Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
In our darkest hours, words thrust as daggers from our mouths,
Sharp and perilous as a bitter cold wind.
The birds sing, the church bells tremble, the cocks crow,
and our hearts shake in agony and laughter.
The curve of our breasts, entwined, is immeasurable,
unholy, no...just divine
and every breathe we take is our last,
No bitter choirs or regrets.
Our bodies move, in time with the ancient goddess,
as passion does, without sparrows, sun and darkness,
just light, cigarettes and wetness,
and the will to be unbroken.
Frail, gasping for breathe, tingling memories,
We scream our names, the only names that matter,
as god sings of wine and desire,
We moan, sigh and hold on...
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 6:18 PM
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
I just watched the most disturbing, revolting, appalling and disgusting video of a young Kurdish getting stoned to death in Iraq while policemen do nothing. This was an "honor killing". Honestly, there are a few Iraqi men I'd like to take out back and "honor" right now. Words can not describe my utter and complete rage and anger towards any human being or "man" that condones this sub-human behavior or commits any inhumane act towards another human being in the name of god, self-righteous morality or psychopathic villainy.
I hate too even post this video here but I hope it has the same effect on you that it had on me, which was utter revulsion, compassion for the girl and anger towards the animals that committed this brutal and sick act. VIOLENCE AGAINST HUMANITY MUST BE STOPPED AT ALL COSTS even if means using violence to obtain peaceful ends.
WARNING: These videos are EXTREMELY VIOLENT AND DISTURBING. PLEASE DO NOT WATCH IF YOU ARE FAINT OF HEART.
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 6:36 PM
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 5:47 PM
Friday, March 7, 2008
I came across this poem last night. Very inspiring...
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan;
The proper study of mankind is Man.
Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,
A being darkly wise and rudely great:
With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act or rest,
In doubt to deem himself a God or Beast,
In doubt his mind or body to prefer;
Born but to die, and reasoning but to err;
Alike in ignorance, his reason such
Whether he thinks too little or too much:
Chaos of thought and passion, all confused;
Still by himself abused, or disabused;
Created half to rise and half to fall;
Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled:
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 10:06 AM
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
What do you do...breathe I guess. All your instincts say breathe. breathe in. breathe deep. stay alive. just stay alive. god is in you...just breathe. you suck down a drink, a cigarette, a sigh, the pain...but no air. you silently gasp, scream, suffocate and die just a little. but then, you breathe, just breathe. you can't, you won't, you don't, but you do, you will, you can...just breathe. it's the first thing you do, and the last. How many breathes, who knows, who cares, just breathe...
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 6:59 AM
Sunday, February 17, 2008
I have known you since the beginning. You left no footprint to mark your passage, but I know you were there, invisible, like stone, like wind, like water and the emptiness of time.
I have known your name for a thousand years, carried on my breath in silent revelry, in unnamed places where lovers touch, empires die, spring falls, lions roar and willows rage against the light.
I've known your face for a thousand years, walked its deep lines and shining pallor, with tears, with laughter, with joy, with fear, with lust and the immutable, decaying, mortal coil.
I have gazed into your eyes for a thousand years, delighted, reflected, naked and raw. I've seen them burn with my desire and loneliness, like the eyes of devils, lost children, the starving, deceivers, the trodden, the drunks and the faithful.
I have walked with you for a thousand years, in dreams and on paths of all that has ever been, alone, brave, divine, shattered. Where death dissipates, where nothing matters, and the earth trembles beneath our feet.
I have spoken to you for a thousand years. Spoken, precious and sacred words, so beautiful, so broken. I have known you now, forever still. Unashamed to hold on, to love, to die, to fight, to surrender.
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 5:09 AM
Saturday, February 2, 2008
The aspect of this blank page, this emptiness that resembles cold snow in an barren field, this defiant void of white noise, staring back at me, taunting me, teasing my senses with promises of redemption, depravity and solace if I only give in...release, expel, explain...
I've been fucking staring at you for 2 hours...and nothing has happened. Though I've committed to your blankness, I've nothing to commit. So I sit...and I stare...barely able to breathe, to think, to dream, to desire and engage your provocation...your whim...your absolute silence.
What can I say? Today...against all odds...I've nothing to say. Nothing to reveal. Nothing...but this moment...here with you. I think I'll have another cigarette, sit and stare...just a while longer...
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 4:28 AM
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
This rage I feel, as strong, pure and raw as the love I have for you. This rage, this lingering, ugly, rage...scratching at my bones like brutal noise, like rusted metal, like your your fingernails on my skin when you come, when you hit me, when your angry, when you have nothing but my heart in your small lovely hands. I fucking hate you...and it drives me, as much as your passion, your lust, your ego, your pussy, your love. It destroys me, lifts me up, rapes me...
This rage I feel, as defiant as a child's, in need of a mother, constant, immediate, unrelenting...
This rage...full of hope and despair, brutality and compassion, hungry for you, dying for you, aching for you. That's all there is...and it hurts...like scraped knees and bicycles.
This love...this fucking love...fucking love...
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 11:43 PM
Friday, September 28, 2007
I've got her under my skin,
green grass eyes and golden flesh.
My veins ache for her, relentlessly,
though we've never met,
we will...I know...we will.
She doesn't know how fierce my blood flows,
on the floor of this temple, tonight.
She doesn't know I love her, here,
in this silence, in this light,
but she will...I know she will.
I've got her under my skin,
her fingernails digging in, and digging in.
I see her face, above my lips,
our bodies inside-out and falling down.
She's in me now and holding still,
I know she is...I know she is.
(She doesn't know I love her, now,
I know she will...I know she will).
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 1:16 AM
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Do you ever have days when nothing happens...
No simple conversations, no movies to see, no mags, no papers, no great books to read, no time to think, no email to send, no pennies to borrow, to save or to spend, no smiles, no fights, no stars in the sky, no food, no water, no darkness, no light,
no songs, no art, no pen, no ink, no music to play, no songs to sing, no lovers to call, no dates to break, no friends to bury, no flowers to bring, no place to go, no paths to take, nothing to touch, protect or save, no urgent need, no mouths to feed, no gigs, no work, no impossible dreams, no booze to drink or dope to kick, no grand designs or petty schemes, no visiting friends, no hearts to break, no phones ringing, no claims to stake, no plans for lunch, no plans for dinner, no raging parties or celebrity scenes, no letters from home, no push, no shove, no major event, no signs of love, no mountains to climb, no words to repent, no laughter, no sadness, no anger to vent, no fires burning, no raging storms, no sun, no rain, no children born, no lies to tell, no peaceful sleep, no dishes to wash, no fields to reap, no magic, no vision, no worries, no stress, no clothes to wear, no wounds to dress, no money earned, lost or spent, no desire, no tears, no laughter, no sex, no god, no religion, no life, no death...
Today was not one of those days...
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 3:00 AM
Saturday, September 22, 2007
will you take me there,
to all the places you've been,
with the crosses you bear
underneath your soft skin.
will you take me there,
through the cracks in the night,
into white burning light
and the hands of our sins.
will you take me there,
with the warmth of your mouth,
we can trip all the wires,
over and over again.
will you take me there,
to watch the sparrows die,
as they drown in your eyes,
as they burn in your sighs.
will you take me there tonight, baby...
take me there tonight.
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 12:08 PM
Thursday, September 20, 2007
He has no place with her now. His hands so dirty, worn and raw. Scraping the pavement of his desire, where only the cold wet stones know his name.
He has no place with her now. His aspect cracked and broken. Stinking of horror, sweat, wine and a lust for all that remains of a long disregarded dream.
He has no place with her now. His black coal eyes of willing rage. Burning holes in the sun, the seconds, the hours and death's voracious, ugly pallor.
He has no place with her now. His hungry heart, debauched, devoured. Cast out by a love that does not suffer a fool, the furious, the divine, the righteous, the coward.
He has no place with her now. No footprint. No vestige. No trace. No mark. Nothing to hold her face close, to kiss, to claim, to love, to harm.
He has no place with her, and now he is gone. Dissolved into shadows and acrid dust, beyond hope of Elysium's sweet embrace, a lovers glance, a state of grace.
He won't be coming home again, he won't be coming home.
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 5:40 PM
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
One of the things I enjoy the most about being a New Yorker is taking the subway late at night. If you've ever done it, you may understand. There is a certain raw sensuality, serenity, peace, solitude...in the echoes and vibrations of the tunnel, when the silence is only broken by the foul wind, scurrying rats, lone musicians wailing in song, trains rumbling into distant stations or the whispers, howls, laughter and babble of lovers, drunks or the homeless...offering kisses, gropes, prayers, ranting and curses into the damp rattle and hum. In the frenetic abundance and chaos that is NY, it is one of the few moments I have the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts, ideas, inspiration, music, sadness and reflections. In NY, being alone in the subway, is a commodity I truly enjoy...except...when I'm in a fucking hurry.
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 9:33 PM
Her anger blots out the sun
and the green is gone from her eyes
Desire dissipates, like a summer flower dying
yes, she told me once, but I had forgotten
and my fingernails are dirty still
now the green is gone from her eyes
She loved me once, it doesn't matter now
when her anger blots out the sun
tomorrow, yes, tomorrow
I'll hold her closer, closer then
I should have known, I should have cared
the green is gone from her eyes
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 3:33 AM
Monday, September 17, 2007
I was going through some old photographs I'd taken on the road and found this one. It was taken on the side of a highway in Tennessee. I love the way they do it in Memphis. Leave it to southern Baptists to utilize sexuality in advertising the good will of the holy spirit!
Think I'm going to re-examine my personal relationship with god and start praying more often! Please feel free to join me in this revelation and "COME" as often as humanly possible. Amen.
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 3:14 PM
Sunday, September 16, 2007
You are inside me. Like time, like air, like water. I think of you, I breathe. I think of you, I'm alive. I think of you and I'm aroused, revealed, free and nothing else matters. I think of you, as I walk, as I desire, as I drift and wander alone because you are not here. I see you in the faces of strangers, friends, lovers, enemies. I see you in all of them, beneath the skin, beneath the flesh, beneath the marrow. I think of you when it's dark, cold and unforgiving. When the thought of you washes away the fear, the anguish, the memory and the dirt from my feet. I think of you and wonder, if the man I am is worthy of you, your love, your divinity, your sorrow...when we're on the floor, broken, raw and ashamed. When every shadow bears the face of angels. When every whispered word, cuts to the bone. I want to kiss you now, hold you, fuck you, touch you, speak too you in tongues and in the darkest hours, when there is no mercy, embrace you. I want to know no illusions, no fear, no hesitation as the world dissolves and you are there, naked and alone but for me. I think of you, in this graceful, delicate hour and all there is...is the thought of you.
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 2:00 AM
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Moby recently sent me this photograph and video. Racism always inspires the same visceral reaction. It would be an understatement to say that I was not enraged, moved beyond tears and filled with an immense sense of anger, despair and revelation. Even though I have seen these images many times before, each time, the impact is as absolute. They have never failed to reanimate the horrid realities of the ignorant, hate fueled, racist and violent roots of America's past. In sharp contrast, I was also completely elevated and enlightened by the video, song and Billie's power, courage and spirit. Though the photo and the song are almost 70 years old, I believe they will reverberate in the human psyche forever.
This story must be remembered, not only to remind us of the lowest aspirations of man, but his highest. And though there are thousands of similar stories regarding man's depravity, inhumanity and cruelty, from Darfur to Guantanamo, Abu Gharaib to Auschwitz...each story can help us to remember, understand, aspire, transcend and prevail to the highest aspects of our nature and humanity.
So...here is the history of the song. It was written by a New York activist named Abel Meeropol after seeing the Shipp/Smith photograph. On an side note, Abel was also the adoptive parent of the children of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, the couple who were executed in the 1950's for allegedly spying for the Russian KGB.
Single by Billie Holiday
Writer: Abel Meeropol
"Strange Fruit" is a song most famously performed by Billie Holiday that condemnsAmerican racism, particularly the practice of lynching and burning African Americans that was prevalent in the South at the time when it was written."Strange Fruit" began as a poem about the lynching of two black men written by a Jewish schoolteacher from the Bronx Abel Meeropol, who used the pen name Lewis Allan (the names of his two children, who died in infancy). Meeropol and his wife were also the adoptive parents of the children of the executed alleged spies Ethel and Julius Rosenberg in the 1950s. "Strange Fruit" was written as a poem expressing his horror at the lynchings, and was first published in 1937 in The New York Teacher, a union magazine. Though Meeropol/Allan often asked others (notably Earl Robinson) to set his poems to music he set Strange Fruit to music himself and the song gained a certain success as a protest song in and around New York. Before Holiday was introduced to the song, it had been performed by Meeropol, by his wife, and by black vocalist Laura Duncan, who performed it at Madison Square Garden.
Meeropol said later that he had been inspired by seeing Lawrence Beitler's photograph of the lynching of Thomas Shipp and Abram Smith in Marion, Indiana. "Strange Fruit" was eventually heard by Barney Josephson the founder of Cafe Society, New York's first integrated nightclub, who introduced it to Billie Holiday. Holiday performed the song at Cafe Society in 1939, a move that by her own admission left her fearful of retaliation. Holiday later said that the imagery in "Strange Fruit" reminded her of her father's death, and that this played a role in her persistence in performing it. The song became a regular part of Holiday's live performances.
Holiday approached her recording label, Columbia, about recording the song, but her producer John Hammond—the man credited with originally discovering her—did not support her choice, and Columbia refused to record the song. Holiday arranged to record it with Commodore, Milt Gabler's alternative jazz label in 1939. She would record two major sessions at Commodore, one in 1939 and one in 1944.
"Strange Fruit" was highly regarded and in time became Holiday's biggest selling record. Though it became a staple of her live performances at the time, Holiday's accompanist, Bobby Tucker, later commented that Holiday would break down after every performance of it.
The "strange fruit" referred to in the song are the bodies of African American men hanged during a lynching. They contrast the pastoral scenes of the South with the ugliness of racist violence. The lyrics were so chilling that Holiday later said "The first time I sang it, I thought it was a mistake. There wasn't even a patter of applause when I finished. Then a lone person began to clap nervously. Suddenly
everyone was clapping and cheering."
The club owner immediately recognized the impact of the song on his audience and insisted that Holiday close all her shows with it. Just as the song was about to begin, waiters would stop serving, the lights in club would be turned off, and a single pin spotlight would illuminate Holiday on stage. During the musical introduction, Holiday would stand with her eyes closed, as if she were evoking a prayer.
The song became an instant success and came to be the piece most identified with Holiday, and was ultimately to become the anthem of the anti-lynching movement. The dark imagery of the lyrics struck a chord, and can be said to have planted one of the first seeds of what would later become the Civil Rights movement of the 50s and 60s.
Posted by Aaron A. Brooks at 2:30 AM