[Jonathan Fagan]: دعونا نرى ما فعلوه الليلة الماضية ليلة الطلاب لدينا. يبدو مذهلا. اسم والدي هو آفي فاجان. قلت مازحا إن هذا هو سبب تقاعده، ونحن ممتنون له للغاية. شكرًا لمتطوعينا وموظفينا، ريس وإيلي. باعوا عدة كتب.
[SPEAKER_00]: وبالطبع شريكتي شيلا، لا أستطيع الاستغناء عنها.
[Jonathan Fagan]: يجلس غالا على الدرج ويساعد في التحكم في الصوت. وبالطبع كان هناك تيري كارتر، السبب الحقيقي لما حدث في مركز ويست ميدفورد المجتمعي. إنه جزء من مجتمع وشعر لا يصدق. كل شيء على ما يرام. أوه، ماذا فعلت أيضًا؟ ساعد جيم وبروس أيضًا في التصوير الفوتوغرافي طوال عطلة نهاية الأسبوع. لذلك، لا يزال العديد من الأشخاص بحاجة إلى مساهمات مالية مختلفة لتحقيق الأمور. إذا نظرت إلى لافتاتنا، لدينا العديد من الرعاة. وسائل الإعلام المجتمعية في ميدفورد وبالطبع مركز مجتمع ويسترفورد التابع لمجلس ميدفورد الثقافي ومجلس الثقافة الشعبية ومؤسسة ميدفوود للفنون. وهذا أيضًا هو عامنا الأول في العمل مع موردي المواد الغذائية.
[SPEAKER_00]: الحلويات الدنماركية في الداخل.
[Jonathan Fagan]: لقد أنشأوا تخطيطات مذهلة تجاوزت كل التوقعات. بين الألحان، بين الفرق الموسيقية، شاهدها. يوجد أيضًا مرحاض بالداخل لأولئك الذين يحتاجون إلى استخدامه. نعم، لديها أيضًا Triangle Manor (شركة قمصان محلية تصنع قمصانًا رائعة للجميع) وExletty. هناك أيضًا جهات راعية فردية، مثل تلك الموجودة على صفحتنا على Patreon. يعد هذا اشتراكًا شهريًا رائعًا للترفيه والمظاهر الأخرى على مدار العام. هناك رموز QR في كل مكان لأولئك الذين يشعرون بالإلهام للتبرع، سواء كان ذلك في بلدنا (الذي كان مؤخرًا في مهرجان الجاز لموسيقى الجاز) أو صفحة اليقطين المحددة التي تحظى بشعبية كبيرة. نعم، أعتقد ذلك. أشعر دائمًا أنني نسيت أمر رجل كهذا، لكن نعم، عد لاحقًا وسيخبرك تيري قليلاً عن الفريق الأول وفرص العمل.
[Terry Carter]: واو، شكرا لك، شكرا لك. جوناثان فاجان هو منظم ومؤسس مهرجان ميدفورد لموسيقى الجاز، وهو عازف بيانو ناجح في جميع أنحاء المنطقة، لذا ستسمعون منه قريبًا. هذا هو مركز مجتمع ويست ميدفورد. لقد كنا في السوق لمدة 90 عاما. لدينا المجتمع الأفريقي تاريخ أفريقيا ميدفورد أفريقيا كما تعلمون، نحن موجودون بجوار نهر غامض. لدينا تاريخ طويل مع الأنهار والطرق الثلاثة، والتي ستسمع عنها لاحقًا. لكننا نريد أن نستغل نقاط قوتنا ونتأكد من أنها لا تضيع وقتنا. عرضنا الترويجي الأول سيكون في اليوم الثاني. إلى كل من كان معنا الليلة الماضية، لقد قضينا وقتًا رائعًا في الأداء الليلة الماضية، بما في ذلك جميع نجوم الجاز من مدرسة الموسيقى الصباحية الرائعة. ومع أنيتا وو وفريقها، مع AJ، أعني أننا حظينا بتجربة رائعة. سمحوا لي بالرقص قبل انتهاء المساء، لذلك كان كل شيء على ما يرام. شكرًا لك. غنت ديبي مع Morningside Jazz Alls الليلة الماضية وكان الأمر مذهلاً. كان أول أداء لنا يوم السبت هو عرض السامبا الذي قدمته الفرقة التي تحمل اسمها جاكوب دي باندوليم. ماذا يعني هذا بالنسبة للبرتغاليين، كما تعلمون، لقد اكتشفت ذلك للتو في المصدر الأصلي وصفات من سامبا، وهو برنامج يسمى "الفرقة" يهدف إلى عرض الألوان المختلفة للموسيقى البرازيلية في أنقى صورها، دون الإضافات الاصطناعية المفضلة لدي مثل الطبول الإلكترونية أو العينات الإلكترونية. سيقدم الطهاة والطهاة والزوجات آنا فارم وبيل وود أفضل الموسيقى البرازيلية إلى الطاولة.
[Unidentified]: الأفضل.
[Terry Carter]: نوفا وسامبا رائعان، بالإضافة إلى التخصصات المحلية مثل فورت وإيتشا وكاكاو.
[Clayton]: أتمنى أن أكون بخير.
[Terry Carter]: هل تعرف ما لا يعرفه البرازيليون؟ ولدت آنا بورج في ريسيفي، بيرنامبوكو، وبدأت حياتها المهنية في برازيليا، حيث غنت في النوادي والمسارح المحلية.
[Unidentified]: ثم تعلم العزف على الجيتار وذهب إلى مدرسة الموسيقى في البرازيل لدراسة الغناء. Jane Dubose SHINSENS تعلم تقنيات الغناء الكلاسيكي والبوب.
[Terry Carter]: بعد سنوات من التعاون الوثيق مع عازف الجيتار البرازيلي ألجوسون ألانتارا، انتقل إلى بوسطن حيث بدأ التعاون معه. بيل وارد، بيل وارد، بيل وارد. إنه عازف بيانو وعازف جيتار ومغني شق طريقه إلى عالم الموسيقى. أحب ذلك. هذه قصيدة. بدأ كعازف بيانو، وتخرج على رأس فصله في المدرسة الثانوية، ثم درس في معهد أوبراين للموسيقى مع دان وول وسام دي مارليس. في سن 13، سجل أول سجل له مع جورجيو بيرتو، لكنهما انفصلا فقط في الكلية. إنها أعمق وهي قصيدة حقيقية مع زوبعة من الموسيقى البرازيلية. لقد انخرطت مؤخرًا في عالم البيانو الكلاسيكي، وحصلت على درجة الماجستير في أداء البيانو من جامعة بوسطن، حيث درست مع جويا شارون وجيلدا جولدستين. سيداتي وسادتي، دون مزيد من اللغط، يرجى إلقاء خطاب السامبا.
[Clayton]: أنا قادم إليك، أنا قادم إليك، ليس لدي شيء، فليكن، لقد فقدت الكثير من الحب، لقد فات الأوان، لقد فقدت المدينة، يرجى أن يغفر لي. لا أعرف إذا كان لديك مثل هذه الحياة الجميلة. المدينة، يرجى أن يغفر لي. اعتقدت أنني سأغادر، اعتقدت أنني سأموت. المدينة، يرجى أن يغفر لي. النساء الأجنبيات سامحني، لكني لا أعرف إذا كنت ستعرف الحياة بدوني. نحن نحبك! حظ سعيد!
[SPEAKER_02]: شكراً جزيلاً. الأغنية الأولى كتبها كارلوس فيرا، يا إله إلهك، تيمانوفان. لذا أرجو أن تسامحيني إذا فات الأوان. هذا هو العنوان. سأحاول ترجمة هذا.
[Clayton]: أنا لست جيدًا جدًا، لكن أعتقد أنك ستفهم ما أغنيه.
[SPEAKER_02]: لذا فإن الجزء التالي يشبه تأثيرات موسيقى الجاز. ثم هناك تأثير موسيقى الجاز. لذلك أقرأ أيضًا الأغاني، وأحب تأثيرات موسيقى الجاز والموسيقيين. على سبيل المثال، عندما تتحدث عن الوحدة، فأنت تمتلكها، لكن موسيقى الجاز تمتلكها أيضًا. كما تعلمون، سوف نرى كيف ستسير الأمور.
[Clayton]: هكذا هكذا ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن. لكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن، ولكن
[Unidentified]: اتبع الجميع
[Clayton]: النساء الأجنبيات النساء الأجنبيات اذهب إلى هوك أوركون أعتقد أن الجزء التالي، كما تعلمون على الأرجح، هو الموجة. لكنني أعتقد أنه مجرد إجراء يمكنك اتخاذه. من المستحيل أن تكون سعيدًا بمفردك عندما تكون في الحب. لا أستطيع أن أعرف لأنني لا أعرف ماذا أقول. هذه هي الأشياء الصغيرة التي تأتي وتذهب. البركات والتأمل والسعادة وحدها غير ممكنة. هذه مدينة. هذه مدينة. هذه مدينة. هذه مدينة. ما هو مرئي هو غير مرئي فقط. سأعود إلى الشاطئ. من المستحيل أن تكون وحيدا هنا. ما لا أعرف كيف أستخدمه هو السلام الذي لا أحتاج إليه. الأخضر والأزرق الأخضر والأزرق. من المستحيل أن تكون وحيدا هنا.
[Unidentified]: أنا لا أعرف كلمات الأغاني. موسيقى
[Clayton]: و أوركون
[SPEAKER_02]: أريد الانتقال إلى المرحلة التالية.
[Clayton]: نتجادل أحيانًا حول "أريد أن أغني هذه الأغنية". أعتقد أنني لا أريد تشغيل هذه الأغنية. ما أنا؟ ولكن لا يهم. لا يزال لدينا سأحضر يسوع ليرقص ويرقص السامبا ويشرب ويشاهد التنس. السحر يجذبني قلبي يتدفق. كنت في باهيا في حفلة في الشارع. كانتينا دا لوا لديها سامبا. اشرب قليلاً وألقي نظرة أخرى على السحر الذي يبهرني. قلبي يتدفق. أنا في باهيا، أنا هنا. ذهبت إلى مهرجان القمر في حانة القمر سوف تضطر إلى النزول. يمكنك التأكد من أن الطاولة بيضاء. سأصفق بيدي بالإيمان. لقد جئت من خلفية صحية، وهذا هو المكان الذي أتيت منه. أوه، أوه، أوه! و هذا هو الحال أنا من ديسكو، أنا من يودا، لدي قذائف السابو في جوا والموز. لقد جئت من خلفية صحية، وهذا هو المكان الذي أتيت منه. أنا من جامبوا، في برشاموا، أنا راقصة سامبا. أنا لست بصحة جيدة، أنا بعيد عن ذلك. بدأ كل شيء عندما أصبح ماما بابا بابا أبًا. ♪ أنا من إستاسيو أنا من بنما، قدمين، سأذهب في الساعة الثانية من ديسمبر سأذهب للمساعدة سأصل إلى هناك أوركون أغاني جويو بوسكو دائما مجنونة. هذه هي أرض يسوع التي جاء منها يسوع.
[SPEAKER_02]: هذا المكان في باهيا، وهناك الكثير منهم في باهيا، ولدينا الكثير من التبرعات الأفريقية. الطريقة التي وصف بها المكان الذي أتى منه، كانت أغنية قوية وجميلة للغاية. الغناء صباح يوم السبت أمر صعب. يحب المغنون الغناء في الليل. أوه، أنا متعب. لذلك دعونا نعود إلى الباقي - سامبا. سامبا هو اختصار للقديس بولس. إن عمل كايتانو فيلوسو هو الذي يصف مسبقًا شكل رقصة السامبا. كيف تشبه مدينة ساو باولو مدينة نيويورك. فقال كلاماً جميلاً وأشعاراً عن القديس بولس. هذا الطريق هادئ.
[Clayton]: ماذا حدث لي عندما دخلت أفينيدا إبيرانجا وساو جواو جواو وعندما وصلت إلى هنا لم أفهم شيئًا. ناتارا، القصيدة المحددة لأغنيته، هي المستفيدة من نعمة الأنثى. ليس لدي ترجمة كاملة بعد للانتقام. حدث شيء بداخلي. ♪ فقط عندما تمر عبر إيبيرانغا وأفينيدا سان ♪ عندما أنظر إليك مباشرة، أسمي ذلك ذوقًا سيئًا، وجهًا سيئًا ♪ يولد ضعيفًا، لكنه "قبل ذلك، وقبل أن نبلغ الخامسة من العمر، كانت هناك بداية صعبة جعلتني لا أدرك أنها من حلم آخر، وسرعان ما تعلمت مدينة الفرح أن تسمي نفسها". المظلومون يصطفون على خط الجيتار. ومن خلال قوة المال، يمكنهم بناء وتدمير أشياء عظيمة. لأن الدخان يبدو سيئا. أرى شاعرك، مرسمك في الغابة، إلهك، إلهك من الحقول والمساحات المفتوحة. PAN America، Africa، Utopia، Samba، وعلى الأرجح New Raw Ghosts وNew Bahians النخالة الجديدة سوف تكون قادرة على الحصول على المتعة. ♪ أرى شعراءك من الحقول والريح របស់ ورشة غابتك يا إله المطر! ♪♪ معجب بالولايات المتحدة الأمريكية في أفريقيا YouTube معظم قبر سامبا هو زومبي كويلومبو ♪♪ باهيا الجديدة تمشي تحت المطر ♪♪ باهيا الجديدة يمكن أن تجلب لك... ♪♪ أوركون أعتقد أنه إذا كنت تريد الرقص، فيجب أن تعرف ذلك وتكون مرتاحًا له.
[SPEAKER_02]: لن أقول أي شيء.
[Clayton]: سامبا. و لكن جودة السامبا ممزوجة بماراكانا، و الشيء الأكثر أهمية هو أنه يمنع ما أريد الحصول عليه لأن سامبا على قيد الحياة وكل ما أريده هو سامبا الأسود الخاص بك، سامبا الأسود والأهم من ذلك أن سامبا جيد جدًا لدرجة أنك لا تريده. شكراً جزيلاً.
[SPEAKER_02]: كل شيء على ما يرام. المزيد من الأغاني للرقص عليها. هذا هو شيكو بواركي، أحد المفضلين لدي. هذا أمر لا يصدق. وهذا يعني السماح للفتيات بالرقص. لا تتوقف عن القراءة تحت أي ظرف من الظروف. إنه زوج سيء. لذا دعه يرقص.
[Clayton]: أنت معي بأمان يا طفلي، لكنك سترتكب أخطاء، بل سترتكب أخطاء كثيرة. في الساعة العاشرة صباحًا، تكون رقصة السامبا ساخنة، وتجعل اللجام سعيدًا، وتجعل الفتيات يرقصن بهدوء. لا أريد أن أرمي قصاصات الورق، لكن يجب أن أقول ذلك. هل أنت متعب. أنت تعاني. قد تشعر الفتيات بالملل إذا تجولت مثل هذا الزوج. ខាងក្រោយ خلف الرجل الحزين هناك دائمًا امرأة سعيدة ខាងក្រោយ خلف هذه المرأة هناك آلاف الرجال الذين تمحوهم من عقلك ♪♪ لا أعرف إذا كان يجب أن تكون سعيدًا. ♪ انتظر ♪ إنها الساعة العاشرة بالفعل، نودلز السامبا الساخنة ♪ اجعل السمراء سعيدة ♪ اترك سامبا وشأنه ខាងក្រោយ خلف الرجل الحزين هناك دائمًا امرأة سعيدة ♪♪ خلف هذه المرأة هناك الآلاف من الرجال الطيبين جدًا! ♪ لكن كل شيء سيء للغاية ♪ إنها الساعة 10 صباحًا والسامبا ساخن ♪♪ السمراوات سعيدات ♪♪ ترك سامبا بمفرده ♪♪ لا أريد رمي قصاصات الورق ♪ هذا مؤلم ♪ إنها الساعة الثالثة عندما يكون السامبا ساخنًا، من فضلك السمراء ولا تزعج مغني السامبا. خلف الرجل الحزين دائما امرأة سعيدة. وخلف هذه المرأة دائما رجل. ♪ لصالحك أوه! أوركون أريد فقط أن أشكركم جميعًا مرة أخرى على دعوة جريج وأنا متحمس معًا.
[SPEAKER_02]: هذه هي المرة الأولى لدينا. من الرائع أن أكون هنا. rexato maravati. اسمي آنا أمبول. انضم إلى قائمتنا البريدية للوصفات سامبا ميدفورد ميدفورد. أنا أشجع الأحداث. أنا أيضًا مروج للحفلات الموسيقية. لقد فعلنا نفس الشيء في ميدفورد. واللعب في المنزل رائع حقًا. جميلة جدا، جميلة جدا. حسنًا، فلنذهب إذن.. ربما تعرف هذا أيضًا.
[Clayton]: ♪ هل ترى هذا الحب، لم أراه من قبل ♪ يحدث، لا يتوقف، لكن انظر إلي، سأركض خلفه، سأخبرك أن الحب هو العطاء ♪♪♪♪♪♪ ♪ عندما رأى الفتاة توقف ووقف، وجهها لا يزال جافًا، لا يمكنك التوقف عن النوم، لا أريد النوم. ♪♪ هاكو، لكنك لم تأتي، لقد أتيت ♪ إذًا لا يهم، فقط قلها، أريد أن أتحدث إلى السماء، لكنك أتيت ♪ [♪ الغناء بالبرتغالية ♪♪♪♪ لقد طلبت منك ولكنك لم تأتي អ្នក أي نوع من الحب رأيته، لم أرى شيئًا مثله من قبل. ♪ عندما رأى هذه الفتاة، كان لا يزال هكذا ووقف. لقد كان دائمًا الشخص الذي لم أكن عليه أبدًا عندما سئم من النوم بسببي. ♪♪ لكنك لن تأتي អ្នក سوف تأتي ♪ إذن لن أقول، سأقول ما قلته بالفعل، يا عزيزي، لكنك ستأتي ♪ أوركون
[SPEAKER_02]: دعونا نجعلها الباروك. نعم، إنها تحب موسيقى الباروك. دعونا نفعل هذا. هذا من دودو كون ميمي. هذه أغنية حب أخرى. دعونا نجعلها الباروك.
[Clayton]: ស្រឡាញ់ حب شخص ما لا يؤذيك ♪♪ لا، أنا لست أنا មិនមែន أنا لا أمارس الحب ♪♪ لا، أنا لست أنا الحب يأتي على قيد الحياة. سيتم نقلك إلى السجن. عندما يحدث هذا، أنا كذلك. كما هو الحال في المنزل الأكثر أهمية والمحبوب في حياتنا، فإن الحياة لها ألعابها. إذا كنت تحب شخصًا ما فلن تقدم لنفسك أي خدمة. إنه ليس أنا أو أي شخص آخر. الحب يأتي على قيد الحياة. أنت لا تعرف أيها الأصدقاء، اجعلوا لعبتكم مهمة في حياتنا. ♪ لا تتبع نفسك عندما تحب شخص ما ♪♪ لا، أنا لست أنا ♪♪ لم أمارس الحب، وليس أنا ♪ عندما يأتي الحب إلى الحياة، فأنت لست مستعدًا، أما أنا فلست مستعدًا. عزيزتي، مدى أهمية هذا في الحياة؟ لا يوجد شيء جيد في حب شخص ما. ليس أنا، ليس أنا، ليس أنا. لم أمارس الحب. ليس أنا، ليس أنا. أوركون هذه أغنية يمكننا غنائها نفس الأغنية طوال اليوم، أليس كذلك؟ جيد جدًا. أحب ذلك. مرة أخرى؟ كل شيء على ما يرام.
[SPEAKER_02]: كان من الرائع العودة إلى ميدفورد. لديك جمهور كبير ومميز. شكرا لدعوتنا. آسف، لا أستطيع أن أتذكر اسمك.
[Clayton]: إنه سريع جدًا. ولكن شكرا مرة أخرى لاستضافتنا. من فضلك غني الأغنية الأخيرة. ما هو أفضل شيء في الأغنية الأخيرة؟
[SPEAKER_02]: شرب؟ نعم، افعلها. هل تعلم؟ الشرب والتوازن؟ كل شيء على ما يرام. هذه أغنية أخرى لجو بوسكو. لذلك دعونا نبدأ. قوة عالية وزيادة النقاط.
[Clayton]: صندوق وامنح كل نجم بارد ضوءًا ساطعًا. الغيوم في السماء تلتقط نقطة المعاناة. الروتاري هزيمة الأجانب كل خطوة تقوم بها يمكن أن تخل بالتوازن الذي تعرفه عن أداء كل فنان. أوركون شكراً جزيلاً. بيل وود، جريتاتو تورو، وريناتا مارافاسا. اسمي آنا أمبول. سنلعب في ميدان هارفارد الأسبوع المقبل. إذا سألتني، أستطيع أن أقول لك المزيد. أوركون كل شيء على ما يرام.
[Terry Carter]: أوه، إنه غرب ميدفورد. ليس عليك البحث. ريشيتا دي سامبا، بيل وارد يعزف على البيانو. صوت آنا بورخيس. جريج تورو موسيقي. ثم أخبرني مرة أخرى. وعازف الدرامز ريناتو. كل شيء على ما يرام. جيد جدًا. حسنًا، سنسترخي ونستعد لحدثين. أوصي بزيارة المخبز الدنماركي لأنهم يقومون بتحديثه. يوجد الكثير من الطعام اللذيذ بالداخل. كل السكر والزبدة الموجودة في العجينة والعديد من النكهات في قسم البحث. لذا، كما تعلم، افعل ذلك بنفسك. لديهم عصير الليمون والماء البارد. لذلك لا بأس. كل شيء على ما يرام. نراكم في بضع دقائق.
[SPEAKER_03]: لم أكن أعرف أبدًا ما كانوا قادرين عليه. لا أعتقد أنك تحبني. أخبر الجميع أنني أعرف أنني في أفكارك أينما ذهبت. لا أعتقد أنه أنت وفي نهاية اليوم كنت محظوظاً جداً. أنا لا أؤمن بما يمكنهم فعله. لا أعتقد أنك تحبني. أخبر الجميع أنني أعرف أنني في أفكارك أينما ذهبت. كلما اقتربت من منزل الرجل المحظوظ، شعرت أنني أقوى.
[Terry Carter]: All right. All right. Hello everybody. All right. So we had a beautiful first set. They said that they samba was marvelous. Really really good. And hopefully we will at least meet if not exceed your expectations for the second part of our program today. For those of you who don't know me or who I haven't had a chance to meet yet, my name is Terry Carter, Terry E. My mother says use the initial, that's why I gave it to you. So it's Terry E. Carter, E stands for Eugene. And I direct elder services here at the community center. I'm not going to talk a lot, but I do want you to know just a little bit about We've been in business for 90 years representing the historic African American community of West Medford and this is the second building on the site. The first building was little more than an old army Quonset hut that was brought here from the defunct army base in East Boston going way back, World War II. And it was set on the site and it remained our home from like 1945 to the early 2000s. And then it basically collapsed under its own weight. And we were fortunate enough over the next several years thereafter to build this building. And this is the current home of an organization that really, really is very near and dear to my heart. I grew up in West Medford. I'm born and raised on Jerome and Monument Streets, not too far from here. And so the community center, Duggar Park, where all the basketball players are, well, you know, another story for another day. And, let's see, Duggar Park. the Hervey School, Shiloh Baptist Church, a couple other places. If our parents didn't know where we were, they knew where to find us, okay? Because we were at one of those three or four places. But in any case, Jonathan and I, Jonathan Fagan here, who convened and founded the Jazz Fest, yeah, absolutely. We got together, it's going on six years ago, we decided that we wanted to do something project-wise, him as a musician, me as a poet, that would bring those two worlds together under the banner of jazz, because he's a splendid jazz composer, arranger, and poetry, and I'm turning into more of a lyricist as time goes by. I just started out as a garden variety poet, but now I can add lyricist and poet laureate to my name. Okay, so we're gonna start off with where we think, as a community, we start off. So we're gonna do a tune called Hired by the Mystic, okay? All right, now, everything that we do is this intersection of jazz and social justice, okay? Some of it might not fit your ears real easily, but I ask you to open your hearts because I speak the truth in love. Is that cool? All right, all right, very good. All right, let's do this. They gave my people the lowlands, and not much of it. Just a few streets high by the river. Banks turned to fly and die behind the red lines, and it wasn't about the money. Class was an irresistible force. Race was an immovable object. Perhaps it wasn't the written rule, but white folks knew the legal tool to keep us in our place in this mystic valley space, where slaves and rum and chips had built some mansions, made some millionaires, and hid some old money. So it was hard by the mystic we went, muddy and a bit turned down, the only place where one could be brown in this ancient Middlesex County town. But we named it and claimed it and made it our own. Even in the heat of summer, when the shores were parched and the soil was rank, with the decay of aquatic alchemy, we were one with the river. We followed its flow to the lakes and the sandy beachfront. Like our own Jordan Shore, we baptized and blessed our brothers and sisters in Christ. We caught the little fishes to and became the TV multitude who our Lord Jesus fed, hired by the mystic. We became community. We commanded unity. We embraced the village and raised up our children in the way they should go. As the river ebbs and flows, the tides would turn and our fortune grows. A few more streets become our home. Houses on Sharon join Kin on Jerome. From Duggar Park to the railroad tracks, the landed folk make more room for blacks. The color line recedes a bit. Church and school and center sit. The ville becomes the heart of it, hired by the mystic shore. Now the worm has surely turned, and folks who left have surely learned things couldn't stay the same. That muddy mystic most days is clean. The banks are freshly cut and green. Faces once distinctly brown are not the only ones in town. These streets that once were our confines must now embrace what gentry defines, condominium culture, bedroom convenience, university sprawl, access, egress, excess, and largesse. Now those lowlands have become the highlights of a trending city. And sometimes that success isn't pretty when it's at the expense of your black and brown and tan family. And yet the river still turns and bends. from where it begins to where it ends. The only place where one could be ground in this ancient Middlesex County town where we named it and claimed it and made it our own. All right. All right, okay, now, okay, we're into it now, okay? We're into it. So this is a cool segue because... There were, in that ancient Middlesex County town where we named it and claimed it and made it our own, there were a few institutions, especially for us kids. There was, of course, Duggar Park. There was the Hervey Schoolyard where we grew up and played on that side of town. There was the West Medford Community Center where all of us kids came for Cub Scouts and Girl Scouts. playing pool and bumper pool and ping pong and so on and so forth. And one of the other institutions that was particularly near and dear to our heart was right around the corner, a few streets down on Jerome Street, and it was called The Little Store. It was a tiny red hovel on Upper Jerome. a bit run down and rough around the edges. And Mr. Henry seemed so old to us even then, with a lot of whiskers, impatient, and a little scary. One would suspect that he didn't even like kids, but he really must have loved us. Or else, where did all that penny candy come from? He had all of it, no, seriously. We'd bust in there with a few nickels or a handful of pennies, all loud and unruly. He'd hush us up while he finished with grown folks' business. Then he'd be back, like a black Willy Wonka up in that old shack. He'd peer over those old horn-rimmed glasses and tell us he didn't have all day. Then he'd blow open one of those small brown craft paper bags. and get to stuffin' while we were oohin' and ahin' and huffin' and puffin'. See, Mr. Henry had all the treats, all of our favorites, a hundred great sweets. Root beer barrels and pixie sticks, squirrel nut zippers and banana splits, green mint juleps and button strips, red licorice ropes and bottle nips, He had bazooka Joe bubblegum and a tiny sucker called a dum-dum. Jawbreakers and Tootsie Rolls, sugary love for little kids souls. Candy necklaces to wear and bite, and waxy red lips was such a sight. Fat gum cigars and kid cigarettes, right beside the crunchy six legs. Mary Jane chewies and BB bats, hot fireballs and Mexican hats. Just the genuine Hershey's Kisses, all of the hits and none of the misses. Like kid taffy squares and Necco wafers, liquor made in Boston baked beans. Gold rocks, nuggets of gum in a bag, a kid's idea, sweet tooth swag. Before the days of Laffy Taffys, we would gobble up peppermint patties. Before we knew about gummy bears, Twizzlers always came in pairs. Chewy cow tails with creamy filling, but sugar babies had top filling. Reese's peanut butter cups had us squealing like newborn pups. mica nights and orange slices, salt water taffy and tiny prices. Lifesavers and charms and fruity flavors. We grab those bags like potty favors. Uncles were a favorite choice, and milk duds made us all rejoice. Jolly ranchers and bitter honey, we always got a lot for our money. Talk about kids getting excited. Our greedy fingers could barely wait. You can't imagine the flame he ignited to take that candy like fish take bait. from cold January to chilly December. More kinds of candy than I can remember at the Phil storefront on Upper Jerome. I knew I had to write this poem. See, Mr. Henry had all the treats, all of our favorites, a hundred great sweets. All right. All right, all right. Yeah, yeah. We love it. Okay, so here's the band. Jonathan Fagan on the keys. All right. Greg Toro on the little sexy. This is not the big sexy. The big sexy is the really big bass. This is the little sexy. It's still very sexy, but it's a smaller bass. And my man, Gordon Engelgau on the traps here. Okay, we are the Ally Project. We're going to move this thing along. Boy, where am I? Yeah. OK, here we go. So I'm not going to lie or front as we say in the hood. The neighborhood has changed pretty dramatically, all right? So I'm gonna talk a little bit about how I remember it and what it's become, okay? So this piece is called Corner Lot. All right. standing at the apex of Arlington and Jerome, trying to remember the black and the brown and the tan. Ronnie and Otis used to live in the big house on the corner lot. It's probably changed a half a dozen times since then. Current owner's been there for a minute. He's good with his hands and he knows his way around wood and tools. Place has been gussied up quite a bit. Picket fence is not quite white, but if you know, you know. Asian kid in a Tufts hoodie just whipped by in a helmet and roller blades. Didn't see much of that back in the day. The university sort of hit on the hell side, trying its best to be a baby Ivy. But the co-eds come here all the time now. Basketball, tennis rackets, pickleball paddles in tow, on bikes, in Benzos and roller blades. We used to bust ourselves up pretty good on those rickety metal skates with clunky keys and leather straps. Nothing a little Vaseline and Mercurochrome couldn't handle. How did Henley put it in Invictus? Oh yeah, bloody but unbowed. Not too many white and off-white kids hanging out here back there then. It was as if the invisible lines once drawn to keep us in sometimes kept other folks out too. Now they've pretty much taken over. Dug a park, the Rhone tennis courts, the Hervey schoolyard, and a hundred addresses on Arlington, Lincoln, and Jerome. A host of our remembered places, so few of our original faces. Meanwhile, back in Ronnie and Otis' old place, I'm still standing like that centurion, knowing that Jesus doesn't have to go in to heal his servant. He just has to speak a word. I guess I keep hoping that he'll speak a word to the corner lot, too, and bring back the black and the brown and the tan. Across the river, it's low tide. The smell is gone and the grass is greener than I recall. That was our little park, away from dugger and a lot less hectic. We had makeshift bases or discarded cones for football and softball. We lost a few in the river, but nobody was going in that muck to retrieve anything. We'd probably wait in that water today. They planted some trees there many years ago. They're all pretty big now. Maple and ash, I think. Nobody plays baseball or football there anymore. But there are lots of dogs frolicking off leash and gaggles of fat Canadian geese daring pitties, pugs, and poodles to chase them all. I can't imagine my childhood without losing a few softballs there. I can't imagine not hearing Mrs. Allen call little James Michael to come and eat, or little Charlie to watch us play from his folding chair, because his spindly legs were too weak to let him run. I can't imagine that I'm still here. But Ronnie and Otis, Darryl King and Frankie French, Aaron McDaniel and Marky Davis are all gone. Mark was as thick as a big tree trunk, so we came up with Oak for him. Aaron was Spud, Frankie was Fruit Man, and I was Top Cat. Too cool, ran to school. Everyone wants the corner lot now. A little more land and perhaps the new perspectives that angles create. I wonder if that meant anything to Ronnie and Otis, or Jed and Miles and Gib, Barry, Coco, Keith Wing, and Kenny Byfield. Certainly meant something to the white folks looking to displace, transplant, and uproot the local color. Black folks built homes here, only place where they were allowed to be, where they could color inside the lines Medford once drew against the perceived discomforts of darker skin. We were here first. First firefighters, police officers, war heroes, shop owners, tradesmen, postal chiefs, teachers, artists, and preachers. We were the human bedrock of the only neighborhood they'd let us build. The old church is gone now. Nelson even changed the street number as if to erase the fact that the original Shiloh Baptist ever existed. But if you know, you know. That corner still has a cornerstone. 1900, and Nelson couldn't do nothing about it without a more draconian demolition. Two more condos in the house of the Lord. Two more houses that us first folk can't afford. Two more dismissals of the blessings of his word. One more holy stone rejected and ignored. Thank you. Thank you. All right, we're going to switch it up a little bit. You're familiar with the jazz canon. You know a couple of the players. You know Duke Ellington and Miles Davis and maybe Herbie Hancock and a few others. And then maybe you know John Coltrane. All right, so Coltrane, some of the best of the jazz standards were his compositions with that beautiful horn of his. And one of them was about one of his loves. Her name was Naima. And so if you know Coltrane and you know jazz a little bit, you probably have heard Naima before. So this is a riff, a take on Naima. It's called Reprise for Naima. He would blow this note in the midnight air, aloft in the ether it floats out there. Staccato cadence sets a mood of bluesy lyrical attitude. Improvisational mystery like Monk's piano epistrophe or Miles' tone poem in a silent way or Flanagan's peace at the end of the day. Syncopated in sharp, bright tone, a countdown to stardust, a twilight zone, like a blue train running against the night, setting the pace, then out of sight. With heartmen crooning or bags-on vibes, trios, duets, quartets, and tribes, the blues, the ballads, the avant-garde, incredibly gorgeous, impossibly hard. Giant steps move us miles ahead. Cooking up bop for Harlem street cred. Melody's hand to the harmony wed. Piano's lullaby fresh in the bed. Rhythm rocks where the drummer led. Rhythm rolls where the bass man sped. Rhythm birthed what the saxophone bred. Rhythm heard what the master said. How could he make the bitter taste sweeter? How could a tortured mind deleter? How could the mellowed scotch be neater? How could the smoke from each cigarette create blue beads that cast a net, create blue beads of cascading sweat, create blue haze that confounds regret, create blue nights that we can't Coltrane's notes are a crystal scale, a velvet scream in the urban travail, the heavenly riff of a love supreme, the pungent riff of a lover's dream. Coltrane's notes are a cozy romance, the breezy bounce of a bop and a dance, the languid lilt of stray's lush life, the cakes cut by the artist's knife. Coltrane's notes are a standard refined, like gold in a pan or gemstones mined, the sparkling glow of a hopeful dream, hot black coffee with a hint of cream. Coltrane's notes are Naima's reprise, like madness that brings a man to his knees, or sadness that comes when lovers part, the gladness removed from the balladeer's heart. A tight arrangement cuts the gloom. The melody says that love's in bloom. The harmony spirit engulfs the room. The bride says yes to her lyrical groom. The groove and the beat then jump the broom. The kip drum resounds with a sonic boom. As genius is birthed in a soul filled room. Musical mythology mocks, a twisted path the hero walks. With shield and sword the hero stalks. The temperance shakes her twisted locks. Medusa's snakes, his vision shocks. Holds up the mirror to stony blocks. The harp and the horn melt icy rocks. Serpents retreat and symphony talks. Coltrane's notes are a roller coaster, a hallelujah and a paternoster, the glorious jolt of the maestro's hand, the saxophone titan is in command. Coltrane's notes are a crazy rhythm, the squawk of chords and playful schism, the frenetic pace of Mr. P.C., the coolest round midnight will ever be. Coltrane's notes are genius refined, like gold in a pan or a gemstone's mine. The sparkling glow of a lover's dream, hot black coffee with a hint of cream. Coltrane's notes are Naima's reprise. Like madness that brings a man to his knees, or sadness that comes when lovers part, then gladness revived in the balladeer's heart. Thank you. Thank you very much. All right, all right. So we're going to stay on the jazz frontier for a minute. Herbie Hancock, and later Quincy Jones, they did a tune, Quincy covered it, Herbie Hancock did it for us, and it's called Tell Me a Bedtime Story. So we do a little riff on Tell Me a Bedtime Story, it's called Tell Me Another Bedtime Story, all right? It's just a sweet little jazz ditty, okay? Cool. Is this where the sandman picks up each grain, restoring the beauty and reducing the pain? Is this where we fly to never never land, like the troop of lost boys with Peter Pan? All of the mystery of hidden dreams. Nothing now is as it seems. Tell a sweet tale that sugars and creams with flashes of sardines and shining moonbeams. As I lay down to my slumber, paint a landscape of ochre and umber. Let there be a hint of romance. Turn up the quiet. Love wants to dance. Tell me a bedtime story, please, of secret gardens and pecan trees, of babbling brooks and waterfalls, of gentle breezes that summer calls, of hidden havens and wondrous spaces, of astral planes and mystical places. Let it be a melody that sings in four-part harmony. Let it resound in symphony that folds into dreamland's reverie. Tell me a fable of Arabian nights spread on a table of earthly delights, free from the label of anger and fights, willing and able to scale higher heights. Tell me a bedtime story now, as the baby rocks in the maple bough, as the blue ox puts his nose to the plow, and the sweaty farmer wipes his brow, as each green seedling happily vows to yield each fruit the ground allows, and seven dwarfs whistle a happy tune, and sleeping beauty awakens soon. Let there be a melody that sings in four-part harmony. Let it resound in symphony, then fold into dreamland's reverie. This is the time when the sandman whispers and seven grooms meet seven sisters. And the prairie sings an ode to love as the angels release the turtle dove. For now, I lay me down to sleep and pray to God, my soul to keep. All right. Jonathan Fagan on the keys. Greg Toro on the bass. Did you hear that? You heard that, right? All right, that's Gordon Yango, guy on the drums. All right. All right, so listen, we're going to the intersection of jazz and social justice, all right? All right, and when I say we ain't playing, we ain't playing, but we're playing. Is that okay? All right, all right. So we ain't playing, but we're playing. Okay, this is called alienation. Good? Okay. All right. Here is a fence without a gate. You can't get in, you have to wait. You can't be foreign or somehow strange. This isn't your home, home on the range. You can't arrive in a rickety boat. Our castle has a treacherous moat. We won't host refugees at our door. You're not the sort we're looking for. Take good note, we stay on guard. We don't want you in our backyard. Despite the danger you seek to avoid, our best deterrents have been deployed. You say our country's full of peril. But like stray cats, we think you're feral. We think you're prone to filth and crime. We don't want either at this time. We don't care what the nations say. They won't do more than hope and pray. Our stance is clear on human rights. Lock the door. Turn off the lights. You saw that statue in the bay. It stood for liberty until today. It welcomed tired and huddled masses, not criminals from your underclasses. We've got militias on the border. They own big guns to keep the order. Law enforcement lets them stay to help them keep your kind at bay. Why do we feel that this is good? Why can't we share the neighborhood? Is it because you're black and brown? No, we just choose to stand our ground. Stay in your place. Deal with your issues. We'll send lots of coal and tissues. Don't form caravans and run. You'll find yourselves in the sight of a gun. There are no streets here lined with gold. Our eyes are closed, our hearts are cold. There is no flowing milk and honey. American skies are not that sunny. The fences we build keep aliens out. They serve to keep our faith devout. This land we scheme to make our own is ours, you see, and ours alone. As long as you stay on the other side, we can maintain our national pride. Please don't show us your anguished faces. We're cutting back on other races. We've had enough of global inclusion. We're ridding this country of race confusion. We know how to win these fights and limit all these civil rights. safety nets and the welfare state will have to stop for the lost and late a rising tide that favors the rich that's our famous favorite campaign pitch me too movements and black lives matter in all due time your ranks will scatter you think that you shall overcome just cross this line we'll give you some We'll give you a taste of burning churches and black boys hung from oaks and birches. We'll give you a taste of incarceration in prisons.com, the corporate plantation. We're taking this country back to the time when a brown life wasn't worth a dime, except for the way it worked in the field, except for a bushel of crops to yield. We're taking this country back to the day when white meant right in every way, when men of privilege could rape and beat and kill for spite, then lie and cheat. We're taking this homeland back to the season when hooded marauders needed no reason to hunt folks down with rifles and dogs through the lonely woods, the swamps, and bogs. When confederate flags were boldly raised, and crosses in the darkness blazed, and the land was full of racial hate, served with grits on a breakfast plate. You thought this worm had surely turned, and young black bodies no longer burned. Yet here you are again today, with the specter of prejudice winning the day. The MAGA caps you wear with pride, they let us know who's on your side. The pointed hood and long white robe, fine clothes for the xenophobe. Perhaps this place that immigrants covet can somehow heal and rise above it. Until that day, our best advice to call this home, you'll pay a price. You'll pay a price as many misguided embrace the hate their voice provided. His Twitter rants and sound bites full of ethnocentric cock and bull. You'll pay a price as higher walls lead great climbers to greater falls, where fences are the new condition announcing the refugees' abolition. This isn't our nation's greatest hour, this flexing of white supremacist power. And yet the season is fully revealing the stain of hatred we've been concealing. So take good note and be on guard of deadly traps around the yard. Our agents are on high alert to keep you foreigners off this dirt. Tolerance is in short supply. We won't let your kind occupy this sacred land our forebears built. We don't subscribe to Anglo guilt. This fence was built without a gate to keep out all who come here late. To all you aliens, we don't like strange. No room at the inn in our home on the range. All right. Hard troops, admittedly, but troops nonetheless. All right, so we're gonna stay there for a minute, and then we'll try and ease up off of your feelings. This piece is called The Ally, and it's actually kind of the eponym for our project. So we're gonna do Ally for you. Friends become distant and strange as if you have some creeping mange. Family wonders why and rings their hands. How could you choose them over us? We're your blood, bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh. They're not like us. They're so different, less than, not equal to, beneath. Declarations have been made. Arrangements are in place. These are matters of our kin. Signs have been painted. You're going to be cast out. You're going to be shunned. You need to stick with your own kind. An ally? Is that what they're calling you? Well, it's a hard road to hoe. You're making strange bedfellows. You're casting your white pearls before swine. You weren't raised to behave like this. Our family is a proud and honored clan. We'll never be lower than any black man. There's no room for them at this table. There's always been two sides of the track, a right and wrong side of town, our kind and their kind, your people and those folks. It's going to kill your mother and your daddy's turning over in his grave. You want to shout out, Black Lives Matter. But the master plan is to make them scatter, to serve them pain on a silver platter. Our people own them. They worked this land for 200 years. They were our property, our Negroes. Hell, our Negroes to make it plain. You can't be out there with them. You can't be shoulder to shoulder with the ones we need to dominate, relegate, subjugate, eliminate. They want reparations. Well, we're making preparations to give them 40 acres of hell and a mule kit to the gut. You don't seem to get it, son. This is the way the races run. There's not enough room for everyone. The time for black and brown is done. Show your pride and pick up your gun. Pick the side that has always won. You can't be out there with them. You can't be shoulder to shoulder with the ones we need to dominate, relegate, subjugate, eliminate. All right. All right, all right. Yeah, yeah. All right, all right. Once again, the Allied Project. Jonathan Fagan, Greg Toro, Gordon Angle Guywin, I'm Terry Carter. Too cool, these bros got me sweating out here. Got me sweating. All right, okay, so we're at a couple of different spots and then we're gonna finish up. But let's do something nice and mellow. This is called Legacy, okay? Everybody enjoying themselves? All right. I know it's warm out there. I know. But you're braving the elements and enjoying the day, hopefully. Very, very good. It's not for you to tell your own story. That is the burden of your children. They must shoulder this yoke with love and loyalty. And yet, you have not gathered them up and bid them sit before the campfires of their elders. You have not seasoned their meals with the spice of their identity and the savor of their names. How will they learn to walk the walk and talk the talk? How will they learn to tell your stories even as they live out their own? Sons and daughters and heirs, if you didn't smell the burning ash or feel the warmth of the flame on your neck, you don't know. If you didn't revel in the growl of the griot's earthy reply or the trill of the mockingbird's cry, you don't know. If mama was too tired and daddy too long gone to carry the wood, light the spark and stoke the flames, you don't know. And until the lion cub knows how to tell the pride stories, the hunters will always tell them first. The good book says train up the child in the way they should go. Will we let them depart from the community of faith and the city on the hill without the master's touch, without the oil of his anointing and his full measure of grace? Will we not show them Anansi's clever ways, Popo and Fafina's journey, Mufaro's beautiful daughters, the people who could fly the wonders of Wakanda, and Songololo's new tacky. The prophet says he will encourage fathers and their children to return. But how will they know the way home if no map charts the seas, measures the roads, cites the peaks and valleys, and names each forest despite the thickening trees? Will the burden of the elder stories be too heavy for the children? Will they care to carry? Will they dare to tarry? Will they linger at the foot of the griot? Will they hunger for the wisdom of the sage? We must put them on this page, where hard work earns a man his wage, where power is measured by God's own gauge, where miracles scarf at the wand of a maid. We must share with them the truth that is loyal and fierce like Naomi and Ruth, that doesn't wait for the confessional booth, that has the bite of the panther's tooth. This is the gift of legacy, where a glorious past sets the captives free, and a candle's light beckons liberty. Sons and daughters and heirs, I bid you sit before the campfires of your elders, hear their stories, gather up their stones, and build up your strength. They will show you Anansi's clever ways, Popo and Fafina's journey, Mufaro's beautiful daughters, the people who could fly the wonders of Wakanda, and Sanga Lolo's new tackies. Soon you will be the herald. Write these things down on the tablets of your spirit. Let them put a running in your feet. With each quickening step, you repel the arrows of the hunter. With the shield of abiding faith, you capture the flags of your enemies and gather up their spoils. You remain the lions of the pride and your tails will always be your children's bread. You will never abandon the community of faith. Though you build a thousand cities on a hill, drawing wondrous strength from the master's touch as the oil of his anointing fills your clay jars with his grace. Thank you. All right. Quite a while ago, it was either my first or my second book. Speaking of first and second books, I've got books up there. There's actually a Ally Project CD, for those of you who still have a CD player. And it's got a lot of our music on it. So if you're interested, it's up there. We also have a book. Jazz Festival t-shirts, which are lovely, and our food venue, the Danish Pastry House, will still be here after we leave. So if you didn't get a snack and you wanna get one, come back and sit out under the tent and talk, or however the move hits you, it's all there, still there for you. All right, okay, so I think we're gonna do two more, and then we're gonna be done. All right, so. I love that, I love that, I love that, I love that. If it's not fake, if you're faking it, don't do it. But if it's, oh, okay, I love it, okay. What are we doing? Oh, we're doing Bobby, okay. All right, so a while back, on one of my early books, I think it was the second one, I have a painting in my house. It's called, what's it called, T? Oh, it's called Bobby Doesn't Live Here. And basically what it is is my attempt, my humble painting attempt, to kind of depict black women in all shapes and sizes, because they come in all shapes and sizes. And there may be one or two of them who are very, very narrow and somewhat Barbie-like, somewhat Angel Reese-like. But for the most part, it runs the gamut. So I wrote this poem called Barbie Doesn't Live Here to go with that. piece of artwork. And every once in a while, you revisit a piece of poetry and you say, well, what could I have done differently? Or what could I have said differently? So I had this notion, and it came out like this. And it's called, If Barbie Had a Choice.
[Unidentified]: هاها
[Terry Carter]: لو كان لدى باربي خيار، أعتقد أنها كانت ستجعل لونها أسود منذ اليوم الأول. سأجعل البشرة كريمية وأختار رائحة خفيفة. وبطريقة الملكة الحقيقية هيستيريلي، تحدثت بلهجة الإيغبو: "اذهب إلى الجحيم مع المستعمرين!" ضعني في صندوق وردي بأحرف بيضاء وخلفية من أشجار النخيل والكثير من الرمال على الشاطئ. أنا لا أعتقد ذلك. لا يمكن استيعاب الصدور الكبيرة في فستان قصير وردي فاتح. أحتاج إلى شيء أكثر أهمية. أحتاج إلى جيش كبير من القطن والباتيك البلدي فيه كل ألوان وطني. أحتاج إلى فتاة جديدة، وهي مستعدة لتظهر للعالم ما قمت به. أريد منتجًا من صنع داهومي، وليس منتجًا من ماتيل وديزني. على محمل الجد، إذا كان لدى بوبي خياره، فإن كين سيبدو مثل علي أو دينزل أو جمال الشوكولاتة الداكنة البريطاني إدريس إلبا. لن تكون قطعة صلبة فحسب، بل لن تزيد عن 150 قطعة من مناديل عيد الميلاد الورقية. هل سيكون قويًا مثل T'Chala's T'Chartel، ومتقدمًا مثل Tupac، ويعمل مثل Malcolm Brothers؟ دعني أقبل الرجل ذو الشفاه السوداء، الفتاة التي ليس لديها طفح جلدي مثل الطفح الجلدي. كان يبتلع رجله في ورك الشاعر الأسود المرتعش. إذا كنت لا تعرف، ابحث في اليوتيوب. لا تحتاجين إلى جراحة المؤخرة البرازيلية، أو درنة آمنة، أو دروس في Adobe Photoshop. هل اهتمت أفريقيا وجيناتها الغنية بكل شيء، هل تفهم ما أعنيه؟
[SPEAKER_07]: إذا كان لدى باربي خيار، فلن تتمكن من شرائها من R Toys USA.
[Terry Carter]: شوارتز أو ماري رينولد. لن تكون فتاة مزيفة، أو شخصية جانبية، أو بوني كلايد. هذه ليست فتاة أمريكية مستقيمة سيئة أو أم راقصة مادي. لن تكون مارجوت روبي أو شيري شيري أو ديدي هارفي. سأنهي هذه العملية بمزيد من RIM وسيكون عدد قليل من القضبان المعدنية كافيًا. المبتدئون مثل بوبو لا يتحملون أي هراء. لم يعد من الممكن حل اضطهاد إخواننا. وستكون معجزتها هائلة. سيجد اللاعبون اللعبة مرهقة للغاية ولن تتاح لهم أبدًا فرصة حقيقية للفوز بجائزة الحب. وبينما كان بإمكانه الحصول على سيارة بنتلي أو رولز رويس، فإنه سيفشل فشلاً ذريعًا في محطة وقود حقيقية في كاينز. يجب أن تعامل باربي النوبية الجديدة بأقصى قدر من الاحترام. لا يشعر بالاكتئاب أو التجاهل. سوف يقاتل من أجل ذلك مثل نخبة غوجي. لن تكون ناعمة أو قذرة أو صغيرة. وسوف يحدث فرقا. أراهن. القواد أو الرجل لا يشكل تهديدا. مثل الكلمات الجميلة عن الواجب الوطني، جمالها وحكمتها لن يعرقلك. قد يكون لدى باربي البيضاء هذه طائرة لعبة، لكنها لم تهبط بطائرة روحها بعد. لقد نسيت ملكتي الأفريقية المشكلة الحقيقية، على الرغم من أنها ربما كانت ترغب في الاحتفاظ بتلك الكورفيت الوردية. قد ترغب في حفظ هذا. نعم، قد ترغب في الاحتفاظ بها. كل شيء على ما يرام. نعم، سننتهي من حيث بدأنا، مع العائلة، لأن الجميع هنا، وأنتم هنا، وأنتم ممتنون جدًا، ونحن ممتنون جدًا لكل من يصنعهم معنا. لذلك دعونا نرى إذا كان لدي أي أمل في العثور عليه.
[SPEAKER_07]: هل ترغب في الحصول على مفروشات للمقعد النظيف؟ تلك القابضة تلك القابضة تلك القابضة تلك القابضة
[Terry Carter]: ទាំងអស់គឺល្អ។ ខ្ញុំដឹងថាមានអ្វីជាច្រើនដែលខ្ញុំកំពុងនិយាយនៅថ្ងៃនេះនិងអ្វីដែលយើងកំពុងនិយាយនៅថ្ងៃនេះអ្នកដឹងថានឹងធ្វើឱ្យមានភាពខុសគ្នានិងរំជួលចិត្តខុសគ្នាជាមួយមនុស្ស។ ប៉ុន្តែកំណាព្យពិសេសនេះប្រហែលជាដូចជា "ហាងតូច" នឹងនាំអ្នកត្រឡប់ទៅផ្ទះរបស់អ្នកវិញនៅពេលជាក់លាក់មួយ។ ខ្ញុំស្ទើរតែអាចធានាថាអ្នកមកពីណាដែលអ្នកបានមកពីណាដែលប្រវត្តិរបស់អ្នកគឺជាអ្វីដែលសាវតារបស់អ្នកនៅពេលខ្លះខ្ញុំសង្ឃឹមថាផ្ទះរបស់អ្នកនឹងមើលទៅដូចនេះនៅចំណុចនេះហើយខ្ញុំសង្ឃឹមថាវានឹងធ្វើឱ្យវាកើតឡើង។ កំណាព្យនេះត្រូវបានគេហៅថា "កំណាព្យតុផ្ទះបាយ" ។ គ្មាននរណាម្នាក់ចង់ទៅទេ។ ពួកគេដូចជាស្នាមប្រឡាក់ប៊្លូរីនៅលើអាវរបស់ម៉ាក់: ស្ងប់ស្ងាត់និងមាតិកា។ អាហាររបស់គាត់គឺឆ្ងាញ់ពោតស្រស់និងខាត់ណាចៀនសាច់មាន់ចៀននិងសាឡាត់ដំឡូង។ កណ្តឹងរបស់ពួកគេគឺខ្លាញ់និងពេញ។ នេះគឺជាបន្ទប់នេះ។ អូព្រះរបស់ខ្ញុំក្មេងស្រីតើអ្នកធ្ងន់ធ្ងរទេ? នេះគឺជាការសន្ទនាពិតប្រាកដ។ យើងជាមនុស្សពិត។ គ្រួសារតើអ្នកដឹងថាខ្ញុំកំពុងនិយាយអំពីអ្វីទេ? យើងគឺជាគ្រួសារមួយ។ អ្នកអាចធុំក្លិនស្នេហាបានយូរមុនពេលទ្វារបើក។ អ្នកដឹងថាវានឹងមាននំ pecan ។ តែទឹកកកផ្អែមនឹងត្រូវបានបម្រើ។ ភាគខាងត្បូងនឹងបោះបង់ចោលទម្រង់ខាងជើងការសង្កត់សំឡេងនឹងកើនឡើងហើយភាពងងឹតនៃជនបទនឹងមានអារម្មណ៍កាន់តែជិតទីក្រុង។ ពួកគេស្នាក់នៅលើតុនោះយ៉ាងយូរបន្ទាប់ពីកំទេចបានកើនឡើងចានទាំងអស់ត្រូវបានទឹកនាំទៅហើយអាហារត្រូវបានដាក់ចេញឬដាក់ចូលទៅក្នុងថង់ TupptionWare និងកាបូប ziplay ។ មនុស្សគ្រប់គ្នានឹងមានកាបូបឆ្កែឆ្កួតនិងរឿងមួយដែលត្រូវប្រាប់។ បុរសនឹងមានពេលវេលាដ៏អស្ចារ្យ។ ♪ស្លៀកអ្វីតូចជាងមុន♪♪និយាយមិនសមហេតុសមផល♪♪ស្នាមញញឹមនឹងភ្លឺស្វាងហើយការសើចនឹងត្រូវបណ្តេញក្បាលរបស់ពួកគេហើយដែលមិនមានភាពត្រឹមត្រូវនៅថ្ងៃអាទិត្យ, ក្មេងស្រី, អ្នកដឹងថាខ្ញុំមិនចង់ទៅទេ ពួកគេប្រៀបដូចជាព្រះនាងងងឹតរបស់ព្រះយេស៊ូវនៅក្នុងគំនូរចាស់ដែលពោរពេញដោយក្តីស្រឡាញ់និងការតស៊ូ។ អាហារព្រលឹងរមាស់។ ក្មេងប្រុសបានអធិស្ឋានទៅកាន់ឋានសួគ៌និងទារកបានច្រៀងចម្រៀងរបស់គាត់។ មនុស្សគ្រប់គ្នាសប្បាយរីករាយនិងស្ងប់ស្ងាត់។ នេះគឺជាបន្ទប់នេះ។ ខ្ញុំពិតជានឹកឪពុកខ្ញុំណាស់។ តើមហារីករបស់កូនអ្នកក្នុងការលើកលែងទោសមែនទេ? វិហារនៃសាសនារកឹស្ដ នេះគឺជាការសន្ទនាពិតប្រាកដ។ យើងជាមនុស្សពិត។ រកយសារ តើអ្នកដឹងថាខ្ញុំកំពុងនិយាយអំពីអ្វីទេ? យើងគឺជាគ្រួសារមួយ។ អស់លោកលោកស្រី Girlemen សម្ព័ន្ធមិត្តគម្រោង។ Jonathan Fagan លេងកូនសោ។ Greg Toro បម្រើការជាអ្នកលេងភ្លេង។ គាត់កំពុងរត់បុរស។ តាមពិតគាត់នឹងរៀបការឆាប់ៗនេះ។ នេះគឺជាបុរសរបស់ខ្ញុំ។ ទាំងអស់គឺល្អ។ មើល។ គាត់គឺជាអ្នកប្រយុទ្ធឧទ្ទាមម្នាក់។ គាត់មានគម្រោងរើសយករំពាត់ហើយសំដែងនៅឯពិធីមង្គលការមួយនៅក្នុង Connecticut ។ ទាំងអស់គឺល្អ។ បន្ទាប់មកមានបុរសរបស់ខ្ញុំ។ ហ្គរដុនអង់គ្លេសគឺជាអ្នកវាយស្គរតែមួយគត់។ ទាំងអស់គឺល្អ។ យើងគឺជាគំរោងនៃសេចក្ដីសញ្ញា។ ថ្ងៃស្អែកយើងត្រលប់ទៅពិធីបុណ្យ jazz របស់ Medford ដែលមានកម្មវិធីពីរទៀត។ យើងនឹងមាននិស្សិតអនុបណ្ឌិតមកពីប្រទេសទាំងនេះ វិទ្យាស្ថានចាហ្សាយឡេសរបស់លោក Berklee ដែលដឹកនាំដោយ Terri-Lynn Carrington របស់ Medford ។ គាត់នឹងមិននៅទីនេះទេប៉ុន្តែសិស្សរបស់គាត់នឹងហើយពួកគេអាចទៅបាន។ សមាជិកម្នាក់ក្នុងចំណោមសមាជិកដែលនឹងដឹកនាំការខិតខំនេះគឺស្ត្រីវ័យក្មេងម្នាក់ឈ្មោះវែឌីណាខាទិចដែលស្រដៀងនឹង Terri-Lynn Carrington នៅម៉ោង 22 ឬ 23 ដូច្នេះអ្នកប្រហែលជាចង់ទៅជួបនាង។ បន្ទាប់មកយើងនឹងឈ្នះ មិនអាចប្រៀបផ្ទឹមបាននិងឥតឈប់ឈរ។ មែនហើយនេះគឺលោកដុនណា Mcelroy នាងជាប្រធាននាយកដ្ឋានសំលេងនៅ Berkeley ហើយបន្ទាប់មកជាប្រធានផ្នែកសុខាភិបាលរបស់នាយករបស់នាងគឺ George Russell, Jr. Jr. ធ្ងន់ធ្ងរណាស់បើអាចធ្វើបានអ្នកអាចពិចារណាបានមកវិញប្រសិនបើថ្ងៃអាទិត្យរបស់អ្នកអនុញ្ញាតពីព្រោះនោះនឹង រកវិល ជាការប្រសើរណាស់យើងសូមអរគុណអ្នកដែលបានស្នាក់នៅជាមួយយើងនិងធ្វើឱ្យក្រុមហ៊ុនអាមេរិកជួយយើងពេញមួយថ្ងៃ។ ខ្ញុំសង្ឃឹមថាអ្នកមានជាតិទឹកបានល្អ។ បើមិនដូច្នោះទេចូលទៅខាងក្នុងហើយមានតែទឹកនិងតែទឹកកកមួយចំនួន។ ប្រសិនបើអ្នកឃ្លានបន្តិចបន្តួចចូរទៅទទួលយកអ្វីបរិភោគ។ ពួកគេតែងតែមាននំនំសាំងវិចឆ្ងាញ់ ៗ ដែលមានរសជាតិឈ្ងុយឆ្ងាញ់ភីហ្សានិងរបស់ផ្សេងទៀតដែលពួកគេធ្វើ។ យើងស្រឡាញ់ពួកគេ។ នេះគឺជាស្ករគ្រាប់ដាណឺម៉ាក។ ពួកគេមានទីតាំងនៅលើផ្លូវបូស្តុននៅកាច់ជ្រុងនៅលើផ្លូវបូស្តុននិងផ្លូវវីនធ័រ។