Trivial Religious Pursuits — Part One
Anyone else remember that game? Filled with what I call “cocktail party facts” that are only interesting in the ivory tower. Anyone outside the Matrix gives zero fucks about who originally sang RESPECT (Otis Redding) OR that the whistle at the end of Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay was supposed to be replaced by a trumpet solo (Otis got Sainted in R&B Heaven, therefore the iconic whistle remains) OR who wrote A Boy Named Sue (Shel Silverstein) OR the recent devastation: Brown Sugar is about the slave trade in New Orleans (hear him whip the women jus’ ‘round midnight). Notorious E.R.B. filled with cocktail party facts. One day in the ’90s I was dating a college dropout who brought me to a UVA-dominated (how Old Dominion of them) holiday party where there was an exchange of stories I could not relate to. That’s how I enlisted in the Ivory Tower Of “Facts” when the R&B ones are way more fun, but that’s only one category in the Box O’Trivials.
Not that anyone follows my medium temperature rants, but in one of my firsts, I broke down the etymology of “religion”: RE = “to do again”; LIG = “to tie”. This word, much like the word “namaste”: I bow 2U, gets elevated to “divinity”: DI = “twofold”; VIN = root *wei- “to turn, bend”. From Ghetto to Ivory Tower and then back down deep in one of many Ghettos, my undergrad in hermeneutics blesses me with the opportunity to wake U from “da FKRY” known as “binary thinking”. To be religious is to re-cognize the Dao that claims the one begets the two begets the ten-thousand tings. Binary code twists around the string theory making the “Holy Trinity”. SO, the next time any of U suckas call skin black or white, ground your coffee thoughts into Our Great Mother who knows that when we look at each other as shades of chocolate, then we are antioxidants. Hence my handle on FB: ChocolateMosesUnited. Been ranting HOT on that bitch for an awkwardly long time after getting arrested in Pennsyltucky fresh out of Ivory Tower School in California. Yah Mon… I was PISSED (and I don’t mean drunk).
Now I’m in Jamaica discovering the Rastafari lifestyle, a path that began in Santa Barbara shortly after 9/11. In 2003, all of a sudden, sustainability was a craving. Lucky soul that I have, landed in a concrete basement under the care of a Seventh Day Adventist Elder: Día de los Muertos. Elder and I bonded over the Kebra Nagast, a book given 2 me by a wandering ascetic dub poet out of SpanishTown. What’s the Kebra Nagast, U may ask? It’s the story of Solomon & Sheba (of Ethiopia), whom King James wanted no recognition of. Redactions should come as no surprise to any “people of the book”. After all, the Qur’an IS the O.T. written in Arabic. (Imagine Muhammad maybe being dyslexic? I’ve imagined Jesus as a non-practicing rapist or pedaphile, or a gay man… what with all those fishermen… would explain how H.I.M. came 2 recognition… after all, Muslims are taught to read The Book with great scrutiny, whereas Roman Catholics have it read to them like children and King Jamesers glean all kinds of confirmation bias… I digress.) Thankfully the ancestors walked me to “the other side” to a place aptly named Zion Country, where I was mistaken for a “white lady” tourist with blue eyes, and met Elder wit Kebra Nagast in-hand.
Sheba traveled all the way to Solomon. That’s a long way for good dick. Worth it? I haven’t read that far, but I know Solomon fell out of favor for making idols for another wife. (Anyone else wondering how polygamy got left out of the christian lexicon? Oh, right! Puritan inbreeding.) Mad respect 4 Sheba… just like the Chinese Foot-Binding ancestors who had their own secret language. I’ve turned down a lot of hard dick since I arrived in Jamaica, ignoring that it’s supposedly good 2 find? Stuck on how good dick is hard 2 find because I also read a meme from a ’70s t-shirt that read: Good Dick Will Imprison You (and it totally did in Pennsyltucky). This morning I was wondering how I’m going to manage this court case that eventually I must travel to… up the street from anything but Solomon whose Rasta equivalent resides on the other side of the harbor I escaped from.
Back 2 Trivial Religious Pursuits:
Practically since Day One in Jamaica I’ve felt threatened by generational trauma caused by colonial aggression. How anyone looks into my eyes and cannot look past my skin tone is a product of the cellphone and a similar colonization: RAPE. Thankfully, the other night I was in my new fave bar and a gentleman not only lit my cigarette, but gave me some bud, bought me two beers, the Rasta who gave him the weed gave me the Bob Marley necklace right off his neck, and they both walked me down to a small street party where they rocked da’ reggae mic. Some young empress started filming me dancing (nobody else was) and called me white. Corrected her on camera stating I’m brown (Sweet White Non-Existent Baby Jeezus). Let the trivial religious pursuits begin… woke up this morning, Alabama 3 style, and did three of the morning pages. Writer Roll Call ;)
Ah… the re-mind. Had an idea post-arrest for a restorative justice school with my restorative justice novel the scaffolding for The Restorative Justice League… homelessness has been quite the distraction… Notorious E.R.B. back wit da’Holy Writer Trinity:
(Stay tuned, true believers…)