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Bloodlines Across Space Time, An Apology

Note: Poignant graphic references to blood and violence. Author’s Note: This hinges upon a powerful Thee Kabal performance at St. Andrew’s Hall in Detroit back in 1992.  The show featured what turned out to be extreme ritual cutting.  In the wake of the Oxford shooting I’ve reflected on my own navigation of mental health issues …

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White House Environmental Justice – Public Comment

November 18, 2021 White House EJAC Public Meeting Eden Bloom – Public Comment This written comment is submitted in addition to my spoken comment made during the WHEJAC public meeting on November 17-18, 2021. Details around this issue are changing rapidly so this comment reflects what I am aware of as of November 18, 2021. …

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I am a Dancehall at Dawn

My ego dances between a desire to be known, to be a part of something, an overarching distaste and mistrust of my own kind, and a fear of being seen. Sometimes it is a sloppy and frustrated tango, other times a sad, precise waltz. My mind is a dance hall, emotions on the tables.  There …

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Time Machine

I built a time machine so I could go back and say I’m sorry.  It took years, timing and patience, emergent yet formulaic. But then I got trapped in a notion, the desire to remove the offense at onset, at the root; of wanting to make it completely go away.  Take it back to love, …

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Eden Bloom – The Death of Bloom (Remastered)

The Death of Bloom in its fully remastered state is now up on my Bandcamp page. Heads up: May 7th, 2021 will be another Bandcamp Friday where they are waiving their revenue sharing. Thanks for looking! The Death of Bloom by Eden Bloom

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Thee Dream, Thee Record, Thee Moon

Had thee dream last night. The one about making thee record. The one that I used to have all the time. The full moon dream sessions, lost hot wax traveling through time space, her face. The desire to see and be seen. Reoccurring drama, doubled up pain. I should have never asked her to sing, …

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Ode to the Bassheads

One of my favorite things about living in the city are the sounds; the rhythms.  The way in which patterns weave together only to fall apart again.  The bassheads booming, rolling up and down the street, while we’re porch sitting with the kids on a Saturday night.  Summer.  The crackled call and response between the …

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Babbling Belief

The things I believe in, that I worship, no longer have names I’m able to pronounce. They are rumblings, babblings and bubblings, barbarous to my domesticated ear. I could probably learn them, track their motions, map their meanings, but out of respect I don’t and won’t. I’ll not cage them with my desire to understand …

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Writing the Anathema

Someday, maybe I’ll have the time to write a book about the fact that wasn’t necessarily those in power that prevented more meaningful transformation in this city, but so-called allies, the do-gooders, the good guys. The ones who say they’re all about justice. The ones who appear to be and say they’re on community’s side. …

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The 33rd degree

28 sunrises since the last 23rd, 5 to go till the first spring moon. The movement of the moniker is the easiest of the motions made this month. A cycle of clarity, allowing the chaos to encircle without calling corners, to clean out cobwebs, reconnect synapses. Pain allowed to be perceived. Thoughts unwanted, thawed. Sights …

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