It's Black History month and I feel
like a June Taylor dancer kicking my legs to the sky.
I don't know what it is that's come over me.
And to think that Valentine's Day is just around the corner
(probably with a handgun).
There are 450, 000, 000 guns carousing in Amerika
(that's half a billion guns, son).
They can't all be to protect us against the Black man, can they?
What's your feel? Leave a comment. I'm taking a poll.
Take cosmologist Stephon Alexander.
He ain't no Carl Sagan. Ain't goan say, "We Be Star Stuff."
Mostly because he's an Ivy League genius.
He will say however that he's a panpsychist.
He says that in his book, Fear of a Black Universe.
You get chills.
Like he was saying we really are altogether
and whitey can't have all the particles. Sorry.
His other book, The Jazz of Physics
is superior in every way. Says Coltrane was on to something.
We knew Sun Ra was on or onto something,
but it's nice to see the music spheres finally validated
by a genius in a zoot suit.
I feel like I'm just coming out of the haze of good ganja smoke
at an all-night jazz festival reserved for people like me who Know.
White and disillusioned and full of bonker beans.
Oh man.
Another colored person I like a lot is Angela Davis.
I mean, I've got a thing. Bad.
When I learned that California means Caliphate and
that supposedly it was ruled by a near naked Amazonian woman warrior,
I'm thinking of Angela Davis. You?
Angela took no sh*t from nobody, still doesn't.
Although I was sad when she wouldn't let me Zoom her.
I wanted to reminisce about the feist of light she was and is. She yawned.
Who's Zoomin Who, right?
In her kingdom by the sea, basically full of naked warriors
(hold me up, I'm swooning)
she's protected by bad ass griffins who sniff out and eat
errant mighty whitey's pervin and perpin from caves.
They don't see what's coming.
I don't mean the revolution ahead: That's obvious.
That's 450, 000, 000 guns not fuckin guitars.
I mean her splendor. Angela Davis, I love you.
my June Taylor valentine.