Reading · love: by way of hip-hop

The Cambridge Dictionary defines “sequence” in several ways. Here are my favorites:

(v): to combine things in a particular order or discover the order in which they are combined.

(n): a series of related things or events or the order in which they follow each other.

Last week, I hinted at the full feud between my brain and the sequencing of this poetry baby of mine. Although themes exist, my gut tells me that reducing the work to mere descriptive categories is (yes) remissive but also results in a boring presentation of the work.

For example: seven poems about pain can be lumped together and plainly identified as such in a table of contents. However, the words emerging when a migraine has kept me awake for the third consecutive night are very different from those stemming from the pain (if you will) of being left on read. That pain is no match for the heartache of feeling like less than God’s favorite when it seems prayers go unanswered—which may be more or less frequent than the looming pain of upcoming birthdays and death anniversaries of people you can never call again.

Conjoining all those unique kinds of pain takes away from the experiences that birthed them and results in a lame amalgamation of a chapter called “Sad.”

That isn’t to say that I’m shooting to attack readers with surprise trauma between red roses and blue flowers. It is just that I would rather you end by saying, “damn that’s tough” than skipping the chapter altogether because that’s how we protect our peace. Right?

I’ll save my critique of avoidance and cowardice for another day, but, in sequence, it is something to consider.

Get Rich or Die Trying arrived at a time when we, the culture, were starved for something “rough and rugged.” Yet, I suspect careful sequencing presided over sonics. “Many Men” captures your attention from 0:03 and, in my opinion, is a captivating album opener. However, blood lust and all, we, the culture, were likely still a little soft and had to be eased into things. “What Up Gangsta” is much more palatable across audiences and lends itself to “ghetto in a good way” rather than “murder and mayhem”—even if both are true.

My favorite piece from my coming collection is a poem called “Candyman.” During Black History Month, the Alamo (one of my favorite places on Earth) held a showing of “Candyman” (1992). Was I in the building? Is that even a question? I was right there laughing in one minute and jumping out of my chair the next.

The Alamo is my theater of choice because they usually air a pre-show that starts 30 minutes before movie time. It typically relates to the feature you’re there to see. For “Candyman,” they aired a documentary-type pre-show about Black horror.

I went alone. There aren’t too many people in my life that I can ask to accompany me to a 33-year-old horror movie on a Saturday afternoon. Since I often go to the theater alone, it was no biggie. I was content to enjoy myself in the company of strangers who liked what I liked.

I didn’t leave immediately inspired but I did find myself writing a horror story of my own a few nights later. My piece isn’t particularly dark (to me), but if you’ve seen “Candyman” and or understood the situation I describe, it might feel a lot like “Many Men” : earnestly written and compelling in verse, but grim, nonetheless. Certainly not suitable to open a debut.

So, my first sequencing struggle is trying to find my party starter. Might start a fight. Might get pretty girls rowdy. That kind of thing.

Be clear: pain isn’t the sole theme of the collection. Music, love, cinema, sisterhood, and spirituality all make an appearance. Lest I forget, the ever-present theme of water that writes itself in at any time I’m not looking. Hydration is about as neutral as civilian colors in LA, but does it get the party started? If Alcoholics Anonymous hosted a church picnic at Disneyland, water would still be a bland choice.

I need to find my ginger ale. I need something culturally sound for Omega Beta Zeta (points if you can name the “sober sister”) and Omega Psi Phi. I need something socially sound in the trailer park and the hood. Get me?

It is hard to give up on your favorite, but proper timing is critical. In this case, it means abandoning the dark debut opener.I’m open to any advice on time, sequencing, and curation. Finished is better than perfect. There is always the opportunity for the 2^nd edition, but the honor is in the first and the best.

I know things skewed personal today, but I hope my thoughts lead you to your own reflections. If so, consider sharing with me by replying to the email you received, or joining other readers in the comments.

Sequence

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