by Tuttle, Dan;
I’ll take you to a parking lot, preside
Miyagi-like to your Karate Kid.”
“I haven’t seen the film.” “That’s fine, I’ll be
your Chiun in Remo Williams.” “Nope.” “The Brain
that teaches Pinky?” “Just give up.” “While we
are biking, we’ll discuss.” “Spare me the pain.
But cool, I’ll go. Remind me why again?”
“Because you’ve gotta fall in love with bikes
so you can pitch to city councilmen
and generate ten, twenty thousand likes
so that they pay attention.” “Got it.” Now
they saw worth of Stel’s sharpened sonnet plow.
313.
What’s missing from the conversation was
fixation on the Boy’s agenda for
the motivating zeal, the beehive’s buzz.
They’d loosed their mental yoke from one deplored
and tethered it more locally. What once
were clear, binary judgments rendered at
the actions of a playground-burning dunce
took textures, grays when, rather, center sat
on their front stoop. The issues locally
were tougher virtue study cases to
agree on a solution. Vocally,
they whipsawed near as much, embraced a few
ideas that, with all compared, contrast
quite starkly with their spectrum of the past.
314.
The last event worth mentioning came when
a person in the crowd squealed, dropped his tea,
sent boba bouncing on the street. “Jen—Jen!”
he tugged at his companion’s arm, and she
turned, saw, and chirped delightedly. They walked
away from splat, approaching Stella, and
asked if she wouldn’t mind a selfie, cocked
the camera up, then snapped it. “We’ve been fans
since you dissected echo chambers of
the left, no high ground there.” “No,” Jen said, “since
adventure time with BLING. That part I love.”
“We’re on Vol Two. Does Ab become a prince?”
“You know,” Stel said, “I think he does, but not
in quite the way you readers might have thought.”
315.
“What do you mean?” “You’re smart. You’ll figure out.
And if you don’t, then make it up.” “Okay…”
they said, star-struck, confused but still devout,
“Your pivot toward the autobio plays
well with the masses,” Cade said. “Pasts unlocked
attract strange trust. Embellishments were planned,”
said Stel. “For sharing so I bet you’re stalked
by fans now? You’ve built quite the streetwise brand.”
What Stella didn’t say was ‘No, no way.’
What Stella didn’t say was ‘No such thing.’
What Stella didn’t say was ‘Fluke today.’
What Stella didn’t say was everything.
What Stella wrote and curated spoke more,
and let her – like those strangers – her adore.
316.
With no hint of defensiveness she said,
“Just here to keep it real, now that Tee’s shied
away from us, found bank in Joe instead.”
Some others thought that, rather, regicide
had long been plotted, as in Lion King’s veldt.
They liked their new queen’s style. Tee had coerced.
Stel left them space to air the things they felt,
which she’d pre-seeded with subversive verse.
From Jackie R. to Rosie Riveter,
with “R.A.P.” and Cade’s crusading choir,
she’d spun her stories so to pivot her
spectators’ views that power’s exclusive fief
was money. Overriding it? Belief.
EPILOGUE
Two sets of footsteps down the stairs next morn
betrayed the fact First Friday brought a fuck.
Still given to lightfootedness of dorm,
they’d been discreet about their bedroom luck.
Stel felt much more delight than real surprise,
from having witnessed careful flirt and dote.
Appropriate, like Disney would devise,
magnetic opposite attractions wrote.
To bedroom where Stel hibernated, hush
attempted whispers trickled up the stair.
She heard their evensong as Hardy’s thrush,
its joy illimited to what was there.
She slipped on slippers, robe, then did descend
so to congratulate two happy friends.
She made three coffee cups in kitchen, brews
espresso strength from Aeropress, caffeine
enough to cut through multiple-hit snooze
and likely short-cut night of libertines.
Stel didn’t know how long she’d need to chill
before the morning welcome for her friends,
so brought plush company with her, a twill
stuffed bat-eared fox, plus laptop. She could spend
half-day like this and barely feel she’d blinked,
as time is wont to dilate in the mind
when pasts imagined draw on, interlink
with presents of the zeitgeist of mankind.
Like flood, drunk stimulant washed clear her veins,
left fertile loam to feed inventive brain.
Before she made it into flow, they came,
two lovebirds hand-in-hand down staircase steps.
“Aww, thanks Stel,” they said, not a hint of shame
in walk, and showing offbeat morning pep.
They sat. Cade asked, “How’s newfound leadership,
dominion over where the Oppo goes?”
“Not bad,” Stel said, “when pen’s at speedy clip.
If late, then readers end up predisposed
to alternate perspectives.” “Bother you?”
“Not really, things considered,” Stel replied,
“I see my role as just to jog a few
new introspections loosing old bromides.
I hope they reexamine what they’re taught
but can’t expect to shepherd every thought.”
“And who’s this pal accompanying you?”
asked Mona, picking up the old stuffed thing.
“The friend my dreams spent long time clinging to,
reminder of adventure, my dog BLING,”
shared Stella. Cade looked proud, “Named after mine,”
he said, and pulled his chain out. “Stel’s got some
that’s similar,” he added. “Silver shines
enough,” said Stel, switched gears, “Your rule of thumb,
your north star, Lupe’s ‘Hip-Hop Saved My Life’,
I get it now. I write to make it right
don’t like where I be, talking ’bout the strife
around him, near fall back into the plight
of life on scraps. I’d like to make it like
the sights on TV, nice and easy. Mic
takes many forms.” “I’m proud.” “Poems satiate.”
“Then never stop, write annals they’ll exhume.”
She smiled and nodded at such duty’s weight,
felt equally on neck, where most presume
the medal that she wore plain jewelry.
From chain hung silver piece with Sichuan moon
and dragon wrapped she’d won from schoolery,
engraved with ‘Stella’, classic hero’s boon.
One’s given every year to the top-creamed
performer from the village, Stel’s austere
and desk-bound, no-fun childhood was redeemed.
She’d always dreamed of being crowned emir.
No longer had she schooled li
ke prison’s cell.
She’d friend. And puppy. She’d rewritten Stel.
THE PLAYLIST
LISTEN HERE: WWW.BIT.LY/RSTELLA
Lupe Fiasco / Dots & Lines
PROFESSOR JAY / Ndio Mzee
Lei Qiang / Crescent Moon Before Dawn
Bob Marley & The Wailers / Three Little Birds
Janis Joplin, Big Brother & The Holding Company / Women is Losers
Coolio, L.V. / Gangsta’s Paradise
Kanye West / Jesus Walks
The Notorious B.I.G., Mase, Diddy / Mo Money Mo Problems
Homeboy Sandman / The Carpenter
Jurassic 5 / What’s Golden
Nas, Ms. Lauryn Hill / If I Ruled the World (Imagine That)
A Tribe Called Quest / Can I Kick It?
Madvillain / All Caps
Brother Ali / Self Taught
Gucci Mane / Worst Enemy
Grateful Dead / Friend of the Devil
Sly & The Family Stone / Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)
Jefferson Airplane / Embryonic Journey
Janis Joplin, Big Brother & The Holding Company / Piece of My Heart
Kanye West, JAY Z, Pusha T, CyHi The Prynce, Swizz Beatz, RZA / So Appalled
Talib Kweli, Marsha Ambrosius / It Only Gets Better
Lupe Fiasco, Nikki Jean / Hip-Hop Saved My Life
Lupe Fiasco / Around My Way (Freedom Ain’t Free)
The Coup / Wear Clean Draws
JAY Z, Santigold / Brooklyn Go Hard
The Notorious B.I.G. / Hypnotize
Nas / I Want to Talk to You
The Coup / 5 Million Ways to Kill A CEO
Bob Marley & The Wailers / Zion Train
50 Cent, Eminem / Patiently Waiting
Rage Against the Machine / Know Your Enemy
Talib Kweli / Get By
Zion I, Locksmith / Culture Freedom
Sage Francis / Civil Obedience
Eminem / The Way I Am
Blue Scholars / Joe Metro
Common Market / Every Last One
Tonedeff / Optimist
The Prodigy / Mindfields
Elvis Presley / (You’re The) Devil in Disguise
Thelonious Monk / ’Round Midnight
Kendrick Lamar / DNA.
Justin Timberlake / That Girl
J. Cole / Fire Squad
Elvis Presley / Jailhouse Rock
Eminem, Nate Dogg / ’Till I Collapse
Macklemore, Skylar Gray / Glorious
Talib Kweli, Styles P / Poets & Gangstas
J. Cole / No Role Modelz
John Legend, The Roots, Common, Melanie Fiona / Wake Up Everybody
Jean Grae, Natural Resources / Negro Baseball League
Wu-Tang Clan / Bring Da Ruckus
Buddy, A$AP Ferg / Black
Pharoahe Monch, Talib Kweli / D.R.E.A.M.
People Under The Stairs / Acid Raindrops
Lupe Fiasco / Gotta Eat
2Pac, Talent / Changes
Dr. Dre, Eminem / Forgot About Dre
Brad Kane / One Jump Ahead
Johannes Brahms / Hungarian Dance No. 1 in G Minor
Franz Liszt / Die Forelle, S.564 (after Schubert, D.550)
Busta Rhymes / Break Ya Neck
The White Stripes / Seven Nation Army
Mos Def / Mathematics
Kendrick Lamar, MC Eiht / m.A.A.d. city
Wu-Tang Clan / C.R.E.A.M.
Lupe Fiasco / Kick, Push
2Pac, Dramacydal / Outlaw
Killer Mike / R.A.P. Music
Kanye West, JAY Z, J. Ivy / Never Let Me Down
Logic / Nikki
Talib Kweli, 9th Wonder, Rapsody / Every Ghetto
Sublime / Doin’ Time
Parliament / P-Funk (Wants to Get Funked Up)
CeeLo Green / Bright Lights Bigger City
The Prodigy / Spitfire
Con Brio / Never Be the Same
Queen / Don’t Stop Me Now
Béla Fleck and the Flecktones / New South Africa
Neto Bernal / ¿Quién Se Cree Tu Recuerdo?
Ozomatli / Cut Chemist Suite
Adventure Time, Pendleton Ward / Adventure Time Main Title
Lupe Fiasco, Nikki Jean / Hip-Hop Saved My Life
THE AUTHOR
Dan prizes whimsy, abhors boredom, and has a middling relationship with focus. This combination led to Rewriting Stella. That, and a damn long drive to the Serengeti.
His sonnet obsession began as a gift-giving exercise. After a rather pleasant dinner one night he decided to write up the occasion in oddly formal poetry, offer shout-outs to each participant, and email it to them. None replied. Thrilled by market demand, he then made a habit of memorializing occasions in iambic pentameter. The power of the stories we tell ourselves and all that. Eventually Stella matured and those stories began to make sense.
At one point Dan could speak Spanish, Swahili, Chinese, Melanesian Pijin, and conversational English. At one point he could also do calculus. But what is life but a departure from points once thought important? If you ask Dan, he’ll gladly tell you about that time helped prevent an outbreak of the bubonic plague in East Africa, how he used to be able to read a Chinese newspaper, and how he’s mildly synesthetic. But only for a story in return.
THE ILLUSTRATOR
Paper, pencil and Zac have been inseparable since his youth. Zac grew up in the artists’ community of Woodstock, NY where he began his endeavor of drawing from life. He attended LaGuardia High School of the Arts in NYC and pursued his focus on illustration at Parsons School of Design.
Says Zac: “On my commutes, I draw people who capture my eye. Polarities exist as an illustrator; the creative cartoonist, and the observational realist. I seek to find a balance between those polarities in my work and to be a creative realist or observational cartoonist. Every day is an opportunity to train my imagination to be a creative vacuum.”
You can grab more eyefuls of Zac’s work on his website (zactheartist.com) or Insta (@zacthemangaka).