I'm back - which is a slick way of saying that Ta-Nehisi has once again allowed me to post-up in his blog spot. I'll be a guest for a week, dropping notes on why I'm thoroughly disappointed with the Boondocks, hip-hop, why the Celtics are collectively a beast, some criminal justice stuff - odd riffs on fatherhood and potty training, harmonica playing, and every other odd thing that now has a hold on me.
But let me step back. I'm Dwayne Betts
. Husband, father. Poet, essayist. I've done a few stints here and have found this to be the dopest, most insightful group of readers, commenters and lurkers on the net. The only thing that qualifies me to say anything at all is that I talk way too much and have far too many opinions about things I've thought about for too long. My memoir, A Question of Freedom, was released in paperback on May 1st. A few months back I won the NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Nonfiction Literary Debut. My poetry book, Shahid Reads His Own Palm, came out in May also.
What else? Nothing much, I have an ill crossover, and learned everything I know about derivatives reading this blog - not to mention hunting in the19th century, and a few other things. If I had to run out of a burning building, a building with nothing but me and my material possessions in it, what would I take out? Illmatic and The Price of the Ticket. I'd take my Mac too, but that doesn't sound poetic.