Apologies for the delay/lack of bloggage....Hmmm, I'm not sure how to start this so let's get right into it.

NEWS:

First, I'm an English major now. After careful consideration and lots of life reflection, I've concluded that my previous course of action concerning college was not fulfilling enough for me. Because of this I've decide to finally close my ears to the doubts of others and do what I want with my education. Because of this, my graduation date maybe a little farther than expected, but as long as I'm doing what I want that is something I'm willing to deal with.

Second, I'm still writing poetry (some of it will be posted below). Moreover, I'm a semi-finalist for the 2009 NH slam team. The semi-finals are this Friday and I hope that I make it into Finals. Pray for me, por favor. Until then, I'll continue to prepare for this competition as best as I can.

Third, I like music. I've been listening to a wide variety as of late. In September, I found out about this guy and I thought "He's gangstaliciousness (or lack there of) is pretty awesome. I like!" You may recognize him as the chorus singer to Lupe Fiasco's "Superstar."
If not, meet Matthew Santos...

I've also found a lot of new Hip Hop artists. While many are good, very few are as innovative as the Knux.

Meet the Knux

On the soul/r&b tip, my heart belongs The Foreign Exchange (Rapper Phonte Coleman & producer Nicolay).

Meet The Foreign Exchange

Hmmmm...I've decided to end this blog entry with some...POETRY!
Quick Story/Preface: A few months ago (December 2008) I participated in a 30/30 challenge (write 30 poems in 30 days). Not only did this exercise challenge my skill and creativity as a writer, but it produced some of my favorite poems up to date. While I liked many poems that I wrote during this time, the following has seemed positive praise by many critics and fellow writers.

"Elegy of the Last B-Boy"
By: Mckendy Fils-Aime

The last B-Boy died today,
and for once there was no sound.
The neighborhood shattering tunes
of boomboxes ceased to inhabit air.
Silence became the subject of
ciphers and spraypaint murals.

His body had known earth well;
All tornado armed, trying to windmill
scars into the earth.
A young man's attempt at vengeance
upon his mother

B-Boys know that no amount of toprocking
and freezing will silence gunshots at night.
Dance moves will not save you when bullets
sprays prevail in inner city streets.
You cannot fight that which corrupts dreams
and turns lives stagnant.

Your descendants will idolize you at first.
They'll call you a martyr for some misunderstood revolution.
While watching your old tapes, they'll claim that bullets do not kill dreams.
One day apathy will sink in and martyrdom will become forgettable.
The feel of your essence shackled to them, will cause slave cries;
A misguided attempt at flight.

You will be betrayed.
Your legacy will become the legends of poorch geriatrics.
They will hang onto the ears of the youth like
fables, ready to be picked out at a moment's notice.
No one will remember your dance battles or how well
you could downrock.
They will only know a man, when cardboard ceases to
fit into your definition.

Until next time readers...

Mckendy