B. 1986. American artist and author “American Pleasure” “62 poems from Judson Vereen”
Judson Vereen, biographical note.
I was born on November 23rd, 1986 in the Fulton County Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. I had the happiest childhood a boy could ask for. My father was a doctor and my mother a nurse. They were both hardworking, non-political, and mostly non-religious. My father always had the spirit of a gambler and lived a boom and bust lifestyle. It left an indelible impression on me and illuminated what living life fearlessly could look like. My mother was softer, sweeter, and not necessarily all that curious. A good mother.
I can still smell the streets if I try
I can still smell the streets if I try,
Critical Race Madness!
If you are interested in just exactly what CRT is, then you would be better served reading another article. I don't know how many people could stomach another explanation.
When your giving begins to tire, and your fight waining...
When your giving begins to tire, and your fight waining, when the light load becomes heavy, and gutters filled from raining,
...But the art just isn't very good
I was fourteen when I said to myself I would be an artist, and I began to take painting seriously. Just two years later, I would drop out of high school and move to New York City with the hope of getting some kind of dirt under my fingernails. Well, I did. One of the things was — having the privilege to struggle. Because madmen and poets and painters do this, and who was I not to? I became a dropout — and college could get you so far, but as a high school dropout, the sky for me as an artist was the only limit.
In Response to “Baffling questions of the Rittenhouse case” by kannankartha
In a recent post on Medium, Kannan Kartha asks some valid and quite necessary questions about the Kyle Rittenhouse case — this is an open response to those inquiries. The original questions in their original form are listed in italics — my responses are below.
Dr. King And Chili Dogs
"I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream." Trying to make sense of what you perceive as injustice - it is of no use. It doesn't make any sense. Authority, ignorance, fear, hatred, prejudice does not persuade - rarely do these things persuade themselves into the minds of their holders by rationality. It is a hard thing to explain.
A poem for Auden
Oh go pour out the whisky, drain the ocean and dam the rivers good, call off the annual parades and celebrations of the neighborhood,
Who I am and what I am doing on Vocal
What I intend to do, what every writer works hard to do, is to express myself clearly — with the knowledge that as I write, I am also learning, and “myself” is a subject that I am always seeking to understand better. I am also interested in the work of others. If you would like me to read something of yours or anything at all — let me know.
Craft and Depression
Soon, it will turn 12:25 on November 23rd, 2016. And when it does, I will have been 30 years old for twenty five minutes. Thirty years old- and in the throws of depression, in the thick of it, actually. The place where sadness is inescapable. And if I sound dramatic, I am not; I know it will pass. It always does, eventually. And so it will all wash over. And my mind will settle on other things, better things to think on- things more productive, happier thoughts will soon flutter about.
Four poems from Through San Francisco, DARKLY
It's one of those grayish days where my mind never wakes up,
Money and the Artist
There is always a thought towards money, whether you are an artist or not. For some, financial security is security and without it, they would not know what to do. On the other hand, an artist may have little of either to spare in their lifetime.