Friday, April 30, 2010


Just got off the phone with my father and we talked about the fight and I told him why I thought Shane would win. Miguel Cotto beat Shane; Vernon Forrest (R.I.P.) beat Shane twice; and Winky Ronald Wright beat Shane twice. Mosley has 5 losses in his 51 fight career. Muhammad Ali lost 5 fights, Joe louis lost, Sugar Ray Robinson lost, Marvelous Marvin Hagler lost, Leonard lost, Tommy lost, Tyson lost, Frazier lost, Foreman lost, Rocky Marciano lost to an airplane-losing is an important part of the human experience, particularly if your experimenting with the high explosives of the 'Sweet Science'(Boxing).

A dude named John Keith TKO'd the shit out of Emblem in '84 he faked to the body and punched me in the eye , it's not the reason why I lost my left eye, but I was outta of there-not knocked out, but I had a bad day none the less. I was 14 at the time, and the night after that fight I laid in my bed and all I could do is replay that moment in my mind's eye. I was holding my hands too tight, I was stiff, and I just wanted to land one good right hand. Over and over again I replayed every move. Finally I saw John Keith again in the 12th grade at the Gallery Mall in Philly. I wanted to fight again, right there on the spot. John said "I'm not into that no more brother, Satan is my only opponent and Christ is my champion."

Calvin McCullough warmed my ass once, he was 19, I was 16: He was bigger, stronger, more athletic and though I was good, I wasn't as good as Calvin at the time. I was proud that I fought Calvin and held my own-all I wanted to do was hold my own. A God named Knowledge beat my ass for two rounds and in the third round outta nowhere I put Knowledge to sleep with a right hook I brung up from the dirty South. Losing can be instrumental and important for growth and development-it can build resilience teaches valuable, internal lessons. Shane has lost fights, but he has overcome the wounds to his ego that losing causes in a man. The male ego is fragile, and when it suffers loss, a downward spiral can emerge or the said person of that ability can start a rebuilding process, becoming stronger and even better than they once were. Scar tissue on the ego makes your ego tougher. When you get yourself together mentally after losing it speaks volumes about your character. Fighters who come back and do well after defeat are living testaments to internal fortitude and personal will-a 'will' in which Shane displayed against Antonio Margaritto in January '09. Shane did what critics thought was impossible: He smashed Margaritto.

When you look at Mayweather, you're witnessing one of thee most gifted athletes to ever lace up a pair of gloves. His hand speed is phenomenal, his lateral movement is second to none, and his defensive skills are utterly fantastic. He's not a big puncher, but his punches are stern enough to knock you out if landed flush. Skill-wise I do not believe Mayweather can be beat: BUT-I do not think this is going to be a fight that is measured by 'skill' but instead this will be a fight measured by 'Heart', 'Character', 'Courage' and 'Will'. Shane is not faster than Floyd, but he's fast enough to catch Floyd. Floyd's chin is the biggest mystery in boxing. Why? Because it's never been touched or tested. They are fighting at 147 pounds, which is Shane's natural fight weight. Pacquiao's team didn't want to fight Shane at 147 pounds-at that weight Shane is hard to beat and Pacquiao's people, Freddie Roach in particular admitted that he wanted no parts of Shane at 147 pounds.

Hunger is another factor that is going to play a role in the outcome of Saturday's fight. Shane is damn near forty, he's made a living from boxing for nearly 20 years, he's at the twilight of a hall of fame career and I feel he has a deep seeded need to redeem himself for never becoming boxing's mega star. He never became a mega star like De La Hoya or Floyd? Shane's a big name, but he has never met with Mayweather-like stardom. If he beats Mayweather he will solidify his legacy as truly one of boxing's greats and more importantly that Pacquiao fight which is the ultimate prize for the winner of Mosley/Mayweather Saturday Night.

Mayweather is young minded, worrying about teenage bullshit like rap labels, clothing lines, and shootouts at skating rings. That's the same type of shit Roy Jones was dealing with when Roy was boxing's mega star. He started flexing in rap videos and Antonio Tarver, and Glenn Johnson came along and knocked Roy the fuck out!

Floyd almost appears childish at times, so naïve about life, and ultimately through the facade of Floyd's confidence I hear the voice of someone who is desperately afraid of losing-he's undefeated, scared on a level he himself probably doesn't even realize. Shane ain't scared to lose. Saturday night Shane is going to give it his all: win or lose. If Mayweather losses Saturday I'm sure he will become more determined, more focused, more serious and more importantly more mature.

I'm gonna go with Shane to win, not because I feel he matches up skill wise with Mayweather-but character wise Shane is stronger. If Shane catches him flush-it's a wrap. If Floyd catches Shane flush-Shane ain't goin' nowhere. I think Shane may take his heart and man handle Floyd. This fight is not a test for Shane-it's a test for Floyd. Shane has nothing to lose. If Floyd wins I will write a blog in retrospect of my pick. B.u.t. on Saturday May 1st, what Emblem writes or what Emblem thinks don't mean shit. On May 1st Shane and Floyd-two very gifted athletes will solve a very complex math equation that has been on my mind since January. It will be a great fight.


Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Philippe Petit: Craziest White Boy Ever

Approximately a week before September 11, 2001, I was in the World Trade Center taking a class on Ontology given by a group known as the Landmark Forum. The class was rather expensive but I learned some things that I will say were ultimately worth it. If my memory serves me correctly the class was given on the 14th or 15th floor of the World Trade Center. In class we wore name tags and whatnot which gave white people license to walk up and introduce themselves to me randomly. I mingled with white folks, smashing cookies and punch asking myself "Why'd I pay for this bullshit ass course?" When white people weren't in my face smiling, and subconsciously apologizing for slavery I was looking out the window, munching on chocolate chip cookies in awe of how high up I was. Cars from only the 14th or 15th floor appeared as small as the Hotwheel cars I played with as a child. I had to squint to see the ant like people on the ground. After the planes smashed into the buildings a week or so later, it fucked me up to the point that I couldn't rest soundly for a few nights. The reason I couldn't rest was because I'd heard people were jumping out the top of the burning towers. The New York Times and New York Post had pictures of these people leaping to their death, free-falling. Now if you've read any of my writings you'd know I've been blessed and cursed with a freakishly vivid imagination: 'Burn in the 1800 degree jet fuel or jump from the Trade Tower windows.' It was that choice that kept me awake at night. I could see it in my mind. When I thought of the people who jumped I literally felt nauseous because I had an idea of the height that they jumped from, because I was in the towers a week previous. Though I was only on the 14th or 15th floor, my imagination multiplied the reality of the height, and thus I had a relative idea of what leaping from such a height must have been like.

I left New York on September 3, 2002 for small town USA, it was a therapeutic move, because my imagination began to work against me after 911. Last year I saw a documentary that sent my freakishly vivid imagination of falling from the World Trade into overdrive once again: 'Man on Wire'. It documented the story of how on August 7, 1974 a French tight wire walker by the name of Philippe Petit illegally conspired against NYPD, Transit Police and World Trade Center Security to hoist a cable from one tower to the next and then the Craziest White Boy in the history of the world walked the wire back and forth eight times and at times he danced on the wire. The shit he did fucked me up mentally-I kept turning the DVD off and on, and my imagination started constructing the scene and visualizing the height. Even as I write this, my imagination is looking down, feeling my own feet on the wire, and the pull of gravity. I'm shaking my head in disbelief watching the NYC skyline in my mind now as I write this. Then that fatal question comes: Suppose that movafucka would've fell? What are you thinking when you're falling from that height? "Ain't this a bitch!" I know I would say that at least once on the way down if I fell from that height, and knowing me like I know me, I'd probably think that if I land on my feet I just might live? But then the reality side of my brain would takeover and let me know in no uncertain terms that my black ass is about to be fucked up! I know I would say "Allah U Akbar!" a of couple times. 120 would remind me ever so rudely that there is no big black hand coming out of the sky to save me. I would tell my son quietly that I love him, and say "peace" to as many loved ones as I could think of during my free fall. I'd tell Lumi, "Next Lifetime!" And by then I'm sure that ground would start coming into focus, "Ain't this a bitch!" I'd say that one more time. Momentarily I would bust out into a wild, repetitive rant of "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" While falling, and just before I hit: one more "Allah U Akbar!"


Friday, April 16, 2010

A Sketch Of Tranquility (Author's Message)

I'm not good at shameless promotion-somebody said that I need to get good at it real quick especially if the product I'm promoting is good. I love 'A Sketch of Tranquility', it started as a 'Blog Opera' and it slowly grew into a work of art, eventually I terminated the story because I realized it was time to translate it into book form. Well it's here! It is a story about love and the shit people go through while in love. There is no manual for love-love is at best improvisational-you never plan on it-love just is. Love enters our life to teach us about who we are on a human level. This is not a 'Knowledge of Self' or a '5 Percent story' per se-it just so happens that the two main characters are 5 percenters however a woman praying in a Baptist church or chanting in a Buddhist temple will be able to relate. It has never been my objective as a writer to paint a picture of the perfect world because the perfect world is not realistic. Manuals don't come with being in love-love is as complex as a four dimensional trignometry problem. Solving the problems that come with love is not an intellectual process as those in the 'Self Help', or 'Motivational' book genres would lead you to believe.

Writing this book was enjoyable, and I found refuge in my imagination as the plot thickened.

My blogs on '' and facebook range from highly mathematical pieces to short stories and these freestyle writings are practice pieces so that I can continue to evolve as a novelist.

While writing 'Sketch' I had problems with my previous management inwhich my first Novel 'DaGod', considered by some as a masterpiece was terminated. 'DaGod' will once again be made available in the very near future. I have moved on with a new management team, one that seeks to promote me and not compete with me. I'd like to thank Maxine Shaffer, Beth Holinbeck, Darryl Wittman and Luminous for their support, and involvement with this project.

When the book arrived I got some treez and a bottle of Merlot and I read. I really love this book and you will too. For all those who got Love for Emblem-Thank you for your support! Enjoy 'A Sketch of Tranquility'!



Thursday, April 15, 2010


Occasionally someone will attempt to engage me in a build about the state of the Nation of God and Earth, an endeavor that ultimately ends rather abruptly. To attempt such a build with me is pointless, if you've read my work it should be obvious: I'm deeply into the internalization of knowledge wisdom cipher, Allah to Zig, and knowledge to born the cipher. I'm not running for office-being God is not a popularity contest with me, nor has it ever been. Sometimes I get up at the power hour and recite knowledge wisdom cipher for the love of it, so even though 'Nation' is important, at this time I find more enjoyment with the knowledge of culture which manifest as knowing that my culture is I-God with certainty. The intrinsic, the internal, the esoteric ideas are of greater importance to me more so than those ideas and individuals that seemingly seek refuge in the superficial externalization of political popularity. 'Nation Builders' 'Builders Build' and whatever slogan Deacons are using nowadays for those sinners such as myself to guilt trip them for not attending church on Sunday doesn't bother me. I'd rather stay in bed, smoke a joint, put my fingers between my toes and see if that's my feet stinkin'. I've never been into orgies: sexual, religious, political or otherwise and have always found satisfaction in simplification, because after all, simplification is the idea behind applied mathematics. Movafuckuz get way too serious-being God is not serious to me, but instead natural-as natural as breathing. I know what your thinking: 'Emblem is dispassionate'. Wrong. I'm not dispassionate at all. I-God is my culture and I cling to it like a newborn to a tittie. And yes, I'm aware that their is a national body to this culture, but in every group dynamic their is a crisis manifest or yet to be manifested and on a National level we are a Nation in manifest crisis. Over the last 46 years we've managed to become a young, vibrant religious entity. Yes, we are 'religious' as much as we claim not to be: we are.

"Knowledge is the foundation! Can I get an 'Amen'?!?"

"Amen!" The Nation of Gods and Earth roared back"

"Church please turn your Mathematical Bibles to the first book of Calculus: chapter four: verse six: 'Thou shall know that Calculus is a branch of math that measures change.' Can I get an Amen!?!"

"Amen!" Gods and Earths yelled back at Pastor Emblem.

Before I lose tangent in my 'Reverend Emblem' bit-politics is some deep shit and as a former political science major in college I realized that the group dynamic breeds politics like Mike Vick bred pit bulls and like a pit, politics will fuck yo shit up! And so instead of celebrating what I think is the flyest personal science in recent Asiatic thought it gets fucked up, and twisted with a religious like, quasi political dogma. I Sincerely Love Allah's Mathematics-and if you love something you study it. So I think I'll finish reading My Holy Mathematical bible. 'The book of trigonometry Chapter 11 verse 18: "Thou shall know the pain and iniquity of sin and co sin." Can I get an amen?!



Proving We Live In A Predicted Quran

Line up some dominoes, tip them and watch the sequential order in which they fall. The first domino of Life like the first domino in an actual line of dominoes has been tipped over when the all encompassing Black Mind of Allah exploded out of three stages of darkness: Life was set into motion: a path-your path. As Original as you are, and in all your glory as God and splendor as Earth, daily unknowns(x) and whys(y) enter your field of consciousness causing a reaction in you. A chain reaction is what we are all subject to. As pro active as we would like to believe we are, at a very fundamental level we are all reactionary to a certain extent.

Some 'African' cultures hold the view that we choose our parents: I have no recollection of myself in triple darkness and no memory of choosing either of my parents, so I can neither confirm or deny whether said 'African' culture lied or not. However what I do know is that my mother was the High School class president and my father was the hoodlum of the High School and as one event led to the next: that bad boy of the High School tapped that presidential ass and now I'm writing this blog. Many things have happened since, but at the end of the day, all events appear to be predicted and are subjectively perceived as sequential. It is said, "Hindsight is 20/20!" And if you look at your life in reverse you can trace your steps as to how you got to where you are, you can see why you feel the way you do toward certain people: good feelings or bad, it all can be reviewed in hindsight.

Our wisdom culture degree in the knowledge to culture cipher states that Yacob was predicted and every thing he would eventually do was predicted of him 8400 years before he was born. Wow! Absolutely amazing wouldn't you say? Especially given the fact that most movafuckuz can't even predict tomorrow. But all events have been set, every single inspiration and all your motivations. "Damn Emblem are you saying, that I don't have choice? And that I'm in a prison house of time?" Well you do have choice but the choice will take you in the direction you were predestined to go. The choice is yours but in totality your participating in that which is pre-written in Universal Quran and Bible. So many of us would love to believe that the choice we make is completely original and it is, but it was written in advance in the year one. Every atom in the universe spins on a trajectory, "a course" as the Holy Quran says, "That Is Exactly computed!" So do we live in a VCR tape?; A Cosmic gag real entertaining a Mystery God with a sick sense of Humor? Emphatically Now Cipher! There is no Mystery God. The Totality of the essence of Allah is without ego, meaning that the black Mind Of Allah is No respecter of persons. Energy and matter compose One cosmic reality resting on and emerging from a quantum field, everything is one with that Energetic Black Mind. WE experience this Black Mind through NO LIMIT OF TIME. On Earth the Black Man is the Gate Keeper for all intelligent Human Life. The Black Man's X and Y chromosome hold the blue print for the (XX) black woman, and consequently the entire human family emerges from the Genetic Black Father of Civilization. So on Earth, the Home of Islam, the Black Man Is the Highest Genetic expression of the Concentration of All intelligent Life on Earth. As we travel from one moment to the next we must understand that every moment was prescribed in the first moment of time as Knowledge is the foundation; not only to everything in existence; but everything that will exist. Existence comes out of Knowledge. If you look at the word 'existence' there is an 'ex' present, 'ex' is a prefix that means to come out of or come forth from'. Everything comes from knowledge and like numbers travel in sequence from1 into 2, and do moments in time. Each moment like each number contains a quality. The quality in the number indicates the numerical and momentary dynamic of the sequential value of the said number or time. Expansive quantitative growth indicates that the number has in fact become more complex qualitatively. The first number like the first Atom contains the blueprint to all numbers infinitely.

"...Predicted by the 23 scientist in the year one; 15,019 years ago." You know how the bottom of that culture degree flows, so here we go: Now a day became now a day via yesterday. History contained an energetic signature, an energetic radiance that resonated the vibrations that born now a day or this moment, this very moment-the moment that your eyes roll across this sentence: what you retain from reading this will make you think a thought-a thought of agreement or disagreement is a finite part of a chain of infinite events. Your slightest consideration, intuitive whim, passing thought or determined idea is intelligently designed as a prescribed patterned Law of I SELF LORD AND MASTER on the energetic waves of the totality of the quantum field/Black Mind. Thus the next moment yields itself from the now of the zag into the future of the zig proving that the present and the future are rooted in the past of the first zig. Time is transitory, and every moment is original like an infinite number line into the unfathomable idea of forever or 'no ending'. The finite cannot conceive the infinite, however that which is finite participates in the series of events that compose the Tranquility of that which is Infinite.



Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Tuna Fish Bitch

Da God had been in the back yard playing with his pit bull Lightning that whole day. Her neck was getting thick and her upper body was getting stronger by the day. When he dangled the thick rope above her head the muscle bound pit bull would leap and with the strength of her clamped jaws and the sheer power of her neck she could hold her body weight and hang. The sandy brown, blue eyed pit was beautiful, he clipped her ears back, and cut her tale, her muscles were bulging through her beautiful coat majestically like a champion. Lightning was a prize.  Lightning was a playful, affectionate dog, protective of the family and loyal. King Kundallini God Allah was her master and she was one of many pits that he had raised. He started feeding her semi cooked steak two months ago and would throw her any table scraps he discarded along with four feedings of regular dog food daily. He put the amino acids arginine and ornathine in her water to make her big and the amino acids were making her stronger and more active by the day. The head on the bitch was huge, she was pure blooded, Da God had papers on her to prove it. He didn't want to fight her, he wanted to breed her, Da God knew he'd make a ton of money from her litter, but he had yet to find a suitable dog to mate her with.

It was dusk and getting dark, time to stop playing and go in the Kingdom, the game would be on soon. In the Kingdom the dog got on the couch, Lightning knew better so the God slapped her-the pretty bitch was wrong, she knew it and promptly jumped off the leather sofa. He went into the kitchen and his Earth Perfect Solitude was cooking vegetarian pasta. He stood behind her and kissed her on the neck and ear watching her cook. Their two seeds were with the Queen's mother that evening. The couple needed some time alone that was long overdue.
"You better have my money tonight!" He whispered in her ear holding her lovingly.

"Now cipher! Duke ain't won yet! I hate Duke-I hope Butler kicks their ass." The Queen said, a March Madness fanatic just as much as the God. That night they watched the game until half-time because the need to make love took its course. The herb Yohimbe the God took after his meal had the God ready to get physical. They never found out who won the game because they turned off the TV, the lights in the living room, their phones, closed the door, locked Lightning in the living room and made sugary sweet love in their bedroom for a couple hours. Kundallini put in a good performance that night because the Queen was snoring afterwards.
He shook her shoulder in an attempt to wake her, he wanted one of her tuna fish sandwiches. The God loved the way she spread the mayo on the wheat bread evenly, how she neatly added the eggs, cut the onions, and peppers and added tomatoes and lettuce. He was willing to bet that Perfect Solitude made the best tuna fish in the world, he knew Tuna was a scavenger but he wasn't a foodie type of God, so he didn't care. That night Perfect Solitude was in perfect solitude, she wasn't budging-God would have to go for self and make his own damn sandwich. Kundallini got out of bed not bothering to put a robe on-the babies were gone so he could be the naked King of his castle for once. When he opened the door, Lightning was laying on the couch again.
"Get off the couch!" The dog obeyed him, and greedily followed him into the kitchen because that was where the food was. God rushed while making his sandwich, he did not take his time while making the tuna fish sandwich like Perfect Solitude did. God was hungry, making good love tends to do that. He didn't bother to boil eggs or slice onions or peppers-it was basically a sandwich without a woman's touch. He did a mediocre job making the sandwich and settled for a half ass, dry ass, tuna fish sandwich, drinking orange juice from the carton to wash it down. He threw food at Lightning and she lept and snagged it in her mouth. The dog was a good catch, eating everything he threw at her. Standing in the middle of the kitchen naked, playing catch with food with a pit bull looked savage but Da God was in the privacy of his Kingdom, so fuck it.  He threw a glob of tuna fish straight up in the air but it landed on the head of Da God's penis and to Lightning 'The Game is the Game'. The beautiful pit bull bitch meant no harm to her master when she lept and snagged Da God Kundallini's tuna fish flavored penis. With a super strong neck, developed by amino acids, steak and with the strength of her jaws made powerful by chewing wildly on an old tire in the yard, Lightning with her strong jaws and teeth chomped down at nearly 500 pounds of pressure of PSI (per square inch) bit her master's flacid penis. The dog thought they were playing and before she released his penis from her mouth, she hung, wildly wiggling her neck (arrrrrrrr!) and a split second later the God's penis was gone from his body. The God twitched; his pain was so overwhelming he could not yell. Blood gushed from the place where his penis used to be. He collapsed to his knees, eyes rolled into the back of his head, he went into shock, and died naked on the kitchen floor. The pit bull bitch Lightning ate the God's tuna fish flavored penis slowly, and quietly with that eating sound that all dogs make licked her chops. When the dog finished the penis, she slurped up some of her master's blood. The taste of human blood drove Lightning insane.

Perfect Solitude woke up in the middle of the night, her first question was where was Kundallini? He probably fell asleep on the couch watching ESPN Sports Center like he always did, she guessed.  The Earth got out of bed, put her robe and slippers on, opened the bedroom door and Lightning, the blue eyed pit bull growled at the Earth from the couch like never before. The taste of human blood made the dog ravenous and the bitch charged the Earth. Perfect Solitude slammed the bedroom door shut, she could sense the deadly intentions of the bitch. Kundallini told her "If that dog ever turns on you don't hesitate for one second to shoot it!" The wild, bloody tooth dog was scratching at the door, ramming it, trying to get in the bedroom.

 Perfect Solitude did like Da God told her to do, she got the 12 gauge, sawed off, pistol grip Mossberg from the closet, put three shells in it and pulled the slide back.

 "Kundallini!!!" She screamed. He didn't answer back, something was wrong. Her scream made the dog go wilder, crashing and scratching at the bedroom door, barking like a wild insane beast. And just like that-silence. Lightning waited for the Earth patiently. Lightning sat on the couch in the dark living room, waiting for the bedroom door to open. Maybe the dog had a nightmare. But where was Kundallini?

 "God!" She screamed again. No answer! Perfect Solitude took no chances, she opened the door quietly and in the dark she could see the glowing blue eyes of the dog. The dog attacked and the Queen let off a shot, but the speed of Lightening, coupled with the fact that the Earth had poor aim caused  Perfect Solitude to miss and hit the ottoman. Lightening streaked at her like a muscle bound bullet and clamped on to the Earth's thigh viciously. The dog wiggled wildly, trying to get Perfect Solitude down on the floor. She didn't drop, but her shotgun did. As the dog tore at her thigh she struggled to the kitchen to get a knife and even through the pain the Earth managed to make it, and while fighting the dog, she stumbled into the kitchen and saw her God laying there dead and dickless. The Earth was fighting the wild pit bull at the time and had no time to grieve. When she got to the kitchen she slipped in the God's blood, falling to the floor. Lightning tried to clamp the Earth's throat. "Arrrrrrrrrr!" The blue eyed bitch had base in her voice. Bleeding from her thigh, she managed to kick the dog with her good leg. She stood holding herself at the edge of the sink, and pulled the biggest knife from the wooden knife block. She had the knife but the pit bull had already got her teeth deep in Perfect Solitude's left calf muscle, pulling at it like a butcher's discarded piece of meat. No longer could the Earth hold herself up so she fell from the sink onto the kitchen floor and the knife fell, sliding under the kitchen table. The dog kept pulling at her calf muscle, attempting to yank the calf muscle out of her leg. The Earth reached for the knife under the table but Lightning was pulling her and the knife remained out of her reach. Finally the dog ripped her calf out of her leg. Her calf was gone but the Earth finally was free to grab the knife. She finally got it and Lightning went for Perfect Solitude's face and the Earth stabbed the dog in the belly.   Lightning starred into Perfect Solitude eyes with cold dead blue eyes and fell dead to the floor.  The once white linoleum floor in the kitchen looked like a sea of red wine but it wasn't wine-it was blood. The Earth couldn't walk, so she crawled, smearing blood into the living room, pulling herself with her arms. It took her a few minutes but she made it, picked up her I Phone and dialed 911.

"911 what is your emergency?"

The End

Friday, April 2, 2010

Bobby Fischer: The Deadly Gamesman

I've been waiting to get into the headspace to write a piece about Bobby Fischer since March 9th which is the late chess champion's born day. It's 64 squares on the chess board and he returned to essence at 64, living a year to every square, Bobby was a true Grand Master at the science and art of Chess. He was a genius, psychologically unstable, and a moody, mean sonovabitch. Often times it is said that genius borders on insanity, and he was indeed a ranting and raving insane genius. Fischer became the cream of a game that had historically been dominated by the Russians. A skinny Jewish kid from the edge of Bed Stuy Brooklyn who himself hated Jews-such was the contradiction of his genius (A Jew Hating Jew?).

In the movie 'Searching For Bobby Fischer' Ben Kingsley portrays Bruce Pandolphini the chess coach of then child prodigy Josh Waitzkin, he's walking with Josh's father and he goes into this dramatic discourse about the genius of Fischer. He says that no one could 'see' the board like Fischer and that no one got 'under' the game of chess like Fischer did. I carried those words for a long time and I was intrigued with the chess genius of Fischer for many years. I'd replay his games while hustling work out of some spot. "No one got 'under' chess like Fischer!" Those words in particular vibrated in me, causing me at one time to replay nearly every game Fischer played in competitive chess to see if I could see what he saw. What does it mean to get 'under' the game of chess? And what does it mean to 'see' in terms of the game of chess? There is a silent music in the game of chess; time; space; a ballet of piece movement; and a situational dynamic that is unlike any other game on Earth. Strategy, tactics, shrewd cunning, and foresight work in concert forming a unique intellectual and intuitive synergy between two opposing players. A grandmaster can look ahead into the intentions of his opponent almost like a mind reader, and when two grand masters go head to head each has a deep understanding of the position. The superior grand master sees an original line of play usually defined as a 'sharp variation' that is not obvious to the opposing grand master, an ordinary master or an average chess enthusiast pushing pieces in the park. A grand master is a different mental breed. They are men and women who can peer into the possible future positions on the board. This is what fascinates me about the game. In a chess opening two players choose the rhythm of the opening, like a dance; if I do this; you do that. These early moves have been established in the chess world as opening theory. The Opening in a game of chess is approximately 10 to 15 moves - thousands of books have been written on the theory of Chess Openings; The Sicilian, The Spanish, The Petrov; The Reti; The. King's Indian; The English; The French; and a host of others. But it is the middle - game and the end - game that separates the grand master from the master. Bobby Fischer was head and shoulders above other grand masters throughout the world. In The Soviet Union-the world's capital of chess after World War Two bootlegged his book 'My 60 Most Memorable Games': Soviet Chess Schools ferociously tore into each move in the book like it contained nuclear secrets and treated the book like it was the Holy Grail of Chess. Former Chess Champion Gary Kasparov describes Fischer as the detonator of modern chess ideas. The interesting thing about chess is that the game takes place in front of your eyes, but the grand master 'sees' what ordinary chess players don't see. A grandmaster is a scientist and artist of the game of chess.

In the middle-game there are plenty of unknowns, but the grand master with brutish force or the subtlety of force plays moves that causes weaker players to resign or be check mated. I know many are thinking that 'it's only chess Emblem-what's the big deal?' In order to understand the 'big deal' listen to 'A Love Supreme' by John Coltrane in order to glimpse the reality of 'genius'-if 'A Love Supreme' doesn't do it for you, read 'Beloved' by Toni Morrison and if Morrison's literary meditation doesn't move you to utter aww, listen to Biggie's 'Who Shot Ya'-or simply replay Bobby Fischer's and Boris Spasky's 1973 World Championship's series of games and walk through the mind of two chess grand masters. What does all this chess talk have to do with Supreme Mathematics Em? When I teach or enlighten a student I tell them to first master 120 in terms of memory but afterward I invite them to explore new angles, original ideas in terms of their own 'cee' on a given idea in 120. Draw the math up for yourself, distill the Supreme Alphabet, make it a hard round drop in form, put it in a fluffy form, experiment with the high explosives of ideas, cause Earthquakes regardless of whether I as your enlightener/educator agree or disagree with your mathematical swag-be an 'original'. I'm proud to say I don't make clones nor do I make 'across the board judgments’ of how you should make your moves, because life is not a board game. Be original in your 'see', and get under 120 like Fischer got under the chess board-'see' the degrees from your own original angle and draw it up to your own internal reality. I teach students never to parrot my understanding, but to formulate their own understanding. Yeah, I push students and sometimes I do it in an unconventional way, but one thing I don't born when I enlighten or educate is fans, flunkies, brown nosers and 'yes men'. I teach freedom, Justice and Equality so that-that man or woman can achieve their own idea of righteousness. Each who came under my unique and sometimes cruel tutelage have all become grand masters of this math in their own right and masterful to a most excellent degree. Hate me or love me I usher forth the best in an individual. Checkmate!

Grand Master Em