Author Archives: Synnika Chizoba Lofton

Too Short Narrates American Morning

Flip the switch. Press the gas. Cruise Waterside Drive until sunlight blurs the traffic lights. Icarus before the crash. Maybe. Too Short talks that talk. Runs down the science of hustle. Rock the Bells on SiriusXM is the corner store: Cheetos, fruit punch, and a peanut butter Twix. Multi-colored signage. Graffiti splashed on walls representsContinue reading “Too Short Narrates American Morning”

Gas Lighters Tap Dance in the Comments Section

Spare me the fan fiction. Spare me the counterfeit morality. Spare me the bankrupted hymns of polluted country. Allow me to dig into my black crate for liberation music,for the perfect anti-system record to make sense of America’s guttural blues. Dead Prez. Public Enemy. Fela Kuti. Kendrick Lamar. This is S-Dot scripture, a black fistContinue reading “Gas Lighters Tap Dance in the Comments Section”

Our Father’s Flag Is Quite Different

Freedom and liberation hop and skip down broken boulevards and polluted streets. Decay is decay, no matter how one explains it. Metallic rhetoric chips the air. Only valid when the right complexion is involved. It is cute to burn flags. “That man is exercising his rights!” They say. Such an act is hostile when darkerContinue reading “Our Father’s Flag Is Quite Different”

‘Murican Monday

Not of this planet. Navigating polluted winds is essential, like jazz finding synergy after a few minutes. Coltrane’s code to the heavens. American politicsare boring. I stretch. I yawn. I liberate with each breath. A metallic voice. Crossroads two-step. Cosmos is the goal, a provocative objective that simmers, like spicy gumbo. National Guard troops inContinue reading “‘Murican Monday”

No Half-Pints in My School Daze

I could worry. Or go with God. A superior man doesn’t fold though. Alpha. No Greek letters. No fraternities. No hierarchies. No dances. No colonial rituals or silly names to prove my worth. No Half-Pints. No Julians. No Daps. No fictional Black colleges or fairytales. Just a hustle, a third eye, and a focused disposition.Continue reading “No Half-Pints in My School Daze”

To Be Dangerous is the Highest Good

Back against a crumbling wall, a creed weighing down shoulders with urban pressure. To break from this monotonous clutch or cage is special. Driving along interstates; a unique aggression crosses his face. Anger is a kind man, extending sympathy for an unkempt path or a tortuous solution to an unpaved road. Got a prove toContinue reading “To Be Dangerous is the Highest Good”

Wake Up to Resistance

Flex them chops. Craft soul until they aim faulty pistols or use sharp knees or interpretationsof American law. No need to comply. Refuse tradition. Establish new religion. Normal stuff. We are built for this savage wilderness, this strange stage of humanity. I start morning with a poor disposition, a higher frequency, a vibration screaming, likeContinue reading “Wake Up to Resistance”

Transformation is an Animal

Early fall creeps into September, like Hendrix playing riffs for a light crowd. Determined to shed the dead weight of colonial creeds, actions, and pigs that don’t fly straight. Life is a trafficjam, with gritty, hip hop playlists. Them sermons got me surveying heavens. Shades sliding down my nose. Speeding acrosstown because goalsdance, like elusiveContinue reading “Transformation is an Animal”