Sonny Liston Birth Certificate Part 2

 

 

Don’t let the English language, define how you perceive the world. Learn how to think for yourself. So that you can create the world, in your own image.

Click the link below, to read my Amazon book, “BEAST: THE DECONSTRUCTION OF CHARLES SONNY LISTON” , and leave a review. Thank you https://rb.gy/khwhzn

The other America

 

At the early age of five, I would sit by the television. And watch the Courtship of Eddies Father, Father Knows Best, Leave it to Beaver, and dream of what it would be like to have a father to teach me about life. I would envy these kids. Not realizing that their experiences,  had nothing to do with reality. My relationship with my father, was different  than theirs. I began to compare those differences. Mr. Cleaver was a very hard working individual. My dad worked hard too. Mr. Cleaver would sip his martini, the same way my Father did.

The Beave thought the world of his father, and so did I.  It would seem like the world revolved around his father. Just like my father. I mean people were knocking on my fathers door, all day and all night. There was only one difference, between Mr. Cleaver and my dad. Mr. Cleaver, left home in the morning to go to the office.  And came home for dinner, after a hard day work. My father left home in the morning, to go hustle on the corner. And never came back. I would visit my father on Christmas holidays, in hopes that we could spend some time together. I had only two weeks, to try to form a relationship, with a man, I knew nothing about.

Pimp hats, processed hair, platform shoes, coup deville Cadillacs, silk shirts,  snake skin boots, alligator shoes, tailor made pin stripe suits, the best that money can buy. Drugs being weighed, brown powder being put, in multicolored balloons, red, blue, green and yellow. My father  had millions of dollars. That he stacked in piles, that he would lay across his dinning room table. Going from one end, to the other. Every day, the piles would just get higher, and higher, and higher!

I want to take you higher, oh!

I got to take you higher, oh!

Baby, baby, baby, light my fire, Oh!

Boom, laka, laka, laka!

Boom, laka, laka, laka!

 

 

Prometheus on a Black Landscape the Core/ Central Park Rape Case

The play that questioned the evidence, against the “Central Park Five”, and enraged the nation. And guess what, we were right. Young black youth are assumed guilty. They were freed for lack of evidence. And there is now a major film series coming to Netflix about the case called, “When They See Us”. Trump and the naysayers, do you hear that? That’s the mic dropping.

Controversy Sells

You know that controversy sells, when your told by the major news outlets, that performance art is not theatre. And then you end up on the cover of the internationally acclaimed “Theatre Journal “. One of the most authoritative, and useful publications of theatre studies available today.”

The Last Poets

At the time,The Hittite Empire , were being compared to The Last Poets. It was our aim, to affect change in a positive way, and expose multiculturalism, as another form of tokenism. But this time around, we were fighting for artist of color, nationally to be paid, and not just counted. And then get the hell out of the business. Unfortunately, fame, notoriety, and money, for some, hastened that exit, and got in the way of the work.

The last black man in Belgium

So I arrive in Belgium, it was to be their first Black History Month, and Black Theatre Festival, in the history of the country. They were going to open the Theatre festival on Bob Marley’s birthday. I arrived at the theater, and I asked the producer, where are the rest of the artist, that will be performing at the festival? They said to me, “Your it.” I was the only black artist they booked, at the very first Belgium National Theatre Festival. For the very first Black History Month. Talking about pressure, they had put me in a position to have to represent the entire black diaspora from America.
The good thing about being the only black theater performer in Belgium at the time. Was that, when Belgium’s National Radio, and Paper needed a black artist to interview from the very first black theater festival, I was it. Take it or leave it. The first thing I asked when I arrived at the first black theater festival was, is it going to snow? Because it was painfully cold. They said to me, ” No, it never snows this time of year.” The week that I was there, they had the worst blizzard in the history of Belgium. Never lie to the only black performer, of the first black history festival of Belgium. Being the only black artist, I suggested to them, that if they were planning to have a second black history month, and festival in the future. And if they wanted more than one black person to show up, including black patrons.
They best have it in the summertime. The title at the top of this news article reads, “THE PAIN OF BEING BLACK IN AMERICA”. They should have entitled it, THE PAIN OF BEING BLACK IN BELGIUM DURING THE WORST BLIZZARD IN HISTORY. ” And they weren’t done. After surviving Belgium’s worst snow storm, they had the bright idea of me interviewing one of the Move Organization 9, Mumia Abu Jamal. Who’s members were on the run, and hiding out in Antwerp somewhere, from the CIA and FBI. I now felt like the Ving Rahmes character in Mission: Impossible,Luther Stickell. But this mission, I refuse to accept. Little did I know that the people that were helping them hide, were the same producers of the first black theatre festival of Belgium.
One night, the Move organization members who were in hiding, decided to come out of hiding. They just happened to show up at the theater, that I was performing at. And participated in a panel discussion. Was this a coincidence? That is when I put two and two together, and realized that the people that were hiding the Move people, were the same people that hired me for the first black theater festival of Belgium. Who were these people that hired me anyway?
The children of the Belgium Resistance? And what have I gotten myself into? I soon realized that my show was just a cover, code named, The First Black Theater Festival of Belgium. In order to have their secret panel discussion. I was like the black Patty Hearst, brained washed, in order to participate in their elaborate scheme. Luckily for me, Belgium’s airport strike had just ended, and I flew my black ass out of there on the next possible flight.

UK Tour starts with a bang

Landing at the Heathrow airport for my first UK Tour. I heard that the London police did not carry guns. Well, at least that was what I was told. What I would soon find out was that, they may not carry guns. But, “when the shit hits the fan”, as it did when my plane landed. They had a way of finding AR-15 rifles, when they needed too. Those rifles came in handy, when they wanted to eject the belligerent passenger, who had been harassing a female flight attendant during our flight. Welcome to London! Well, after that shocking experience, I immediately went into cultural shock.
When I arrived at my 5 Star hotel, where every piece of furniture looked like an antique. Not only did it look like a antique, it was one. Every time I tried to sit down in the lobby, some front desk clerk, would jump out from behind some plant and say, ” sorry sir, you cant sit in that chair, the queen sat in that chair.’No really sir, that chair is 200 years old.” And another thing, in England, they can’t just turn the heat on when it gets damp and cold. Which is pretty much all the time.
The temperature has to reach a certain Celsius before it can kick in. So, being from California, I asked for a quilt until the heat could reach 35 degrees Celsius. Yea, they laughed at me. I knew what they were saying about me behind my back, “He ain’t no gangster”. Also, there is no personal space in London. Standing in an full elevator, people stand in your personal space, as if you were the invisible man. And there is no such thing as eating alone in London. Since space is limited, random people will just sit down at your table, without asking. Welcome to London! The cultural shock forces you to want to bond, with other tourist, who arrive from America.
It was like you were trapped on an island, and had to write S.O.S. on your forehead, to get their attention. Wait, I am on a island. Then one day Colin Powell’s limo pulls up to my hotel, and before he checked in, I wanted to walk up to him and surrender. Just like how the Iraqi Soldiers Surrendered in Kuwait. I had enough of the bland food, stepping in front of traffic and looking in the wrong direction, being in genderless bathrooms, being on the London Underground during a bomb scare, while everyone takes there own sweet time. What the hell is that all about? Performing in front of audiences that don’t emote. “Feelings!” And witnessing Live Art Performers, who have a strange fixation with, blood, dead animals, and dead fish. As Colin Powell walks past me.
I realized that, he’s not even going to notice me. Because he has better things to worry about, than my safety and security. He’s thinking about being the first black President of the United States. Yea, like that will ever happen in my lifetime. And no, I did not perform in the nude. Not that performing nude in the UK, is a big deal. Believe me, performing in the UK in the nude, is not a big deal. If you performed with your clothes on, someone would say after the show, ” it was a great show, but not much nudity”.