This in response to a dear friend too angry with the Irish for our racist heritage and current shortcomings to see the value of the 4th all-city gathering at Club Timbuktu on St. Patrick’s Day.
Dear Pissed Off African American Brother Whom I Love,
During a vision dream while doing my dervish thing
I encountered your ancestors of Mother Africa
At the Gold Mines of Mali, back around 10,000 B.C.
They were alpha types, constantly fighting the temptation
Toward hubris and narcissism,
Natural in humans so stunningly beautiful to behold.
My ancestors back then were neither so brilliant nor beautiful as yours
(not now either!),
And found themselves banished by your ancestors to the region now called Somali,
Where they became sailors and intermingled with the Asians.
These African Asians or Asian Africans then became cooks in Mohammed’s armies,
Swept across North Africa into Cordoba, where Jews, Berbers, Basques,
Visigoths, and Gauls mixed it up sexually and genetically with
What became the Godsil Clan,
so named because the fairies carried the stones
To the top of the hill, to help the villagers overcome
a quarrel as to the location of the chapel.
James of God’s Hill.
Later changed to Godsil, by an English Judge,
Who feared the power ensuing from the last name
But only after having been swept ashore, at the Blasquette Islands,
When a Protestant God brought a storm that destroyed the Aramada.
My ancestors never were like yours from the days in Mali. Mine were always
Always lowly, homely, humble, and not that bright.
My black Irish ancestors were always the butt of white Irish jokes,
Because we were dark, and our black hair was thick with curls.
We also were poetic and artistic, always the target of
bestial macho fucks, Irish, English, Latino, and, yes, Afro.
At Timbuktu all of God’s children are tempting themselves
With the concept that we might very well in the deepest
biological and spiritual sense, be brothers and sisters.
See South African poet people’s priest Mathibela Sebothoma’s
Concept of Timbuktu at
At Timbuktu we are doing our best to focus on the moment
And its possibilities.
At Timbuktu we are doing our best to restore the power and the vision
Of King, Ghandi, and Dorothy day.
At Timbuktu we are hoping to spark a velvet revolution
Without borders and without an end in site,
That faces up to the unifinished business of the First American Revolution,
The promise of the Declaration of Independence,
The Declaration of the Rights of Man,
And the visions of the mystic poets of all of God’s children.
It would be grand if Milwaukee’s “pissed off” Afro American Marlon Brando
Spirit Sun, the Great Gerald, might dignify the gathering
And perhaps help “the other” overcome the stain of the sins of their “racial stock.”
Or, perhaps, enjoy the lovely men and women
From across the planet
Finally dance to the rhthyms of Mother Africa,
Tho none so grandly as…
Gerald the Wise, the Good, the True, and the Beautiful.
Wind at our backs in 2006,