of course, and just smiled and said that it was ‘ok’.

I took pictures of the post card, because I guess I knew, never having sent a postcard before, that something like this might happen. I’ll upload them later, if I can find them.

Sorry dear friend of mine (you know who you are). But fret not, I’m not giving up so easily. I have a whole stack of postcards at home. And though you are surely busy back home with this and that, I’m not taking my name out of your hat yet.

I’m going to a black and white ball tonight (sort of) with Egypt’s elite (sort of). I’ll bring my camera along to share the PG moments.

Signing off,

Professor T