“I remember thee Wakanda!”



“I remember thee Wakanda”

After the events of Civil War T’Challa is preparing for his coronation as the new ancestral king of Wakanda and his confirmation as the Black Panther. For millennia Wakanda has protected its people and its technology by isolating itself from the rest of the world but it soon comes face to face with its conscience when its sins come back to haunt it. The societal tension explodes and a rage is released which almost brings tragedy to the entire world.
It’s a technical triumph but more than that it’s an apotheosis of Black film-making talent. Ryan Coogler who burst onto the scene with his debut Fruitvale Station five years ago gives us a mature but joyous film which colours in the mythos of Black Panther its AfroFuristic comic rebirth after its first appearance in Fantastic Four #52 (July 1966). The all star cast is led by Chadwick Boseman, Michael B. Jordan and Lupita N’yongo but to be honest everyone in the cast gives a joyous committed career high performance.
There is so much breathless joy for the Black viewer in this perfect spectacle. The idea of a secret African superpower. The alternative history of an African culture that was not only not colonized but which thrived and surpassed every other world culture. If it was only this it would be sufficient as a film and a further episode

in the MCU Universe.

The story of an isolated but superior culture that’s advancing technologically but not socially and the crisis point that causes it to change and re-engage with the world. If it was only this it would be sufficient.
A Shakespearean story of betrayal, death, defeat and redemption which has a villain and a hero who are charismatic, driven and as justiified as each other. If it was only this.
A villain who’s every utterance (when he’s not killing and destroying) got nods of approval from a rapt mostly Black audience. That chimes with our thoughts and hearts and makes us consider our dreams critically. An audience of all cultures who all got something from this movie, but for the African Diaspora sang a psalm of longing. Of “What if?”
There are a lot of reviews that will tell you how good this movie is. How bright. How beautiful. How diverse. How unique. How satisfying. I know this is a Marvel production but with a talented Black writer / director and an all star African and African Diaspora cast this feels like a Black film from Black people to the world. I know of no other movie where Black people here and in the US have been dressing up in what ever African Cultural clothes they can find and parading to the cinema copying the glorious turn out by the cast for the regal premiere.
I was going to start this review by saying that Black Panther was unique among the genre of Superhero movies but I think it does a disservice to the film to examine it as a superhero or even just a Marvel Cinematic Universe movie. This is a transformative experience and cultural milestone.
Best Black History Month ever!

Repost: “How Much Money Can You Really Make by Self-Publishing?”

Imposed Solitude.

For the majority of the time most of us have the agency, the opportunity to reach out to other people. We tend to be unrestrained. Physically and mentally. The rest of us sit in our own self inflated bubble. Every home is a cell. Every job is a chain gang. Every social event is a pretence.

“These aren’t my friends. I’m just borrowing them. I’m pretending to be a part of the group that doesn’t claim me as one if my own.”

You need to have something changed without and within.

You need to acknowledge your agency.

Worst part of writing

The worst part about being a writer is the gap between the last good thing you wrote and the next time you have the confidence to sit down and write again.

I’m still here.

It’s a been a long strange trip for me. After taking part in ULU study on the positive effects of experimental therapy I’m now on pharmaceutical regime and I’ve got to a stage where I’m no longer suffering from major depressive symptoms. I’m not cured but I’m definitely not suffering anymore in the same way that I was.

10 things I hate about me

I hate my stupid poker face that won’t show people how i feel, 

because I’ve spent my life telling people “I’m fine”, it’s natural for me to conceal.

I hate the fact I’m 6 foot one, not normal and not tall,
And I can’t buy anything cool in my size till the sales in the spring and fall.

I hate being allergic to half the menu in any decent restaurant,
You’ll get bored with the places i can eat and i can’t​ take you where you want.

I hate my awkward eyebrows
I hate my stupid grin
I hate the way i nod my head

I hate that it makes​ people think I listen

I hate the way anything that’s ever gone wrong never leaves my head.

I hate the fact my mind is too full for positives​ instead.

I hate the fact you’ll never know that guy who met your eye,

Because all the things I hate about me stopped me from coming over and saying “Hi”