The Interview: Tionne Myles

Prologue
It’s the year 2522, hard to believe the war against terror inaugurated by U.S. President George W. Bush in 2001 still rages on. The campaign began in Afghanistan, expanded to Iraq, and in 2012 quickly went worldwide, after a dirty bomb exploded in Times Square, NYC. The resulting violence and counter-security measures implemented by the world’s governments have left the earth in an anarchistic Matrix-like ruin. Patriot Act 6 was approved by the US congress and adopted by the United Nations essentially making freedom of speech a thing of the past. One voice: government sanctioned thoughts are the only forms of public communication tolerated. There is a revolutionary movement stirring underground though. Forgoing the internet, which is monitored by the U.S. sponsored Homeland Security Department, the members of this underground movement grab pencils and pens and sketch out rhythmic expressions of free thought.. it’s believed that they call it poetry.

The masses of people of this future time don’t understand what poetry is or why these people choose to write it. Beyond reasoning, they risk discovery and punishment by the Homeland security forces. In an attempt to grasp the motivations behind these writers of poetry, Nickola Petri, a researcher at Symbiotic Humanoid Technologies, was drafted to enter The Slipstream. The Slipstream is a portal between the past and the present. Yup, time travel through transformation of the physical being into tiny electrodes that are beamed through the air and recombined at another location in whatever combination the user sees fit; you could become a dog if you wanted to. Adjusting the power in the chamber, Petri’s body shakes, shutters and disappears.

The time clock spins in reverse. 15 seconds later, it’s the year 2003, the 11th month, the 18th day… 10:27 a.m. ..In an apartment there is a male tapping away on his computer keyboard. His monitor scrambles, blinks, and a message pops up on the screen.

What is poetry?
*In this instant message age, not a second is wasted before the response.*
Poetry… The existence of any emotion I harbor from past experiences… It’s the communication of language put to words. Poetry seems to be a jumbled self-indulged conversation that merely rhymes to a blind reader. In an awe of silence it is appraised after applauded from being thoroughly read by a lyricist… In their own motion and trivial advanced skill of vocal production. The heart speaks when poetry is written and the mind is in an unconscious rage breeding life to it. I formalize “poetry” into a voice of reason and conception so that I can live in a world that seems to be against me.

Poetry… The blood flow of every breath I sing with a pen and paper while enduring the present tense… I live in an invaded world of fabricated slaves who are all about one thing… Themselves. The force of evil that leaves them alone, yet together in one unison of greed. Flawed and misunderstood I will stand ground against the typical classification of unaccepted “freedom of speech.” Each long-winded or short-lived story is my everything. It is the drive that moves me. A force that is so notable, and now acknowledged in the phenomenal essence of love itself.

Poetry… The freedom of boxed in revelry… Flown sky high to receive the blessings of generations to come, is the vision of rhyme and spirit. Poetry soothes the painful heart to satisfaction. The everlasting continuance of intelligence is solicitously scrutinized and we as people thirst to live in it’s remarkable existence. I am the oracle who transcribes the acceptation that emanates from deep within me. There are many voices… Many hearts… And many souls. We are called “Poets” and poetry is our everything. I just write it.

Hmmm.. parsing a quote from author John Simmons
“Trouble. They are. Words, that is, too much trouble. They come up and hit you in the back of the head. They head off in another direction. Just trouble. More trouble than they’re worth. but one word’s worth a thousand pictures. Or is is it the other way around. They take you around in circles. They’re a quick way to get from A to B. But still trouble. Words.”

Respond.
Words… The dialogue connection in life. They breathe a blunt collision of reality into us. Losing form, yet shining light within cause and effect. More effective than a vision, for without the delineation of words… How could we know the necessary without the possibility of exploiting words? Around and around and… They are a part of the entity that we deem is evolution and or advancement. A guide through experience that we exemplify inevitably… Is communication.

I neglected to introduce myself.. Nickola Petri is the name. Excuse me for hacking into your computer. I speak to you from another time, this planet’s future. There will soon be very restrictive laws on free expression. As part of the Homeland Security Department I’ve been sent to research some old texts for further understanding of the activities of a courageous few who have chosen to use their own minds.

Anything new can be found in some sense from the old, that is why I’m here. Aldous Huxley predicted the future in 1932, It’s a Brave New World, young man. Now.. I must know your name.
My name is Tionne. Tionne Myles.

What portion of the earth do you reside?
“I live in North America… specifically Dallas, TX.”

I am wondering if you gained anything during your intrusion. A “Brave New World” without free expression… How do you live? The freedom of expression gives life to an idea of a level near inner-peace. Restraints on an ingenuity such as poetry, or the exemption to convey freedom through articulation… Can only lead to the destruction of the inevitable; a world of empty, but crazed slaves.”

Freedom of expression benefits the individual. Governments have little interest in individual liberty they are interested in political efficiency. In a properly organized society, like this will soon be, there is no room for divided minds. We seek peace through one voice. In that way wars are few and policies are unanimously decreed. Everyone benefits. All that’s required is the giving up of this need to “be creative” “to speak your piece” and reading and all sorts of philosophical nonsense. For that is when one begins to think and the mind wanders off course.

Why waste time with that?
What we want is peace and happiness for all. The way to achieve that is by limiting what is allowed to be said in a public and private forum.

Private thoughts are more dangerous than public ones. It is in the dimness of a candlelight that independent thoughts begin. One begins to think about his condition, thinks about what he should and could be doing. Love and wants, it’s all unnecessary. We handle all of that for the people: entertainment, knowledge, basic necessities are handed down by the government. People are happy. They don’t complain, and neither do we.

But there are people like yourself.. who I have identified by your writings. People like you are dangerous to us.

For example, I found this in the system.

Perseverance

Rays of the days in my storm
Make me turn ways and lose form
Confined in a box from all of you
Be like this, like who, like you?
Dirty secrets held from trustin’ hearts
When broken down, a mess of poisonous parts
Like that one who tried to take me out
I got too much worth, so damn my clout
Strong star, some intrigued say, “you’re so bizarre”
Like no other by far, I’m real, no falsity is ajar
So I speak things never confronted
Misinterpreted, accepted, reflected, connected, so rejected
Can I write this? Say this? Give this?
Which way the homeless piss; In receipt of change is his bliss
Lookin’ at me, you may see nothin’ that inwardly applies
Don’t come knockin’ if all you know are told lies
No time for the rhyme, you may invite me to dine blind
No wine will leave me stupid enough to be that behind
Slick on a track, I see right through many
Too afraid like any, I’ve had drama, much too plenty
Where is somethin’ real with substance and worth
Moments of power, readin’ poetry that gives mirth
Like… Langston Hughes, or Pinkie Gordon Lane
Or my own sh’t, that has been derived from my good lovin’ pain
Swervin’ in and out of lanes, driven insane from the game
The losses life can pertain, success I ordain, exalted I remain
Still in this lonely world full of fakes, full of monsters
Dead lands and drained lakes, communications with backstabbers
To release annunciation in rhyme or reason
Given in appreciation and season
To what do I owe my own satisfaction, your reaction
Or is it my inevitable subtraction or distraction
The power and wisdom of words
The passing hour, and flight of birds
Breath taken without acknowledgement
Where is my route to my destined judgement?

© 2003 Tionne Myles, All Rights Reserved

That, my friend, would never be allowed in the future.

This thing.. poetry.. how did you start writing it?
I started writing about 5 years ago. Dealing with what life had to offer was too hard for me… There were two ways to deal that were obvious to me… Fight to live, or give up and die. I ran across an eye-opener one day, and decided to take a chance… I realized that writing released pressure of the unbearable. It developed my heart, and opened my mind. I could ignite all of my emotions to abide with reality and subsist in this world. Poetry is a sovereignty that heals me.

In my opinion, writing poetry is equivalent to the very epitome of love.

Through poetry, I’ve learned to cure myself of heartache, and love myself for the first time. I’ve also encountered ways to help others, and produce a distinct genre of perseverance. I write to live.

You say it’s dangerous, and I am dangerous… Yet you were sent to research me. If such a beauty is restricted and you handle “all for the people…” Why revert and scrutinize the rejected? Of course your people would not complain. Why go against an unstoppable, reigning potency? Happiness is not constructed… It is as autonomous as poetry. It is dangerous to you, because it is what has made man a coward since the beginning of time.

George Bernard Shaw once said, “Once the divinity we worshiped made itself visible and comprehensible, we crucified it.” (1856-1950)

If you were to take away that benediction… There would be a repetition of insidious falsity in existing. In your ‘Brave New World,’ you’ve vanquished something that people were beginning to recognize and appreciate.”

And that’s the exact idea, to eradicate all random forms of thought. Structure provides a stable form of existence, one that can be relied on to be the same as it was yesterday and the day after. So you began by writing down your thoughts.. did they detail the difficulties you were experiencing, this is what gives you appreciation of words and free thought?
I began to write any and every passing thought and emotion… It is a release. Boxed in, I would turn into a self-created monstrosity. With poetry, I can have record of a specific experience through a structured base of verse. It was not only difficulties I would write about… But also the happiness I could receive from it all.

Does personal healing reflect the main body of your work?
Yes… It’s not only a self-remedy… But it is the process of growth. The walk of life. While living and enduring life, we walk a path… And many times we fall. After learning from many conditions, we grow. Poetry is a way to capture that significant breath… Over time, one could behold my growth throughout my poetry. Writing has been a very healing and inspirational intimacy.

How much of this initial writing did you do, and when did it evolve into compositions that could be called poetry?
I wrote endlessly. I would create numerous and various writings everyday. It quickly became a safe place, and a soothing instrument. I did not consider my free expression to be personally considered “poetry,” until 4 years after I started. I feel now, I am comfortable with writing, and can truly appraise it. I just write.

Is writing an easy thing to do?
Now writing is like second nature. I’ve gone as far as to time my efforts, the poem you listed earlier was written in less than two minutes.

I do experience mental blocks… Often I get frustrated when stuck in a repetitive collection of works. I’ve never really had a certain scheme to overcome a block. Life is similar to being in the ocean on a boat. No wave will always be the same, although many may be similar. Soon come waves that will change the hints of sight, emotion, physicality, and thought process. Writing contributes the soul acceptance and determination to press on. Many lives are in the ocean… We just experience the waves differently.

There is another form of expression called rapping, a component of hip-hop culture. In its early form it was called MCing. In what ways does it differ from what you do?
The conduct of rhyme is similar, yet so very different. There are many ways to create verse… Structured, free, and even innovative. I write from my heart and with an open mind. I believe rapping and or MC’ing is a more magnified cadence of poetry. Poetry plays an immense roll… As words are the very essence of expression’s creation. Personally, I have yet to read any poetry aloud. I would not consider myself a rapper, or an MC… Lyrically we are part of a family in a unison of rhyme. For example:

Don’t speak.. blown across black sands
Listen with your eyes.. the message of my hands
Interpret the inscription from the lesson in my wisdom
Recollect the connection in this communication of freedom
To write then… in invisible ink, a page of nothing, all lost in me
‘Wished those rhymes could erase all the pain from you.. I wrote so empty
Too far past all of it now.. I am above as the wind blows
Like the distant green in-between the dark blue and white hue as the ocean flows
As I close my eyes, tears fall from the sky much further south
Such reciprocity given.. written.. listen.. sang from my mouth
This journey I’m walkin.. busy street, storm clouds are comin’ in
This life I’m livin.. never retreat, I will prosper from inevitable sin
Now I just write.. love, and misery.. let me tell you what all this is about
Heart blessed sight.. life, and mystery.. don’t say anything.. I’ll write my heart out

By the way, pages ripped from the rebel’s notebooks say that some of your poetry has been published. Is this true?
I have a book called “Writin’ My Heart Out…” The publication of the book is prospectively to be released in 2004.

Well Tionne, this information will be taken back to the security team for further analysis. Any last words?
In my life, for what seemed impossible to endure, I was a prisoner ... To my love and my mind. Freedom is something I believe poets search for. I believe poets write because they are bound by something.. And when they are set free.. The writing stops. I can say, finally.. I am free.

Whudat.com - November 2003