Sun Ra And His Intergalactic Research Arkestra ‎- It's After The End Of ...

Sun Ra - It's After the End of the World

 

The Monkey Mind Media and Interlocking Directorates

 The Monkey Mind Media and Interlocking Directorates

Marvin X

Sent: Friday, October 30, 2020, 05:04:37 PM PDT

Subject: media

When the New York Post ran its article on the Biden laptop and the socalled mainstream media, aka, the Fake News or in my linguistics The Monkey Mind Media refused to share the information with the long starving, low information mentality American people, this suppression of information critical to the truth of American politics on the eve of the presidential election. Thus, for all times, the American media has disqualified itself as per being fair and balanced, for any iota of objectivity was cast into the dustbin of American history. For sure, the monkey mind media's suppression of truth signals the termination of any pretense of legitimacy in the mainstream and pseudo progressive media, including the New York Times, Washington Post, ABC, CBS, NBC, NPR, et al. Yet this media  supposedly represents the truth but has wrapped itself in a kind of Stalinist, Nazi propaganda machine of truth suppression in league with the political party hoping to win the coming election. We don't agree with much of the Left's ideological pronouncements, and most certainly we don't concur with the Right's wants and desires to maintain white supremacy, especially not when the capitalists own and control 99% percent of the wealth while they are members of the 1% Club, thus the 85% wage slaves, i.e., workers who produce the wealth are merely cogs in the wheel of the filthy capitalist blood suckers of the poor slave making machine. And sadly they are caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Despite the foibles and extreme character flaws of hubris, narcissism and a host of other "negrocities" (Amiri Baraka term he told me not to steal, RIP, LOL) and psychosocial expressions of allegiance to white supremacy (FYI, we ain't mad at white people who want to remain white and not join the pseudo multicultural agenda) of Donald Trump and his tribe, perhaps the last hurrah of the white nationalist tribe . 

Although, let's be clear, when the Left proposes its agenda that too often is part of the Globalist, Chinese agenda, we must immediately admit white supremacy is no longer white and has morphed into a multicultural agenda in league with the most strident white supremacists, those in the tech world and corporate entities of whom 40% of entities we identity as producers of "Made in China" are white and multicultural, alas, including North American African entertainers and athletes in bed with those "Made in China" economic institutions. Did we not see LaBron James refuse to condemn the Hong Kong freedom fighters to maintain his economic dealings with China? Is not the Islamic world mostly singing Silent Night to the Muslim concentration camps in Western China, and the Buddhists are singing the same song regarding Tibet. Thus, globalism transcends white supremacy. In Oakland, Ca and elsewhere, gentrification and the concomitant homelessness is partially caused by Wall Street investors.

In East Oakland, previously heart of the North American African community in the post 60s era,  40% of single family housing is owned by Wall Street, again, a multi-cultural conglomerate that is without mercy as per the almighty dollar. The dollar is an equal opportunity medium of exchange. Sadly, as in politics, so in economics: there are no permanent friends, only permanent interests.

Long time business partners will suddenly turn on each other for economic advancement. The Biden business partner now disclosing their family criminal activities said he was doing so because he was cut out of the Biden family game in their greed and sloth in becoming sycophants of China, to the extent of submitting to honey traps, child pornography and debauchery, all captured on video and emails.

The American political morass is so sinister and problematic that we can only said the choice is between Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

Many of my political comrades say take the lesser of two evils and don't throw the baby out with the wash water. But I'm not one to settle for a taco, I want the whole enchilada, in fact, I want national sovereignty, the choice never presented to us upon socalled emancipation. We were duped into pseudo citizens of America and have languished in the cesspool of Americana even since, victims of the Sisyphus syndrome of traversing with the rock of freedom in our hands only to have it knocked out and thus we must tread back down the mountain to recover the freedom rock to begin anew.

Imagine, it will take us 240 years to equal the wealth whites have today. The notion that if we were a nation, we would be the 16th richest nation in the world is debunked because we are a nation of consumers and little of our wealth remains in the hood. Again, it is siphoned out by multi-cultural blood suckers of the poor, yes, by every ethnic group from around the world who has heard North American Africans can be pimped until our drawers fall off.

We are victims of an interlocking directorate of global and national institutions, economic, ethnic and cultural, that make our liberation nearly impossible although we shall never give up faith in national liberation, no matter how long and difficult. Four hundred years have passed, so we may yet suffer another hundred or two until we finally decide to no longer be hoodwinked and bamboozled, until we are able to successfully trick the trick out of the trick, no matter media tricks, political and economic tricks, gender tricks, religiosity tricks and most of all, tricks we play on our minds when self deceives self. As we know, the greatest Jihad is to win one's own soul!

At least since Machiavelli we have known the myriad tricks of politics, not that the many holy books have not made clear the duplicities of politics in the many ancient kingdoms that have come and gone with intrigue, greed and deception, among the reasons why they are no more. Solomon told us there is nothing new under the sun, and all is vanity and vexation. Again, we can only say guard against being deceived. Put on the armor of God and walk the straight path. 

I love books

Lewis Michaux inside his African National Memorial Book Store,Harlem NY

 I love books. I spent my youth and young adult years reading books on every subject. When I got to Harlem I spent my money on books, clothes and taxis. But books mattered to me the most. Now I devoured the Richardson's Marcus Garvey Books in San Francisco. Furthermore, Julian Richardson and his wife Raye mentored Bay Area Black radicals and printed our publications such as Black Dialogue Magazine, Journal of Black Poetry and our chapbooks of poetry as well as reprinting the works of Marcus Garvey and the classic by George M James Stolen Legacy. But once I hit Harlem NY, I was overwhelmed with Lewis Michaux's African National Memorial Book Store. Of course I also fell in love at the Mosque#7 bookstore operated by Larry X Prescott, aka Akhbar Muhammad.

Although I was in bad standing with the Nation of Islam, Minister Farrakhan allowed me to visit the store with its collection of Islamic literature.  Now Liberation Book Store on Lenox Ave, aka Malcolm X Ave was a nice place to visit and distribute the chapbooks of poetry by us Black Arts Movement artists.

Marvin X in Harlem, 1968

Doug Harris photo

And Eula paid us out front, no consignment. We loved Eula for this Rip. We appreciate Larry Robin's bookstore in Philly, a white man who promoted black books with his annual Black Writer's Conference.

Back in the Bay, Joe Goncalves operated the New Day Book Store on Divisadero while also publishing the Journal of Black Poetry, Bible of the 60s poetry revolution. Joe, aka Dingane, published more poets than anyone in the world. All the BAM Poets published in the JBP. Of course Black Fire was the Holy Bible of 60s black radical literature.

--cont

Marvin X

10/28/20

Marvin X reads Driving Miss Libby - By Marvin X

They Say you from 'Orleans

Marvin X at his Academy of Da Corner, Lakeshore Ave., Oakland CA. At his Academy of Da Corner, he has been interviewed by Cecil Brown of Stanford University, a scholar from American University (Marvin cannot remember her name), Dr. Ellen McLarney of Duke University for his chapter in her forthcoming book on Black Muslim Writers in America. Dr. Justin Gifford for his biography of Eldridge Cleaver, Revolution or Death. Dr. Cornel West says, "Marvin X is the African Socrates teaching in the hood."--Dr. Cornel West, Harvard University. Ishmael Reed says, "Marvin X is Plato teaching on the streets of Oakland." Bob Holman says, "He's the USA's Rumi, Saadi, Hafiz!" Amiri Baraka said, "Marvin X has always been in the forefront of African writing. Indeed, he is one of the founders and innovators of the revolutionary school of African writing."

Marvin X speaks

You know a prophet is loved except in his own land. I get no recognition for putting my life on the line to teach at Fresno State University even though the black police said, "When Marvin X came to teach at Fresno State College/University, he made things better for everybody, not just students at FSU. Before he came to FSU, black police officers couldn't patrol the white side of town!"--Sargent Jack Kelley, founder of the Fresno African American Museum.

photo Gene Hazzard

They Say You From 'Orleans 

They say are you from 'Oleans

I say no no dirty south here

They say chit'lin's

I say no

No chit'lin circuit on my tour

Nigga laugh out this world

No chit'lin circuit on my tour

Cali negro true n true

mama born in central valley

maternal people valley pioneers 

cotton pickers from Arkansas Oklahoma

farmers don't you hear

Came to central valley

busloads to pick cotton

more cotton in valley than mississippi

don't you know

tent cities in fresno

came up cant you see

tent city ain't always

when you don't want to be

families in tent cities

lovers for life

rise up from tents

soon husband wife

children go to school

play pro ball don't you know

strong country boys

represent the pro

Me 

Central Cali nigga

Oaktown too

Central Cali nigga

city country boy through n through

Edison High basketball team

Oaktown too

Prescott Lowell Jr. High

7th Street nigga

true n true

Played basketball New Century Defermery Park

Bill Russell Pointer brothers, Jim Hadnot, Paul Silus, Aiken brothers too 

Made Merritt College team

Mack niggas too tall fa me

Jim Toliver could dunk

guard

dunk like he 6'3''

Toliver hardly 5'6"

me 5'6" too

Toliver

jumped high into a tree

Toliver A.C Scott guards we

Lowell Jr. High

Joe Ellis on team

Warrior's Joe Ellis

what a dream what a dream

I won  free throw contest

9 out of 10

pretty good ugh 

9 of 10 free throw line

got a trophy for ma win

New Century nigga don't sin

Back to broder man

ain't no 'Orleans nigga

ain't from Lake Charles

ain't from Monroe LA like Huey Newton

My podna from Merritt

he like pig shootin'

Ain't from Grambling

Jackson State

Mississippi

Ain't from Texas Southern

down street from daughter's house

Wrote book bout Eldridge Cleaver

three weeks for My Friend the Devil

Funniest book of 2009

Jimmy Garett said

Didn't need no footnotes didn't tell no lies

People said Marvin 

if Cleaver the devil

who are you

People said Marvin if Cleaver the devil

who are you

If you can't figure it out

i might be the devil too!

Dress like you from 'Orleans boy

where you from

be true to me

I might be from the river

Might be from the deep sea

Might be from the forest

might be from the woods

might be from the valley

might be from the hood

Don't matter where I'm from

valley or the sea

I'm a man

M.A.N

Main

Hustler

ain't no pimp

don't wait for mine

hustle sea to sea

See me in the mornin

'Orleans Bourbon Street

might want etouffee for breakfest

bananas french toast

what about eggs n rice

cali nigga you know

daddy from kentucky

rice country

mama central valley

no grits don't ya know

we ate rice breakfast lunch dinner

friends called me Moto

Chinese man don't you know

never saw a nigger eat rice

day and night

no grits

rice butter sugar n cream

daddy kentucky nigger

blue grass n white rice

nothin nice

Mama central valley girl

picked cotton cut grapes

her world

grandfather Murrill

99 when he died

1941

Fresno Bee Newspaper

gave him pride

Bee said respected negro

black and whites alike

What manner of man

Ephraim Murrill

Great grandfather

in his stride

North Carolina to Arkansas to Cali

pioneer was he not

I am his seed

DNA all the way

did not know him

but he knew me everyday

cotton grape fields

Ephraim general of the land

yes I'm his seed

great son of this man.

I stand on his shoulders

my grandpa too

no matter we rescued him drunk El Gato Negro

Grandpa still true.

Was it pain of cotton grape fields made him drink gamble all night

We sat outside El Gato Negro while Uncle Stan got grandpa from gambling drunk fight

We all lucky to be alive

Thank God for today

None of us would be here

if devil had his way.

Thank God he is Mighty

Thank God he is True

Thank God he protects fools and children

like me and you!

--Marvin X

10/21/20

El Muhajir, The Migrant

 El Muhajir/The Migrant

Marvin X at Ocean Beach, San Francisco

photo Adam Turner

My Arabic name El Muhajir means the migrant or one who travels, i.e., the pilgrim. Mama said I spent all my money on traveling and books, and you know Mama is right. But according to the great historian Chancellor Williams, migrantion is a Kemetic tradition, especially from ancient Kemit and other lands, yes, we were forced to flee over succession rights to the throne and other political intrigues,  grazing rights, and ecological factors such as famine and drought. (See Destruction of African Civilization, Chancellor Williams) Then Diop's Cultural Unity of Africa made the case through linguistics and cultural anthropology that the people of Kemit and West Africa are the same people. And then came the forced migration (kidnapping) of the Triangular Trade, after a few centuries we were supposedly emancipated only to suffer another Great Migration from the US South to the North, escaping virtual slavery, neo-feudalism only to suffer wage slavery in the North. Alas, from country blues to urban blues, but blues none the less. In the trauma and terror of multiple migrations, we suffered amnesia that wasn't amnesia because amnesia implies we forgot, but as we know any victim of violent trauma cannot remember the critical source of their trauma. Who hit me in the head? I don't know. The blunt trauma caused a mental paralysis. In our trauma we forgot we played the blues ten thousand years ago as the Malian musician Ali Farka had to remind us when he played with B.B. King and the Rolling Stone. "I don't know what you are talking about the blues because my people have been playing this music for ten thousand years!" (See papers from the Black Muslim Atlantic Conference, Duke University, January 2020)

The migration continues with Blaxit, i.e., Black Americans returning to Africa, among the leaders of Blaxit is my daughter Muhammida El Muhajir, who resides in Accra, Ghana. Throughout North American African history, we think of migration when our geo-political situation becomes overwhelming and we see no way out except all the way out the door of Americana, yes, back through the Door of No Return.

Today there is a global migration crisis, again, caused by political/economic despair, even religious dogmatism, and tribalism. Imagine, the European colonialists never thought the children of the colonized would one day appear at the borders of the colonial Mother countries seeking entrance by the millions. Alas, the colonialists did not and do not truly believe what goes around comes around!

There cannot be systemic racism, the totality of our institutional life cannot be permeated with the toxic residue of our racist white supremacy. After all, we came to civilize the aboriginals, to teach them that Jesus Christ died for their sins of savagery and lack of civility.

From their many gods, we narrowed it down to three, Father, Son, Holy Ghost, wasn't this progress? In our white arrogance, it is not possible that we lost our way and became savages ourselves or were savages all the time. We told the natives to cover themselves, to hide their shame, yet it was not long before we went naked through the streets, night clubs, bars, and concerts. We paraded ourselves as whores on TV, film and social media. We videoed ourselves displaying our genital organs for our lovers and the world to see. We became so savage even Biden in his run for president of the USA, just called for eight year old boys to castrate themselves if they feel they are females. Children are raped from church to Boy Scouts, from Catholic Church to Mosque, to Hollywood and Billionaire sex cults in the name of civility. 

So we need to migrate one more time, from the Valley of the Shadow of Death to the Upper Room, for surely we are down here on the ground in the pit of hell with devils who cannot decide to kill babies in the womb or let them grow to become cannon fodder for the military industrial technology university complex. 

Where shall we go this time, but any place is better than here.

Ya'um Hajr

We planned to leave for years

We practiced departure to the sea

far inland we traveled

Night day

Didn't matter

made ourselves invisible

Except to each other

a special dye

Only us could see us

Spooks only could see

Snitches could not see us

Devils we passed by

They looked in our eyes

special dye blinded them

We marched on to the sea

On the way we broke down

Prison gates painted inmates

with special dye

They became invisible

joined exodus

devil guns useless

We snatched their guns

Slapped them in the head

Put guns in their mouths

Kept walking to the sea

got to Atlanta

great feast we had

Thousands were feed

celebration dancing lovers met again after long separation

Children rejoiced with parents

No devils could see us

They heard us

Bata drums beat freedom

We walked on dancing in the sun

Into the night

Devil soldiers looked for us

But couldn't see us

Right in their faces

Their guns pointed east west north south to no avail

Sometimes we killed them

Just to let them know

They cannot fight the Power

On we marched

Millions of people

Invisible beautiful powerful invincible

Bata drums driving devils crazy

Can't figure out source of sound

Bata Bata Bata Bata

On to Savannah

To ships invisible

Docked ready to fly over water

Underwater

Ready to take us up away from the devils

Back through the door of no return.

--MARVIN X

9/20

Black Bird Press News and Review, organized by Marvin X Jackmon

Black Bird Press News and Review, organized by Marvin X Jackmon Publisher Marvin X and Guest Editor Nefertitti Jackmon We are raising funds for pri… Marvin X Jackmon needs you...

I Am Marcus Garvey, a monologue by Marvin X

 

On Sun, Oct 7, 2018 at 11:17 PM Marvin X Jackmon <jmarvinx@yahoo.com> wrote:

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 7, 2018

I Am Marcus Garvey

I Am Marcus Garvey, A Monologue by Marvin X

 The Most Honorable Marcus Garvey

Poet, Playwright Marvin X

photo Kamau Amen Ra (RIP)

I am Marcus Garvey, Jamaican born African man. The winds of Jamaica blew my soul, body
spirit far and wide. I was a printer then took off to see the world, to unravel the riddles of the
Black man, African man, trapped deep down in the belly of the beast called colonialism.
I traveled the Americas, Costa Rica, Panamá, Honduras. I saw the suffering workers in these
lands, studied their condition and determined to free them. I went to England where I met Duse
Muhammad Ali, the Pan African who taught me One God, One Aim, One Destiny, Africa for the
Africans, those at home and those abroad. I wrote in Ali’s Oriental Times and Review, so did
Booker T. I wanted to meet Booker T so I went to the USA but Booker T. died before I could
meet him. I was heartbroken not to meet the man who wrote Up From Slavery, who founded
Tuskegee, who said do for self, you can accomplish what you will.

I wanted to know what happened to the Black man’s land, how did it become the pleasure
of Europeans, the richest continent in the world. I wanted to make the Black man independent
standing tall in his own land, not under the boot of Europeans. Africa for the Africans, those at
home and those abroad.

Where is our flag? In my disgust at the white man’s song “Everybody
got a flag cept a coon,” God blessed me with the Red, Black and Green, Red for blood of one
hundred million, Black for all African people, Green for our Motherland. Fly the Red, Black and
Green, let the ancestors know you know them, honor and respect them, the living and yet unborn.

I am Marcus Garvey. Let our African legions march, let black nurses heal the wounds of our despair,
let the African poets sing songs of freedom, let the colonialists dred the sound of our valiant voices
singing in the winds of freedom, independence and joy.

I am Marcus Garvey, let my newspaper The Negro World spread the truth of our Blackness,
African pride and glory. We shall spread the words of freedom throughout the Pan African world,
millions shall join the UNIA, United Negro Improvement Association, millions in the USA,
Caribbean, Europe and the Motherland.

No matter those who oppose us, the winds of time shall oppose them in their wickedness,
sycophants of colonialism, yes, bootlickers who think they are smart but only outsmart themselves.
Their idea of freedom is yet slavery for independence is the dream of every true man and woman.
No man is free under the yoke of another. Yet some intellectual black fools hate the idea of true
freedom. They set traps for me at every turn, in league with the FBI and other agencies around the
world.

The devil sent Negroes to sabotage my ships The Black Star Line. Black spies infiltrated our UNIA.
The FBI began with their spies in my midst, along with  the jealous, envious Negroes who hated
Blackness. We call them Black men with white hearts. Somebody said these Negroes are white men
dipped in chocolate! In Spanish we call them coffee con leche!

I am Marcus Garvey. What was the Harlem Renaissance without me? I published all the poets in my
newspaper. It was the spirit of Blackness that made the Renaissance possible, not white patronage
that made us exotic birds of paradise.

I am Marcus Garvey. With the help of sell out Negroes, call ‘em niggas, the USA falsely charged me
with mail fraud and jailed me, then deported me. I passed away in London, never visiting Africa.
Yet today, the Red, Black and Green is the Universal African flag of liberation. Long live Black
Nationalism, long live Pan Africanism. One God, One Aim, One Destiny. Africa for Africans, those
at home and abroad. Up you mighty Race, you can accomplish what you will!

Yes, look for me in the whirlwind, look for me in the storms, hurricanes, tsunamis, earthquakes in
diverse places. Look for me in the eyes of our children who carry the torch of freedom in the morrow
of their bones!

--Marvin X
10/7/18

Marvin X Crazy Woman Blues

 

FYI, have you heard my Crazy Woman Blues?

Listen up:

Imagine Fillmore Slim singing this song for his friend Marvin X

I love you baby

But you just too crazy fa me

Go on back where ya came from

I'll see you when I see

Took you all round da world

You still want to act a fool

Yeah, took you all round da world

you still want to act a fool

Go on back where you came from

Need to go back ta school

I love ya baby

But ya just too crazy fa me

Go on back where ya came from

i'll see you when I see!

--MARVIN X

10/1/20