Been in need of some Poetic respiration...

Inhale Inspiration,

Smells of green sprouts

New thoughts begin to bud and beam

Words take life

From lips are formed and take flight

light up the skyline like an array of colourful kites

Strung along by song birds and beat box bees,

Poetic vibes from smokey trees

Drift, drift and settle

In the dips of eager ears,

And curls of kinky hair,

Settles, and is absorbed

Like rain on thirsty land,

Like the touch of a lovers hand

It sends shivers down spines,

Flares in once darkened minds,

Gives sight to the once blind

Pollinates your mind

You’ll find all you need to do is take a moment and

Feel, heal, smell, taste, hear, be real

Take a moment to breath,

Inhale…inspiration

Set in motion poetic respiration.

Untitled Slam Poem...hot off the top of the dome

In a place where bare thighs
Lustful eyes
Are vivid in the daytime everyday social scene
Its hard to continue rockin your old crocs and jeans .

In a place where money crowns you king of the jungle,
And more than just two can do the sexual tango
Its hard to relate to the opposite sex,
Especially if your not after their sex…

In a place where faces are made up in make up
And boobs aint boobs if they cant fit into a C cup,
Its hard for a sister to be seen naked,
Or be noticed if she doesn’t look like she gonna give it up…

In a place where the poison is in plenty and sweet,
And seemingly innocent sweets are Viagra tweaked,
It’s hard to stay sober,
Or know whether you’re standing behind the boundary or if you’re already over it!

In a place where the past is hard to get past,
And old friends with strings are still attached to your Ship’s mast,
It’s hard to just let go and go with the wind,
Hard to touch someone else when you’re still wearing his ring.

In a place where small talk is common
And smooth lies are a popular side dish right after fries,
It’s hard to have a real conversation,
Because getting to know a person isn’t often the main motivation.

It’s hard to maintain your essence and stay fresh
When you’re on heavy rotation
Trying out different selves in attempt not to stay on the shelf,
Sex sells.
Cultures based on retail.
What else can you do but accelerate when you’re on a high way,
Apart from keep your hands on the wheel
Steady, otherwise you might derail…

Slam Poetry

So i get a heads up on a slam poetry night on this wednesday in KL, and ended up chatting to one of the brains behind the whole thing, and like as if i needed any convicing i decided that i was going to be there, front and centre! Maybe with a peice of folded up paper of poetry, just in case the urge to jump up on stage surfaces.

^_^

as you can tell i'm super excited to be going, googled the place and evrything! Its just that with the loads of poetry i had, i couldnt pick one! So that meant i had to drop (if anything will be dropping) something fresh.

So I put on my mellow poetic vibes, sat in a dark room, smokey with thoughts,

and i wrote:

Third world demons
Entwined in the curls of afro hair
Cast deep set shadows
On the faces of 'the dark people'
From the black continent.

I’m sure you’ve heard of them,
Seen them, know them…

Figures with hollowed eyes,
Coated with a buzz of flies,
Media lies…
Curled up looking all diseased and sickly,
But I am not sick.
The parasite makes me sick,
Corrupted,
The Alcohol makes me weak,
Manipulated,
The poverty makes me meek.

The shackles were broken a long time ago,
By freedom fighters,
Panthers,
Messiahs!
But Still, laying on the dungeon floor,
A heap, unbound
with so much potential to be so much more…
But still laying on the floor,

In battle with myself over
Whether the arm or leg,
Banyankore or Buganda,
Malaysian or Indonesian,
Africans, European, Asians
Is more superior?

What is more superior?
Is it the neck or the head?
Or is it just what we are fed
Aren’t we all part of the same body,
Same country,
Same ethnicity,
Same human beings?

Just organs,
Of different biological functions
But all made of cells?

Is Black really dark,
Or is it our own shadows that tint us?
Sometimes we act possessed,
Most of us are media obsessed,
Used and confused,
Side-effects of
Third world demon mind tricks.

Usually my poems are short and sweet, but i made this a little hevier, longer, "slam-ier" (if such a word exists).

currently untitiled, but nomiated to be the poem i perform at my first open mic ever...

Locked out...

Little black girl
In a big bad world
Sat in the doorway
Head bowed,
Arms warped around her knees,

Alone, locked out.
He invited her in.

Swung the door open and approached, her
Nose flared, trying to catch the smell of coffee, sex, ill intent…
The air was clear, but her mind was fogged with conditioned stereotypes
That cast shadowy figures of black erections and beady black eyes in dark alleyways
Wifebeaters, blunts and beer,
A sense of fear
Was her initial reaction to him,
a brother, neighbor, possible friend, possible rapist,

He invited her in,

Offering her a place to wait until the locksmith came
She smiled and said no.
She was fine, although she really wasn’t,
She’d rather wait it out, alone
Than in a room of black men.

He opened the door,
She closed it and sat in the doorway
Alone.
Locked out.

MANuFACtured

Streams of brain matter pour into steel molds,
Shaped, to fit into the System,
Tested, to see if they’ll hold,
Disciplined, to do as their told,
Rejected, if they melt, crack or fold
But if they survive the engraving of education ,
They are passed down the assembly line,
Until a suitable use for them is found,
A lifetime bound,
A career.

They claim they’ve ‘found themselves’,
‘Realized what they were born to do’,
Programmed to do,
MANuFUCKtured.
Certificates issued and tagged,
Then ejaculated into the job market
Like sperm swimming to survive,
to sell, themselves.

Some get sold,
Like hot cheap pussy on a cold and lonely night,
Some stock up,
In the unemployment warehouse, Until:
They are bought at a lesser value,
Get too old to fit in the carton,
Break out or get broken,
Or simply rot.
Forgotten.
It doesn’t matter,
either way we are replaced
by better-stronger- faster-sluttier-dumber-younger
living products.

Manufactured.

Ready made paintings for sale (Just add water) lol

So a friend of mine has all these paintings crowding in his room which he wants to get rid of, so i thougt why not put them on my blog, see if anyone is interested in them.
They are pretty big and price is negotiable so ya...holla at me if you are interested. (send me an email at eizzy.k600@yahoo.com if you dont want to put you number/contacts out there for potential stalkers to pick up) or simply leave your contact under the comments and i'll get at you soon. (we can fedex them too for those beyond borders). LoL.

'The Red drape of Motherhood' - Going at 200,000/= (negotiable)

'Dusk of boyhood' - 180,000/= (negotiable)

'under her wing' - 150,000/= (negotiable)

**Bless.**

Where dogs go to die

You drew me out
As a blade would pressed to flesh.
Cloaked in the tantalizing nature of death
Like a night light to insects
You induce a deadly attraction,
A pleasure from pain,
Of which only you are to gain.

Stirring an urge
Deep in the wombs of women,
You thread a sorrowful scent of helplessness
By the careless flicker of your tail
Which you knew would be difficult not to trail

A dying dog
In search for its final resting place
I follow, at first, at a distance
Till you find a peace with me;

We share an intense intimacy
As you let me watch you
Undress your wounds
And dress them in pieces of me
Remained stained in your blood
Bound to your side
A bandage you bled through
Now used, healed and discarded,
Left only with a slashed scar, a reminder of you.

4 Jny23...

Sneak preview:

So, I decided to get my shit together and stop doodling and start painting for people. This one goes out to jny23...Why? Because he asked (was serious about it).

so here's what i came with today (I will spare you the sketches and doodles)

First Draft:

Medium: Watercolour

I know its abit all over the place with the colours and crazy background patterns but i was just experimenting, before i do the final thing in Oil paint on canvans...it will eventually look more "together"...lol

(hope the nudity is okay, not too much?)

*Bless*

Thanks for the support!

YGB my ass...

So i was watching TV the other day and see this really cool competion on channel O, it stated: "Make your own *YGB t-shirt, and stand a chance of becoming a VIP at the Channel O Music Video Awards. Simply log in below to get started."

*YGB- Young Gifted and Black, its a really dope campaign aimed at 'fueling the dreams of a new generation, making them realise their potential, their beauty and their strength'.

I got so psyched up and went straight to my sketch book, see, i've always loved Tshirt/poster/album cover art, its a culture i feel part of! Plus its something i want to do in future (as a side thing), so might as well start here.

I've made my own posters and CD covers (for my countless bootlegs and also due to the lack of affordable original 'stuff'), even printed shirts at school before, so i already had loads of ideas running through my head...

YOUNG GIFTED AND...

Black, Blessed, Beautiful, Brown, Broken, Broke...(LoL)

Workin' it!...or...Strugling, Poetic, Soulful, Gangsta, KickAss, Undiscovered, Revolutionary, Inspired, Loaded (clickclick BOOM)...i could come up with them all day!

A section of my sketch book:

And this is what i settled on, as a possible final piece (without the afro yet)...How i was gonna print that on a Tee, dont ask, it was work in progress...i did have a few ideas on where to begin...

It would make a dope Tee right?

Too bad it wont happen!
I loged in and one of the terms and conditions were:
"This competition is only open to persons who are citizens of, or residents in, South Africa"

UGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

so much for inspiring "young african artists"...more like "young SOUTHafrican artists"!!

major bummer!

:-(

Power Cut Spooks...

Candle 1: Do you sense something...?

Candle 2: Huh? Nah, relaaax!

Candle 2 : OMG! I think i just sensed it too...

Candle 1: Told you!...I think its coming from behind us!!

LoL...it was funny last night! Got a little bored last night during the powercut so i decided to spook the candles out...

The Coin with the silver lining...

The car slowed as it reached the junction, waiting for the traffic light to turn Green. She looked over to her daughter, seated beside her in the front, and noticed she looked uncomfortable. As she began to inquire what was wrong, she followed her daughters gaze; that’s when she noticed the miniscule scrawny hands extended to her, slightly cupped together, the beggar’s gesture. She slightly held her breath and quickly fumbled over the buttons that pulled up the car windows.

“I hate these beggar children!” she exclaimed with a grimace. Her face screwed up out of edgy unease rather than anger. The sight of the malnourished tattered street children, some as young as two, struck deep in her. It hurt her. Made the car, the clothes, the lifestyle she and her family had seem obscene in comparison. Yet she knew there were much richer, right here, like the overweight lady in the Cream Mercedes in front of them, flashing her golden bangles and rings that draped her oversized hand that was crocked out of the car window. Or the man in the dark suite, laughing loudly on his blackberry in the car that towered behind them.
They seemed oblivious to the half naked begging child. It reminded them too much of the poverty they desperately escaped. The poverty they knew too well. So they conveniently avert their eyes. Roll up their windows to shut them out, at least for a while, until the traffic moved again.

But no matter how high the car, despite tightly sealed tinted windows and loud music over the car radio, they were unable to shut out the nagging yet faint voices of the beggars. “Mama…mama…aunty…lukumi…aunty…lukumi…”

Young and unexposed to the harshness of life, her daughter pleaded; “Mum, just give them 500 shillings…please, he’ll go away…just a single coin”. If she wouldn’t do it for the beggar child, she would do it for her daughter. To ease the discomfort from her face; it wasn’t making the situation any easier to deal with either. After all, what did she care what the street urchin did with the money. He could go buy drugs for all she cared; at least he would be able to escape his godforsaken existence just for a little while.

So she pulled her large Gucci bag to her laps and scratched for a coin in her purse, amongst large 20 and 50 thousand notes. She eventually pulled out a 200 shilling coin. That would do. As she began to roll down her window slowly, the street child became excited at her response. She had heard his pleas. He began to grab for the single simmering coin.The coin with a silver lining. His heightened reaction stuck panic in her, the feel of his boney, grimy fingers on her lotioned hand made her jump. She spastically tossed the coin.

It flew over the boys head and struck the ground in the middle of adjacent road. Increased heart beat made her deaf to her daughters screams, as he scrambled for it, on hands and bare feet, it struck. Like a single heart beat. Then speed off, departing with his life, flinging his bloody body to the side pavement. He lay, lifelessly limp, a dirty bundle covered in capitalist shit, clutching the shiny coin to his chest.

The man in the car behind began hooting impatiently at them.
The light had turned Green.




WRITERS NOTE: I didnt know where to blog this, but i figured in the middle would be appropriate, after all, its about art...and stuff. lol. Decided to write something a little longer than my short poems...i guess i have more time on my hands these days.

Something Special (unfinished)...

I felt like painting today,
a picture of us

4 u

Thats all i managed to do today. Was pleased with how its coming out, for a first draft piece...
Experimental, Emotional, Magical

Medium: watercolour

Background music : The Magic Wands - Magic Love and Dreams

Then i did a little more...

Music: Girl with the gun (self titled album)

Blue Zombie Feet

I think y'all already know that i have a thing for feet...

Got this idea from a memo i saw on some site, which asked you what ur fave body part was, and to photograph it.

No, my feet arnt really blue, I used negatives and amped up the contrast.

I like how ghostly they look...

Komushana aka Sunshine

Decided to take Robins advice and not to explain my artwork anymore, just gonna post it, let y'all figure it out yourselves...unless you ask.

Media: Oil paints on canvas
did this during summer of 2007, but no one has ever seen it, so thought i'd post it...

*Bless*

Misplaced

Displaced,
Yet from this place
Was born, breed and raised;
Then was educated in intoxicating European ways.
Mentally cropped, chopped and divided
Like colonial territories
Disregarding natural geographical features and boundaries
Boarders drawn between legs,
Standing neither here nor there
Placed i was
....................Displaced
All in the same place.

Addicted to knowledge...

My mind is laced
With a hunger for knowledge, I chase
Enlightenment, so through words I forage,
Searching… for what I do not know,
Yet yearn to know.
Searching… for the light
To fight off the encroaching darkness of ignorance.
Searching… for the light
That bleached the colour of my innocence ;
Enough to expose my nakedness
But not enough to dispel the surrounding darkness.
It faded, at the edge of the unknown
Left me, naked,
Vulnerable as an animal of prey.
So I attempt to cloth myself in these pages
But even suits of degrees studded with shimmering masters and PhD’s
are not enough to cover gaping holes of questions
That the light burnt into my mind;
Causing a quenchless thirst for knowledge,
A lifetime of mental dehydration,
This is the scholars fate,
Only through death will it satiate.

Daughter Outgrown

These clothes don’t fit me no more;
Shoes squeeze my feet and make them sore
Matching dress too tight and bursting at the seams
It seems I’ve gotten too big to fit in your ‘perfect family’ dream.
Clinging onto the little you let the girl slip away
Caught up in maternal disarray,
You fail to see that I’m still the same
Girl, just not little anymore;
But as your daughter, I shall always remain.

Tried my hand at Manga Hentai...

Okay thats the full page spread of my manga hentai, i was just sketching random thoughts and stuff...so its a bit rough, like the two at the top and bottom right arnt even shaded.

I could make a porno comic huh? I think i now have a mini erotic art collection, inclusive of horny poetry, manga henati and an erotic short story on the way! Who needs masturbation when you got art!! LoL!

And NO I don't watch porn. I just have a wild imagination...and had a few case studys...like the one at the top left...the only one that i didnt do a close up of...that wasnt from my head!!

The first one I drew which was totally from my head was the second last close up...I must admit it was quite fun drawing these...

;-)

**Bless**

AfroTude

Afro. Attitude. AfroTude.

A page from my old sketchbook.
Medium used is good old oil pastels!

The theme was hair as an extension of self.
The way we wear our hair often portrays an important part of our identity:
Long silky hair emphasizing femininity
Short crew cut emphasizing discipline and masculinity
Natural kinky hair emphasizing African ethnicity
...etc and the list could go on and on.
In particular, (at least to me) Afro's depict Defiant Bold Black Crowns (hence the 'attitude' - lol!!)
What better hairdo could I have picked to illustrate this?!



(This one is 4 u afrosistah, your afro poetry inspired this post! )

Chemical Love

Hormonal reactions
Triggered by physical actions
Send chemicals surging
Through arteries and veins,
Like a shot of heroin
Cupid’s bullet to the brain;
Temporarily disabling all rational thinking,
Left suspended in a state of infatuation
A state of mental intoxication.
Chemical love;
The kind of love that gets you high...