Standing at Kafka’s Gate
The dream is dead or dying. I haven’t quite yet decided which one is most fitting of my situation. I never know how to feel. I do know that, despite all the craziness, I still write. I write from a
Pressure Busts Writers
Bismillah. I have at least 7 different projects on my plate and their combined weight is pushing down on my chest. Who put this plate on my chest? I can’t breathe, can’t breathe. The price of seeking success is that
You, Me and Allah
I’m just trying to survive, man, damn. I don’t know which way is what anymore. Can I live without being judged? Can I learn to be easy on myself? Allahu A’lam. (To myself: Breathe. Be easy, youngblood.) I write a
Taqwa
Ramadan. Another year has come and gone. Last year, I didn’t think I would be fasting in America. This year, I dreamt of running back to Africa to attain that righteous Taqwa. It also would have been nice to fast
Wright Brothers Manifesto
Richard Wright. I need to read more Richard Wright. Black Boy is amazing. I need more Baldwin in my life. I need Kafka, Fanon, Foucault, Cesaire. I need Alaine Locke, John Lock, and David Hume. I need the humanists. And
Dancing With Uncertainty
I wrote poetry until I realized how much work was involved; I quickly backed away. I’m Somali, there’s this thing about us. We love claiming titles without having done any of the work requisite of those titles. Time is ticking
Camels & Coffee Shops
The Somali camel has left the countryside. It is a city camel now. It wears blue jeans, Costco brand, Kirkland Signature. It wears tacky brown shoes with the same stitching as the jeans. It wears a black belt, fading around
Ignition
Dear diary, I’m going to make it big one day very, very soon. My name is going to light up the sky. It will be on posters and in airport bookstores. All my detractors will be forced to pronounce my
Dog Tired
This writing thing used to be my own, something no one could take from me. An open book of possibilities is what I used to call it. Now I’m sick, tired, and dog-hungry. I don’t even know what writing means