Sunday, 16 November 2014

LOVE LETTER TO JOANNE

16/11/2014

My Darling Joanne,

hali ya hewa hapa ni kuwa baridi kama sisi kukimbia hadi msimu wa sherehe, taabu katika theluji. Mimi kwa kweli chuki wakati huu wa mwaka, kwa upande upande kwa wale barafu tajiri viongozi baridi. Wakati huu wa mwaka joto iliyopewa kichwa watu, ambao wote ni busy flashing pochi zao kubeba. CAN YOU IMAGINE!  Hakuna mtu anajua jirani yao na kila mtu ni ganda katika mitaa salama. Jambo wajinga ni, wanaonekana hivyo hofu ya kufanya makosa. Wao kuchukua wenyewe hivyo kwa umakini. Ni karibu haiwezekani kuwa na yoyote ya kujifurahisha. Wao ni mbio kikatili na kamwe kuwa kitu chochote zaidi ya tamaa, chuki, mbaya, binadamu. Je, unaweza kufikiria!

Kutupatia nyuma hadhi yetu, yetu heshima na nguvu. Hakuna hata mmoja wetu hapa katika mashariki ni wahamiaji, sisi ni mali hapa, jinsi duniani unaweza kusema sawa. Wewe ni mgeni kwa nia mbaya, tunaona kwa nini wewe ni. Sisi kujua nini ubinadamu ni lakini wewe waliopotea hatia yako siku wewe kujifunza kuandika. Lazima kufikiri kwetu wajinga wote; wale walio na akili kidogo na hata kidogo maana kuliko magharibi kemikali virusi. Sote hapa, unaweza kuona nini ni devilishly kucheza katika, kwa sasa ni wazi.

Wewe waongo machafu, wewe binaadamu mdogo, wewe kuja juu ya visiwa yetu na gesi kipenzi familia zetu mbele ya wapenzi watoto wetu wakaondoka. Hili ni jambo gumu kumeza. Sisi itakuwa furaha kurudi tabia yako mchafu katika aina. Sisi sumu yako cories pathetic na overweight na kufanya wajukuu wako wote kuangalia mbwa kuharibiwa kama wao kufa. Next sisi itakuwa mzigo lethal bolt wa akili na kuwa ni fired kutoka high-msukumo bunduki ndani ya nyuma ya vichwa vya thoroughbreds yako yote katika hakikisha yao ya kifalme. Tunahitaji kufundisha somo lakini moja utasikia kamwe kusahau. Sisi hivyo mno wanataka kuonyesha nini aibu, wenye huruma rundo nyote ni katika magharibi. maisha bila huruma ni tupu na unatoka wapi, mioyo yenu ni kukosa. Wewe kuonekana binadamu lakini wewe ni bila roho, bila adabu.

Sisi kuonyesha maana ya nguvu na sisi kuuliza si kwa ajili ya fidia yako, ni wote pia marehemu kwa ajili hiyo. Tunataka kuona nguvu yako kupokonya, nchi yako kuharibiwa, maji yako kamili ya ugonjwa huo. Wakati umefika kwa mabadiliko ya kweli na mabadiliko katika kudhibiti sasa katika mikono yetu na sisi nia ya kuponda adui zetu zote na sisi alitaka kuanza kampeni zetu na wewe na rafiki yako. 

Jojo unaweza sexy mnyama. Kutuma upendo wangu kwa ng'ombe wako wa kifalme. I am kufikiri ya dada yako na ndugu na kila siku mimi kuamka. Wewe ni mwamba wangu na kwa kuwa mimi ni milele kushukuru. Upendo wangu wote kama siku zote. Wewe ni malaika wangu na mimi kupiga bus

Love,

Joe X

Saturday, 15 November 2014

Stealing a Nation

This is make you cry. Make you so sad, so disappointed in the powers that be. So angry, so upset with the world that we live in. The ruthlessness is shocking. The people are scum and they run the land called England. They are rotten to the core. They treat the world like dogs. One day the dogs will bite back and chew them up for their sins. Nobody is innocent and all are to blame. As if a human being can possibly live without a conscience - Let us point to these rotten people. POINT THEM ALL OUT....One day all the dogs with charge!

A Mother breast-feeds her child with the milk of human saddness only for a child to grow up to be strong enough to commit suicide. The family pets are all killed as a warning as they are all packed off like cattle. Made to sleep in the cargo ship on bird shit. This is outrageous and this is what Democracy looks like under the microscope. Let us make is clear as day what we are looking at and let us call it as we see it, as Totalitarian US/UK regimes. Known as Dictatorship in any other territory. What criminals they all are.

IF THIS DOESN'T TELL YOU WHAT IT TAKES TO RUN THIS ROTTEN WORLD I DON'T KNOW WHAT WILL. THE LIARS THAT CALL THEMSELVES LEADERS ARE A DISGRACE - SHAME TO YOU ALL. THE WORLD CANNOT STAND BACK AND LOOK-ON WITH THIS "QUIET DISREGARD" | THE PRICE FOR FREEDOM AND DEMOCRACY IS FAR TOO HIGH....


Friday, 14 November 2014

My Best Friend Luke

14/11/2014


Dear Luke,

I have the FEAR, Luke. We spoke of this before but today it has heightened up to fever-pitch. It is worse than before, nobody is watching me. Nobody is touching me at all. Nobody is talking to me in my head, in my dreams or even in my bedroom. Nobody is near me or even tries to see me anymore.  I have started to write again as you suggested. Only short pieces but ones I think hold meaning to me. I am writing a blog and want nobody to read it, my precious thoughts all scrambled down on an e-book. Luke, promise me you will never try to find it. Never Google my name and read me wrong; please I beg you Luke, never see what I have written. You will judge me as others do. You will see me as a failure, as a loser, as the reject I have always been. Promise me now, Luke. Promise me you will never read a letter that I type.  

Luke, I am learning all about the Internet and trying to use mass media but sadly, I seem to be so fucking misunderstood, so misread and under-heard by the others. Those glorious employed goodie-goodies we sometimes talk about. I feel silenced, alone and so terribly frightened. Luke if you read this by accident let it never been known just how empty I felt as I typed. I have nobody to share my thoughts with. To cuddle on a sofa with. I don't even have a sofa to sit on. One chair is all I need in my humble abode. I have nobody to scream at me and tell me what to do. To run around me with a broom or wet smelly cloth or a vaccum cleaner pushing their weight around, obsuring the television screen as always. Nobody to ask me, “so Honey Bunny how was your day?”  The loneliness we learnt about is real. It is not just in the books we read or in those songs we used to listen to: Lonely like a Fox...Lonely and Looking for Love. Are you Going Down Lonely Street and the The Lonely Road is Long. The Classics from our 70's childhood. Luke, loneliness has a face, it has arms and legs. It has teeth and a smile. I’ve seen loneliness Luke. He lives in my basement. I see him in the corner of my eye Luke. I see him first thing every morning, when I wake and have fresh coffee to wake me up and I spit at him, Luke. Every day I spit in his ugly face and then wipe away the mess. I spit at him maybe 3 or 4 times a-day, Luke. I know it’s wrong but I just can’t help myself, Luke. He just irritates me as he goes on and on and on about Africa. Rambling on about the artists from Egypt, then artists from Ghana, then artists from Kenya, Uganda and even thinks he knows a thing or two about South Africa. He sits there laughing his fat tits off. I hate him so and I never want to see him again. As he pushes his head back and begins his insane laughter about Abstract Africa and how he loves to write. Luke, I must let you in on a little secret....I have never seen him pick up a pencil. Or make notes about his pitiful life. His mad ideas about the forgotten Continent and his constant babble about the Dark Ages of Africa. Shouting; "WE MOCK YOU IN THIS VERY ROOOM. WE BOTH DO!" He is so lazy and just sits in the corner giggling. I see his face full of spit and start to giggle back.

Until next time my wonderful friend. I do realise you are very busy. I've called and called and called again. You have obviously gone travelling without your mobile phone. Why else would you not pick up when I called and left so many messages. Please come and see sometime. I’m very lonely and miserable so please bring me one of your famous smiles sooner rather than later.

Much love and loneliness from your best friend,

Joe Pollitt

WHO WILL WRITE TOMORROW?

A piece I wrote today whilst thinking about the business Cheeseboards. The CEO, Chairwomen of tomorrow. Sniffing the sweet smell of office equipment and thinking, more ink needed for the printer.

Who Will Write Tomorrow?

You read me wrong. You have always read me wrong. To be honest, you have wanted to read my words upside down, thinking so little of me; respecting all the magical parts of me, never. Intrusting in me in no way at all; our friendship is paper thin. You hurt me today and I know you will keep on hurting me all of my natural life. These cuts need more than plasters, even more than butterfly-stitches; they are gashes in my flesh, my weak apathetic Anglican skin. No thread can bide these scars; these wounds, that you are so keen to inflict upon me.  Misunderstand me again and enlightening me of all my faults; preach to me of my silliness; my stupidness; my “Cuntishness”, as you politely call it. Those all-so-horrid-things I seem to be in your demonic head. Those words and actions that so offends your delicate set of decencies. You watched beach-boys in Gaza, their flesh that flew into pieces and yet you were not offended. You saw men buried, up to their necks in mud and trained horses stampeding all over their precious faces, but still you were not moved to act. You watched in quiet silence as a fellow creature was slowly sliced to death with the tiny blade of a Swiss Army knife yet still you refused to shed a tear. Nothing ever moves you. But if I were to say to you, "You are a criminal", you would sentence me to death. What will it take to make you see sense? To make you read a word I write. To comment on my anger felt.  To be forever on my side and gently kiss me on my cheek whilst stroking my hair and whispering sweet-nothings, “Tomorrow will be a better day. Hush now....All is quiet, all is bright. Hush now....You are not alone. You are with me and I am by your side, so feel my breath on your cold ear as I blow my love to you. Healing you with all my warmth, hush now, my sweetie-pie, my friend and African comrade; I am forever with you. Feel me closely as I send my warmth deep inside of you. I will read you right and together we can write tomorrow.”



Author | Joe Pollitt 2014

This is my first attempt at SoundCloud

GROUND ZERO | AMERICA UNITED.

I was really touched by this video posted by Olayami Dabls from Detroit, Michigan so much so I decided to write:

Give me your blood. Let me wipe it all over my face. Smear it from my forehead to my chin and let the deep red liquid drip-down; splish-splashing onto my naked feet in my open sandals. I feel that warmth that was once inside of you and all too quickly so it clots and becomes as sticky as honey between my toes. We are connected. Like it or not we are ONE. We all need the same water to drink, air to breathe, kisses to sleep, hands to hold and shoulders to hug. So yes, I hear you my sister, my brother, my mentor. I hear you so deeply it hurts. To know greed will win over our commonsense as we watch our communities slit their throats for some release and watch every tree to see if any of the branches can hold a hanging weight. Ground Zero is far from New York City. Have no illusion. Where the money is made the damage is done. Ground Zero is on every single reservation in the land that is so hypocritically named, the United States of America. 

Author Joe Pollitt, 2014





Post by MTV.

 



Thursday, 13 November 2014

Volunteers Needed in AFREECAR

A must see for those that love Humanity and A F R I C A..





SAVE AN AFRICAN NOW! AFRICA WILL NOT SAVE ITSELF....




THEY HAVE SO LITTLE YET THEY SMILE....


Monday, 10 November 2014

Writing for pleasure.

Thinking today about this idea of humanity, a word that is being thrown around like a dishcloth of late. What does humanity look like? Does it have a face even? What do we think about when we casually say the word? What is the motivation to create, to wake up and start writing or producing art? The purpose of which is to somehow enlighten others on thoughts and in sharing our universal commonalities reminds ourselves that we are not alone. It is agonising to see the way in which the people of Liberia, Sierra Leone and Cote D'Ivoire are being treated. As if they could be tested upon, sent man-made plagues and think that is acceptable in our modern era of global technology. Well it is certainly not. What is to done with these countries of unrestrained power? The ultimate control the Western world has over the global citizens is unacceptable and it is the job of the artist to address this tyranny.  How can one express the sentiments of the world? Maybe through a flood of tears. To rant and rage about it would seem pointless as these are the darkest days in modern times.  Nobody will listen if you screamed but all of us are connected in ways we never thought possible before. The will of the world is being challenged and the voices are gushing in from every angle.  The pain that we are experiencing is universally shared between us all but this heart-ache is difficult to live with. What is happening is that we are starting to turn ourselves off, diverting our attention elsewhere, focusing on the positive and ignoring the ugliness that is so unbearable to witness.

Today, I am allowing myself the luxury of thinking. Personally, I am keen to find out where my thoughts will take me and so I am writing for pleasure. Dancing with the spirits that fly inside of me, that talk to me in my alone time, my not quite asleep, half-drunk, tearful times. I am thinking about this journey I have taken and heard others say, "Well I could of been very rich if I had gone into the private sector." I never think like that and only see myself as me after all it is only I that has to live with me. All the choices that I made and will always make are mine alone. My journey or destiny is set-out purely by the character I was born into and happily shaped over years of undisciplined thought. My driving factor has always been my love for humanity, always seeking out the best in those I have met and those I am yet to meet. My thoughts on what makes an artist are interesting and worthy of note. An artist is dangerous, unpredictable, spontaneous and exciting. You never know what the artist will do next. Society fears and adores the artist. A character that does what they can't do, be themselves. The artist is wild, lawless and free. Untamable and impossible to live with. As an artist you must open up your heart in public. Let the world in and watch them rip out your organs and chomp on all that is precious to you. Better still is having your dreams crushed and ideas mocked and hearing a voice in the corner saying, "I could of done that!" In order to save your soul why not think of your art as mere product. A canvas like a Hienz beanz can, like a trash can, a coke can or an African.

My thoughts of late have been on the "Middle Passage" - this journey from Europe to Africa to the Americas. This endless idea of First World vs Third World. A time of slavery and when the world lost it's religion or found it depending on how you see the long journey of change. When the Kingdoms of West Africa threw out their most valuable assets, those that understood about the nature and the ephemeral world of the spirits. What is exciting is how traditional African religion travelled throughout the different regions, changing ever so slightly in each location, re-defining itself as Hoodoo rather than Voodou. The oral culture is far more versatile than that of the Biblical books or the aggressive nature of the so-called peaceful Islam, Judaism and Christanity, all of which have blood dripping from their fingertips on a daily basis. I see Africans as good travellers, great friends and by and large, hard workers. All creativity and kindness comes from West Africa. Goodness is there in abundance. The sense of what is right and wrong is paramount and these codes are of vital importance to all those in the region. The moral compass of humanity is perfectly balanced and it is here we need to be focusing our attentions on now. We in the West are really lost and every day we keep on losing another inch of decency for the price of a bacon-cheese-burger.

We now know that Judas was on the cross rather than the written version of Jesus. He has become our scape-goat, our version of betrayal and our channel for our personal hatefulness. We know the importance of Mary Magdalene, who we now know was the lover of Christ and the mother of the Christians but the Papalcy would never agree to that. Never agree to have a whore hold such power on earth but that is the reality of history but the sacred books are written and re-written to serve a certain purpose; that of spreading the wickedness we are witnessing in our homes all around the world. So who is to save us now? Where do we look for our Saviour on earth? Where else but in West Africa, where life began and our human origins belong...
.