So, I recently acquired a page of statistics. The document stated that Caucasians are 125% more likely use the currently illegal substance known as marijuana in the city of Chicago. You would think predominantly African-Americans abused this substance more than anyone in the city, right? I mean, they’re always the ones you see being cuffed by the police.

Cocaine was originally found in a heavily populated portion of South America, primarily Columbia and Argentina. Here, it is cropped, cultivated and shipped illegally across the globe. Knowing this, you would expect to hear about people of Latin descent abusing this drug in the city. This is not the case.

Caucasians also are the leading abusers of cocaine, with an astounding percentage; whites are 181% more likely to use and/or abuse this substance in the city of Chicago. They are also more likely to use a variety of inhalants and hallucinogenic drugs within the city of Chicago.

But surprisingly, African-Americans account for 79% of drug related arrests in Chicago, and Latinos are twice as likely to be arrested for drugs as whites are, according to ChicagoReporter.com.

There is an art to the drug world: the obvious and suspicious will be harassed and prosecuted. City officials and other armed forces target low-income neighborhoods, typically populated by African-Americans, with hopes to find someone with any form of drug paraphernalia in their possession. They often luck out and book people on drug charges. Often times when I go out and am the only black person present, I get asked, “Do you sell weed?” I reply sarcastically, “No, but when you find someone that does sell, let me know.”

So what are we being told? That we’re the drug problem? What about the untapped, heavily guarded, suburban areas that vast numbers of Caucasian families call come? The kids of these suburban neighborhoods are often the drug abusers. Surrounded by materialistic objects, they set out to find a new thrill, or means of amusement.

But some are not all just seeking temporary satisfaction because they are idle; it can run deeper than that. Suburban parents often are workaholics who give their children an ample amount of money to replace the love and affection that they do not supply them with. This is when outside sources of comfort are sought after; anything that can get them through the day and provide them an escape from their secluded lives.

The drug becomes their best friend, and they continue their quest for love in an altered state of mind.

Poor & Loved……. or Rich & Lonely

By: Darius Stevenson

The smoke that I inhale
Replaces my depiction of Hell
The Devil is my landlord
Blessings from above come slow
But the pain and heartache is swift
As the clock of injustice moves forward
So does my anger and towards society
If family is the core of success
Then I should be where kings and queens reside
Eight dollars a pack
But it’s better than crack
I sell it
Because I don’t know what I’m capable of
400 years ago, my people were proud
Not ignorant and loud
Those kids in the ‘burbs got it made
Find a job in 2 days
And a week later, get paid
These braids in my head represent rows of resentment
But I digress
I wonder how my “brotha from anotha” feels about this…….

Ponds, Lakes, Streams
Misery within my dreams
Benjamin Franklin is NOT my father
He’s on a plane though to God-knows where
So I find the key to the “forbidden cabinet”
I drown my sorrows in Jack Daniels and Mary Jane
I begin to think about my area, and my “so-called friends”
They have no idea, or do they?
Maybe they’re in as thick as me
But no matter…..I’m hung-over
For the time being that is
Senior partner
So junior’s flying solo
Cocaine, Cobain, pain
They’re all the same
My nose is the drain
Slipped into a psychedelic state of mind
My earthly possessions temporarily resemble my mother
How desperate for love have I become?
Maybe “elsewhere” is my destination yo
So the Red Line headed south…. I go

I met anxiousness.
He introduced himself
last week by way of text, leaving
me uneasy about
the state of my happiness.
Black characters appeared larger
than usual, the faded screen
on my beat up Motorola razor, and
he kept me up every night,
giving no answers,
as if my questions were
rhetorical, so I
confronted him
until he gave me some assurance.
Although all is not
right, it will be a long while
before we have the pleasure
of meeting again.

The thirtieth annual Taste of Chicago is an enormous production. Vast crowds, mighty portions and soaring heat indexes are some of the mainstay characteristics of the world’s largest ten-day food festival. A great venue to satisfy that hard to quench craving for fried alligator, the Taste is also a destination for those looking to find some of the more unusual talents in the city.

Street performers have become one of the Taste’s understated and beloved attractions in past years. Along the outskirts of Grant Park passersby are likely to glimpse a diverse lineup of one to two men shows featuring everything from puppeteers to the Tin Man. Each year performers young and old don their flashiest attire in hopes of winning the attention of an audience constantly on the move.

But for Taste of Chicago and street performance veterans like Emmett Miller, the Taste is changing. At the corner of Michigan and Van Buren, Miller’s artfully constructed balloon figures sway above the hundreds of heads filing into the park to see Thursday’s musical headliner, Trey Songz. In past years Miller’s balloons and accompanying magic tricks roused and puzzled Taste goers from inside the park. This year, however, street performers are being relegated back to their most frequented stage, the street.

For Emmett Miller, the decision of Taste organizers to keep the majority of performers outside of the festival is understandable, but disappointing. “We pay the $100 permit fee like every year, but the sites are being moving further and further away from where the people are,” says Miller, referencing a map of the festival grounds.

A few performance sites still remain within the park, but they are in what Miller describes as “wastelands,” void of much foot traffic and reprieve from the sunshine. It’s very important to pay attention to your venue, says Miller, whose partner and first time Taste performer went ill from the heat earlier in this week.

The difficulties for street performers like Miller don’t end with the weather or the relocation. As crowds break into the millions and temperatures climb, public safety is the first concern of Taste organizers and their partners, the Chicago police.

Perhaps the ultimate irony of Miller’s craft, as his audience grows the more likely it becomes that the police or security persons will interrupt the show, he says. Large concentrations of people have been areas of tensions in the past, and if Police believe him to be a potential source of the tension they step in, Miller says. But he insists that police aren’t the enemy of the street performer, applauding their efficiency and oft willingness to work with rather than against the performers.

While Miller would rather perform his magic and make balloon art within the park, he ultimately understands this year’s changes to be for the sake of safety. As long as everyone’s safe, we’ll continue to perform no matter where we are, he says. “And so I always tell the cops, ‘I hope you have a very uneventful day.’”

I met…love.
Didn’t see it coming.
Shot up and swept me off my feet.
Swift! Quick and forceful. Yes, I met her.
Beautiful in it and unsightly out of it.
I met love through the years.
We always kind of knew each other, she left when my heart closed.
Our time apart was long.
She never came to visit or said hello.
Just trapped me in darkness and confusion.
Didn’t know where to find her or what direction to go.
Driving with no address,
Driving with the lights off,
Driving on an empty road.
I met…love.
No letting go,
I held her tight and against my heart.
She felt it beat.
The rhythm flowed, delicate and precise.
See, my heart knew love arrived.
She never left.
Right now she’s resting with my heart,
Moving slow and steady.
She’s comfortable here, no need to leave.

Stuck on the grounds inhabited by the Sawyer family, I sit and ponder on the porch of 1250 N Lockwood. I watch the Cadillac with the 22s ride pass, the occasional hoopdies, and the rare up-to-date cars like Infinity trucks and hybrid Toyotas.
My mind drifts off at this point, imagining all the things the world could offer; all the possibilities and limitations. My mind drifts to my childhood and my remembrance of sitting on this porch at a mere age of six. I remember the barrettes my mother put in my hair. Making that clacking sound as I walked and scratching my neck as they dangled. Click, Clack, they would go as I played double-dutch with my cousins. “Slow down,” they would say, “Deja you jumping too fast!” My barrettes would gradually stop Clacking as I lowered my speed on the rope.
I look over to the street and watch the Cadillac with 10s ride pass, the occasional hoopdies, and the rare up-to-date cars like Chevy Impalas and the Ford Taurus. My mind drifts off at this point, imagining all the things the world could offer; all the possibilities and limitations. My mind drifts to my childhood and the remembrance of sitting on this porch at a mere age of twelve. I remember the beads my mother put in my hair. Making that shaking sound as I walked and this time no irritation as they dangled. “Hurry up!” “Here come the bus, Deja!” my cousins would say as I cruised the streets of West side Chicago. I look out the window on the bus as my heart gradually stops racing from the sprint I just made. I watch the Cadillac with 20s ride pass, the occasional hoopdies, and the rare up-to-date cars like the Chrysler 300C and Honda Toyotas.
My mind wakes from my imagination at this point and with eyes wide open I see all the limitations. My mind stays still and I remember what brought me to this point.
My eyes gradually close, mind begins to ponder, and I imagine all the things the world has offered; all the possibilities and this time no limitations.

African American males are disappearing from society. There is an old saying in the black community, “Black men usually end up one of two places; jail or dead.” It is quite sad but realistic in the black community. It seems that the system is set up for African Americans, especially males, to fail. In a study from Loyola University, it was said that “As of 2001, there were nearly 20,000 more African American males incarcerated in Illinois’ state prison system than were enrolled in the state’s public universities.” More and more, African American males are dying from gang violence around the city of Chicago. It seems the old saying is becoming more true as the years go on.
But just because this is the reality of things as they stand now, does not mean that this has to be our reality. There has to be change. It has to start with the African American men that are currently in jail. Once these men are released from jail, it is unlikely for them to obtain jobs causing them to stick to a life of crime. According to an article by Bill Quigley on the counter punch website, “A study by Professor Devah Pager of the University of Wisconsin found that 17% of white job applicants with criminal records received call backs from employers while only 5% of black job applicants with criminal records received call backs.” There is a very dim outlook for these men and they have very little support. So this is my letter to these men because I care.

Dear Incarcerated Black Men,

I know that it seems like everybody is against you. You do what you have to survive. But you can achieve so much more and do so much more with your life than you are doing now. If you all fight against all that is holding you down, these will radically change and be better for our whole race. You have so much more power than you think. It is true that times are rough and you have yourself and family to take care of. But you don’t have to turn to a life of crime and killing. It brings you nothing but jail or death.
All I’m proposing is that you do better for you (and your family). I understand school is not for everyone. Then, take up a trade or start your own business. It is possible. There is dignity and pride in working a trade. Life and a job do not have to be dead end. Your life does not have to be in the streets, a life of crime, killing people, or selling drugs. It is not worth it. I urge you to think very hard on your life as it stands, all that you have done and where you are at this present time. Was all that you have done worth it? Think about your natural talents and abilities and capitalize on them.
I know you may think that nobody cares about your future or your life. But that is simply not true. I care. Everybody that wants a better community and future for our young ones cares. Our slave ancestors care. They wanted more for us. Now it’s time that you want more for yourself. We have all the opportunities that they did not have and it is time for you to utilize them. Keep your head up.

Sincerely,
Someone Who Cares

“When you want something so bad that you just can’t say no and you think that you got it all figured out but you just don’t. When you have nothing left and you feel that they have won, well, don’t put the gloves down, don’t put the gloves down.”

The chorus of the track, “The Gloves” comes through my speakers as I send an @ reply to R.O.E., hoping that he will be interested in doing an interview. To my surprise, he responds, giving me his email address. After a short introduction, he gives me his availability and his cell number so that the interview can happen soon. My first attempt to do an interview is halted by a show and after a second attempt I decided it will be easier to complete everything through email.

Roosevelt Sledge is a local hip hop artist who has been making music since the 2009 release of his single “The Gloves (No Quit)” featuring Chris Mathien, another Chicago artist. Now 22-years-old, Sledge is a college student working to build a following of fans by performing at venues all over Chicago. He is determined to continue with his career no matter what challenges he might face.

Sledge is currently pursuing a college degree through Devry University’s online classes, where his major is Business Information Systems. He plans to use the degree he receives as a backup, in case music fails. He’s a part time student and although it’s difficult, he makes time for both music and school.

“It’s tough sometimes with the music schedule and travel but having online classes is convenient because I can take them wherever I am,” he said.

Throughout his childhood he was surrounded by music and by the time he was a teenager, he realize that making music was something that he wanted to do.

“I grew up around music. She [My mom] had music in my life, all my life so it’s had an effect on my soul sound. Her and my aunt had me listening to music I knew nothing about at an early age. It’s definitely showing in my music now. Most of my family sings. I took a different road at about 13 when I decided I wanted to rap. I haven’t looked back yet.”

Sledge started off writing poetry when he was younger. After he was introduced to hip hop, he decided to take those poetic skills and put them to beats. Today, he’s an independent artist, with a memorable name, which comes with a story.

“The name came from my real name, Roosevelt. All my friends in high school called me “Roe.”I decided to get creative with it and create the acronym “R.O.E.” which stands for Rising Over Envy.

His unique sound is also making him need stand out in Chicago’s music scene.

“A lot of people find it hard to characterize my sound and I enjoy that. We live in an era where everyone wants to compare artists. It’s tough to compare me to just one artist.”

“I describe my sound as being boom bap hip-hop, neo-soul, and jazz rolled up into one.”

Of these genres one that many may not be familiar with is boom bap. Boom bap is a hip hop term which usually refers to beats with heavy drums (bass and snare).

“The sound is similar to that of J. Dilla, DJ Premier, and Pete Rock.”

Even though he has faithful supporters, R.O.E. is still working very hard to increase his fan base. He’s also working to get more attention for his single, “The Gloves”, something he did after entering the Track-Off featured on Kyles Files, a RedEye blog.

Local artists are given the opportunity to send their tracks of any genre to Kyra Kyles, author of the blog, who then picks two singles to compete against each other on Monday. “The Gloves” went up against FM Supreme’s track “Crazy Mama” on June 21^st. As voting went on throughout the day, there was word that people were voting more than once on behalf of FM Supreme, who had been trying to win the Track-Off for some time. By midnight, FM Supreme had earned 69% of the votes, winning an opportunity to be featured in the RedEye.

“Initially I was disappointed, but at the end of the day, I was just happy people enjoyed the music. I know other opportunities will come so I wasn’t as upset as some of my supporters were.”

“The Gloves” is an inspiring song that R.O.E. can personally relate to. Its message is also one that others can relate to as well.

““The Gloves” is my testimony on record. It discusses my journey as a music artist, the ups and downs. It also shows how I don’t plan to quit. I think it relates to many people because it speaks beyond music. Anyone can relate to not wanting to quit on a dream or goal.”

In line with the message of his first single, R.O.E. doesn’t plan to stop any time soon. The music that he’s making is going towards his efforts to complete his debut EP, which will be entitled A Backpacker Named R.O.E. R.O.E. is leaning towards an early Fall 2010 release.

“It’ll be a free project I plan to release via my site (risingoverenvy.com).

I plan to continue to grind and get better. I’m never content and the new work will show that.”

For those of you reading who are young aspiring artists, R.O.E. has some words of advice. “Work hard and never let anyone deter you from achieving your goal. Hard work pays off, so know that if you work hard you’ll reap the benefits of it.”

The city of Chicago, according to many outsiders and tourists that I’ve spoken to, is probably the most racially segregated city in the United States. As a child, I often asked my elders why this was.

Little to my knowledge at the time, the city has been ravaged by a series of race riots due to the rising population of ethnic minorities in areas where the communities were people of Anglo-Saxon decent (Western European). These people were common on the Southeast side of the city. Businesses flourished, and neighborhoods were peaceful for the most part, mainly because this side of town was especially for these European descendants. During the 1950’s and 1960’s, African Americans began inhabiting this area. Seeing the number of blacks rise over these years, white families ended up moving outside of the neighborhood. Some moved to the Southwest part of the city. Suburbs were developed all across the state of Illinois for these families to avoid intermingling with blacks and other ethnic minority groups.

If you grew up on the Southeast side, you could witness first hand how corruption runs rapidly through the streets. Watching graduation rates plummet and prisons fill up really depresses and discourages even the most knowledgeable and focused person. From drug trafficking to questionable authority figures, this portion of the city has been earned a bad reputation and is looked down upon by the “socially superior.”

Despite the unfortunate circumstances in this neighborhood and many others, there is a lot here to offer. The local businesses represent the portion of this community that still care for and share with their fellow man. Older citizens in this area are generally warm and considerate. I was raised around former Southerners, and their words of wisdom still run with me everywhere I go. My elders are the source of my wisdom.

From museums, to parks, to block club parties, there are a lot of places to go and explore. My favorite place to be is 57th Street Beach. That is the one place I can go and clear my head—from death, to heartache, to prayer, or even just to sit and watch the waves of Lake Michigan sway back and forth, that is the one place where I can go that I know I can be at peace with myself.

Every side of Chicago is a jewel within itself; people should never look over anything without doing research because even the Southeast side, or the East side, can be a land of opportunities. Many prestigious people call the area home; even President Barack Obama and his family own a home in the area. The area is up and coming. I have faith that one day the people of the city will realize the potential of the neighborhood and help it rise to the occasion.

Phoenix, AZ – Three young children narrowly escaped certain death at the hands, or, well, branches of a Quackle tree on Tuesday.

The incident occurred around 4 p.m. on Tuesday at the 5th annual Children and Chiropractors Convention. According to Convention officials, the Convention is held each year in order to foster long-lasting friendships between children and chiropractors, in order to instill in children at a young age the benefits of bone health and proper alignment. But organizers made a grave mistake when they chose Phoenix’s luxurious Quackle Hotel and Resort as the venue for this year’s event. The hotel is designed in line with its name. Quackle trees line the front entrance, and occupy many of the interior rooms and halls.

Around 4 p.m., while the event was in full swing, three young children entered the main hall of the hotel, which is occupied by the oldest and largest Quackle tree in the hotel. One of the children, Cranker Larkens, was carrying a box of the complementary doughnuts provided by the Convention organizers, chomping away happily as any young child might.

This entire incident may have been avoided had the Quackle hotel administration been more alert, for it is well known that doughnuts are the mortal enemy of Quackle trees. It is also well known that Quackle trees are not to be provoked. Johnny Flowers, author of the 2003 seminal work on Quackle Trees “I Love Trees,” describes the many frightening elements of the trees: “The Quackle tree, an indigenous species from Venezuela, has the power to kill up to thirteen people per hour… [it] uses its venomous sap as protection and intimidation.” The tree’s sap is unique in that it bears a strong resemblance, in odor and sight, to fruit juice. But the resemblance ends there—Quackle tree sap is well known to be both flammable and toxic.

As Cranker and his friends entered the room, the Quackle tree apparently sensed the approach of its most feared enemy and immediately spewed its juice-like sap all around the room. While his two friends managed to escape, Cranker was not so lucky, and was ensnared by the Quackle tree’s branches. The situation was dire, as the noxious sap prevented help from entering. One woman standing just outside the hall, wishing to remain unidentified, cast some light on the events: “I heard a loud band followed by three pops, and then the children came running out the door. Also, the air smelled like doughnuts.” Mrs. Jenny Larkens, a Phoenix resident and mother of Cranker, described the horror she experienced: “I was terrified for my son Cranker – he was trapped inside of there with the flammable juice!”

Luckily, young Cranker kept his wits about him. Perhaps noticing that the doughnuts had provoked the tree, he quickly flung the box at the tree, which immediately released him as doughnuts rained upon it. Cranker quickly fled the room, sustaining only minor exposure to the deadly sap.

The incident has been met with mixed feelings. One attendant of the convention, a man wishing remain nameless, said, “I was honestly terrified… it was such a loud noise and such an intense smell. I’ve never seen something so scary yet fruity. I definitely won’t be bringing my kids or my chiropractor back here any time soon!”

But as Flowers mentions in “I Love Trees,” “The Quackle has long been misunderstood; it is a tree to be respected, not hated.” While this incident was undoubtedly terrifying, perhaps it is possible that it was only the unfortunate result of a misunderstanding between people and Quackle trees.

In the fall of 2006, I was merely an incoming freshman. I still did not know my place among Prosser Career Academy. However, I did know that I wanted to join the Academic Decathlon team at my school. Within two weeks of starting school, I had established my place among the Acadecathletes at my school because of my avid interest in learning on an academic team.

As a recently graduated senior, I can honestly say that my time in high school was successful because of my enthusiasm for each and every one of my activities. Just like when I joined Academic Decathlon, I retained the same excitement when I joined the Book Club, Math Team and Poetry Club. My first two years of high school were largely dominated by experimentation among many clubs at my school. I was ecstatic about getting to know the atmospheres at the different clubs at my school. I did not have college admissions in mind when I joined each of the clubs.

After two years of playing the activity field, I found my calling. In the summer before my junior year, I was hired to write for the Chicago Tribune’s new weekly high school newspaper. For the next two years, I avidly wrote articles for the paper. From cover stories to movie reviews, nothing was too difficult to write and report about. In just a few months, I had become a bone fide reporter. In the months that followed, I started to pursue publication in various other organizations. I have written for places such as PBS, Alliance for Climate Education, Chicago Metropolitan Agency for Planning, New York Times, among others. I had found my niche among the publications around the city and I was loving it!

When it finally came to apply for college, my love for journalism helped me stand out among the rest of the pack. On December 1st, 2009, I received notice that I was a recipient of a Questbridge Scholarship to the University of Chicago.

It was not only my love for journalism that helped me stand out. It was my keen understanding of what sort of essays are able to tug at the heartstrings of people. It was my strong connection with the minds of what people like to read that led me to my dual acceptance and scholarships.

As I move on to college, I can wholeheartedly say that learning how to be a good writer, along with paying close attention to detail when filling out an application helped me when applying to college. Each person learns differently. I can only hope that you find your niche among the activities that you try.