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As a pre-teen, I incessantly practiced baseball. Once, I was throwing a tennis ball against the wall of our brick apartment building in southeast D.C., then fielding the ball as it rebounded, ricocheted, and bounced back to me. From the kitchen window in our Apartment 304, my mother shouted a question down to me.
       “Peter, what’s that piece of trash near you.”
       Continuing my drill, I shouted back.
       “I don’t know.”
       “Pick it up.”
       “Why I got to pick it up!? I didn’t throw it down there.”
       Luckily Moms was three stories up. My question, in my neighborhood, was universally defined as back talking, no matter how accurate I was about the source of the potato chip bag. I had definitely entered ass-whipping territory. I was lucky I wasn’t within arm’s length.
       At this point, I was smart enough to, uh, ‘respectfully’ stop playing catch.
       Moms didn’t skip a beat. She shouted down at me in a tone of voice that might as well have been an ass whipping.
       “You live here don’t you! Pick it up NOW and throw it into the garbage container in the parking lot.”
       End of discussion. I picked up the bag and trudged to the garbage container!
       My Moms always saw life through the lens of ethical living. You live here don’t you!
       She was ever dedicated to imparting Home Training. Then make where you live as beautiful as you can!
       She could envision what I’m now inspired to call the ‘Fifth Season!’
       Fifth Season is a magnificent term created by the writer N.K. Jemison, in her book of the same name. Jemison defines a Fifth Season as “an extended winter … triggered by seismic activity or other large-scale environmental alteration.” Makes me think of what Gil Scott-Heron called ‘Winter in America’ in my youth – an extended season of being dangled between atrophied ‘unalienable’ rights and hungry bounty hunters.
       With this blog, Wreaking Happiness, I’m claiming, forecasting, and working for a ‘Fifth Season’ of joy! Wreaking Happiness takes cajones during this era of Sir Trump d’void of Funk and the persistent violence that too often stalks brothers. No matter! You can’t stop a vision!
       I’m pledging to document a large-scale alteration in my ecology through the curatorial senses of one joyful Black man.
       No doubt, I’m down for a new season that still defines freedom as a refusal, a resistance, an alert engagement with what’s wrong in the world, but I’m also down for a Fifth Season that has me learning to tap my inner Briar Patch of unique emotional power and potential and hopefulness as resonant tools to help make beauty in the world.
       Wreaking Happiness will feature musings, reporting, observations, and other ecstatic insights; interviews and Q&As; photos and videos. My goal is to build Wreaking Happiness into a cool oasis that provides an example of one dude’s shameless celebration of his life, and operates as a jazzy platform that explores life and history from a refreshing, life-affirming new angle that says enough havoc.
       Cultivating such perspectives through the life of this Black American male from southeast D.C. takes cajones during this era of Sir Trump d’void of Funk and the persistent violence that too often stalks brothers. But as you can tell, I was primed for this mission by my mother, a foster child who married my Pops in her 20s. She remained my prime ethical teacher until she died at 57 in 1984.
       Going forward, I promise to keep most Wreaking Happiness posts short and sweet. But in this launch post, let me riff a bit on the reverberations rippling out from the core ethical experience given me by my beloved mother.
       A happy Black man? Oxymoron? Democratic slaveholder? President Trump?
       En garde avant garde!
       Holding on to hopefulness ain’t never been easy. Black folk have done it as geniously as any cultural group ever has. I ain’t easily envisioning or calling up a Fifth Season tracked by a joyful Black male. Not when every writer worth a MacArther Fellowship, National Book Award, Pulitzer Prize, or a perch on the best seller lists, can swap competing, intersectional lists of boys and men, not to mention sistren, shot by cops and destroyed on urban crossroads.
       Not to mention how that violence is used in the calculations of Sir D’void of Funk and his DOJ minions who ring the ‘black on black crime’ clarion call as a reason to power up the ‘war on crime,’ and the legal infrastructure of the FBI – can we say COINTELPRO boys and girls! – to fight nonexistent black terrorist organizations.
       But with my mother’s voice ringing in my ears – You live here don’t you! – I’m called to participate kindly on the sidewalks of our lives; to delineate kindness; to publicly celebrate this humanity as a counter spell, an equal-and-opposite force, taking place in real time. And if white supremacy is an illness, a social illness, as I heard Dr. Frances Welsing call it in my youth, I cannot live my life in thrall or fear of an illness. I must, yes, resist this illness, but as an inoculation that protects me to live free, to live rich, to live interesting, to live in safety and service and exploration, wreaking happiness along my way, adding my voice to the soundtrack we all make at our best!
       I’m consoled by a ferocious humanity at the crossroads of creation & death. I’m down when a righteous fist is needed. But it’s hard making beauty with clenched fingers. Pain is America’s fetish. Rage is America’s touchstone. Joy is America’s nonsequitur.
       You live here don’t you!
       Then make where you live as beautiful as you can!
       En garde avant garde!
       Onwards to the Fifth Season of Joy.
PS—Wreaking Happiness is launched in honor of my first child, born September 30, 1977. He gave birth to a life-long season of sacrifice, joy, pain, and instruction for me! I remain humbled by the miracle of our lives together.

BONUS EXCERPT from my book, Black Man of Happiness: In Pursuit of My ‘Unalienable Right’ — “…we’ve struggled to be first among equals who protect and maintain an interior world of freedom and purity and spontaneity and silliness…. I understand and embrace the wonderful African American humanity with which we forged joy out of insanity. But it’s time to forge joy from joy, ignite happiness from happiness, to spiral inward to get to an indivisible irradiation, whose fragrance is exhaled as part of each breath we take. Want to be happy. Will be happy. Become onery about happiness. What happiness can I cultivate when I don’t have to look over my shoulder? What endorphins will I release – in my body and into the body politic – by singing of myself, singing to myself…being myself…again…? What ecstasy? For ourselves and for others we love…?”
www.blackmanofhappiness.com/shop

In 2017, my NissanVersa Note was totaled by a dude driving a stolen car. After resolution of all insurance and legalities, I lacked the scratch to replace my car. Been riding LA’s Metro system. For sure, I’ve seen individuals in mental and physical pain, shredded by the LA’s economic tectonics. I must say, though, I’ve also experienced and witnessed sublime displays of generosity. I smile hearing men, women and children shouting ‘thanks bus driver,’ as they depart through the back door. Frankly, I’m touched by what I now reframe as a vein of subtle, invisible joy.

Here’s one of my periodical ‘Peeping Joy Vignettes!’ – this time the Black Man of Happiness is riding LA’s MetroWreaking Happiness! Felt someone tap me on my back at the Pasadena Lake station. My hackles rose instantly. I turned to see Lamar and his daughter. Dude was handing me a cell phone. ‘You dropped this back there.’ He pointed toward the turnstile. I patted my left pocket in panic. Empty. I almost dropped to one knee in gratitude. I took back my iphone, my lifeline. My wariness shifted to humility and gratitude. I shook his hand. Asked his name. His daughter leaned against her daddy’s waist. ‘Thanks brother! I really appreciate it.’ I held out my fist to his kid. She gave me some dap. They walked back to where they were standing. People get ready there’s a train a coming… !

BONUS EXCERPT from my book, Black Man of Happiness: In Pursuit of My ‘Unalienable Right’ — “ … Dear Loved Ones, Brothers, your D.C. Homeboy is a grown man living and working in LA…. I am glad to be alive and among the number of human beings who embrace improvisation, imagination, and creative thinking, folks dedicated to social justice, to fair use of planetary wealth, and to a future grounded on ethical action, democratic opportunities to live in peace and prosperity, and to have safe water, air and food. I’m writing you from within a sphere and spirit of enthusiasm and profound, sometimes complicated, vitality that hums within me, even when I fail to walk my walk as a “lover, not a fighter,” to echo an old MJ song. And I stay alert for what my past has bequeathed and for what’s offered in the here-and-now on the sidewalks of our lives….” www.blackmanofhappiness.com/shop

Wreaking Happiness Goes Love:
See you, wouldn’t want to be you?

By Peter J. Harris

WREAKING Happiness?
“Can an hombre be feliz until he’s six feet under?”
asks Luis Alfaro, in “Oedipus El Rey.”
Wreaking HAPPINESS?
“….Is it something I said?”
asked Richard Pryor from the pyre to an LP-cover lynch mob!
How to even conceive of wreaking happiness?
With tomahawks flying?
With moab pulverizing an already pulverized landscape?
With trumpcare abusing the idea of healthcare?
With the Newspeak of 1984 sounding like nursery rhymes?
Wreak happiness amidst havoc?
Wreak happiness amidst havoc!
When and where Apocalypse looms,
we must become Apocalypsonians!
Exit onto Grooved Pavement Ahead.
Claim & witness life-affirming textures.
See humanity in all the right places.
Ask daring questions
How can you measure the velocity of your joy?
What’s the technology of your happiness?

What does happiness smell like on your skin? Where within our society is my happiness reflected? Who wants me to be happy? Who looks out for my happiness? What is my history of happiness? Where is my country of joy? What is the culture of my joy? What is the spirit of my joy? What is the first draft of my State of the Union speech about happiness? How would I describe happiness in letters to my future and historical selves? What is the introduction to the Autobiography of My Happiness? What proverb contains my message about happiness? What wisdom about happiness do I want to pass on to my children? How happy was I as a child? What new patterns of happiness will I create for the future? How hard am I working to be happy? How much is happiness worth? What will I live for? Who will I live for? What is my birthright to happiness? What is my birthright as a human being? What is the sound of the first thing, the second thing, if the first thing out my mouth says to listeners: you are a miracle wrapped up in human flesh? Where do I go inside myself to invite happiness to come back here?

When does the season of celebration start?

BONUS EXCERPT from my book, Black Man of Happiness: In Pursuit of My ‘Unalienable Right’ — “Neither a spell nor a book will stop the bullets fired by rogue cops, Stand Your Ground vigilantes, gang bangers, or men gripped in the passion play of violence. No sorcery, no book can block society’s virulent, visceral historical flow of venom against Black men. But a spell, a book (a pulse, a fever, a totem, an intelligence, a quest – a good read!) can help generate a restorative and rejuvenating field of energy, spark new insights, start a cascade of ah ha moments, and expand our thinking beyond least common denominator. Safety first, yes, and safety for all, yes, but yes yes yes to sizzling with a Love Supreme! Flooding the ecosphere with healthier, more expansive, definitions of masculinity. Deepening meditations on our manhood. Translating the spiritual codebook into sidewalk practices for African American men and for those who work for our safety, sanity, opportunity, and fulfillment…” www.blackmanofhappiness.com/shop