"with the fury of a thousand suns..."

I try everyday not to hate people. Not all people, but a select segment of people I know.
I never understood the Bible when it said its better to be cold than lukewarm. Now I get it. Like the ring falling in the sixth sense. Cold means your probably do not know any better. Anger at a baby who soils the pamper? Never. There is no knowledge of another course of action. But lukewarm? That means you know you could be hot. Or be cold. But choose neither. You make mediocrity your refuge. I'm am surrounded by these people. And I am tired of making excuses for them. Some are my friends, some are not.

Maybe I need to face the fact that these people are stupid, worthless nimrods whose existences would have been better served as tables and/or chairs on the titanic. Men and women who continually subject themselves to the most trivial of pursuits, however lose sight of the triviality. And these are the bastards who are supposed to know better. These are DuBois' talented tenth. The cream of the crop. Our chosen future.
Who are on facebook, myspace, black planet the majority of the day sending dumb ass message back and forth about nothing. And this is not conjecture, I have witnessed it happen. Not about how to make money, or being active in helping...helping anybody. Not about spiritual salvation, or lack of the need for it. A coherent, lucid, slightly meaningful dialogue? Shit, you must be out of your mind.

Or better yet, how many more asinine conversations will I be subjected to about the conquest of some misguided black girl lost. Or the plans make this conquest a reality. How about the ranting of a young black women and her "baby boy", the young man she refuses to demand manhood from. She loves his second childhood because she demands nothing more. He loves his second childhood because no one has reminded him of manhood, and with no knowledge of it, how can he feel the sting of its absence?
She is no more a woman than he is a man. And this would be understandable. If there were no diplomas. Degrees. Understanding parents. Supportive adults. Food, shelter, knowledge, wisdom, information, definitions of love and success, right and struggle, wrong and freedom. If there were no more pictures of emmitt till, young babies carrying babies on bus with no man present. If there were no more families where everyone has a different last name. No young men, who lacked the love and knowledge that the chosen so recklessly take for granted, forced to hug a street corner for the security that is guaranteed to us in the constitution. No young men, who are the loved and the chosen, who glorify the struggle of those who were not provided with the same opportunities as them. None of the elderly whose broken backs on the outside just mirror their broken spirits on the inside as the youth cast them demeaning glances. Then I can say you forgot. You can't fix something you know nothing about. But. You know.

How can we ever survive if our goals are mired in regression?

I know this isn't the most lucid of my entries. It's the fury inside of me. Some of what I have written is directed at me. But more so to you. A part of me doesn't want you to change. Keep talking loud and often about nothing. Keep buying ringtones. Keep shaking your ass at clubs. Keep rejecting womanhood. Keep your hats big and sunglasses on at night. Keep ducking manhood. Keep away from the hood, keep away from saving it. Keep away from schools, and those children that cry out for your guidance everyday with a inaudible song.Never, ever, ever seek out the truth about anything. Keep talking. Just make sure its stays at talking. Please don't give up on text messaging your life away. No businesses, no independence. Love the security that 50 hour work weeks, 60 grand a year and benefits bring. Retire at 60. Don't care about each other. Because if you change, what will I write about?

inspiration.

When I update my blog, I am normally moved by some event that compells me to write.
Don't you hate when the title of something has little-to-nothing to do with what it is actually about?.
I normally wait for one of these events before I attempt to write, because that inspiration allows me to write with conviction and emotion. So I have been waiting. And waiting. Seemingly in vain. While waiting for this great epiphany, I realized alot has happened since I have last written. No one "the earth is round" realizations. In fact, not one realization. Just events that I have yet to interpret. And I don't think that I will. You know what they say about translations. Something is lost between the original manuscript and the new ititeration. I just want to take these events as they happened. No additives and preservatives, just the feeling that accompanied my initial reaction.

I talked to a kid that was 16 years old in the 9th grade. He told me that he didn't want to repeat the 9th again, so he was dropping out. He wanted help getting into job corps. Why did he miss so much school? His mother was "fucking up". She got stabbed in the head, got her throat cut, shot a dose of heroin that was, unbeknowst to her, cut with rat poison. And she told his cell phone for money for more dope. His older sister gave his mother a bag of dope. She wants her to die.

I talked to a girl who was dating a young man who hustled. She didn't mind because her dad did the same thing all of his life. He tried to stop once but her and her sister's and her mother's constant want for finer material things quickly pushed him back to the street, and back to jail. He has been locked up most of her childhood. She likes "fast money" because she doesn't like to wait to have the latest fashions. Her mother is the same way, and her cousin has a nice house and a porsche truck from dealing with a guy who is now doing fed time. She says she could never deal with a dude that has no money.

Sitting outside of a bar, my cousin and I saw a homeless dude get thrown out of the bar, drunk. He fell in the street, and passed out for about an hour, in the middle of the street. Cars drove around him. My cousin woke him up and asked him if he had somewhere he could go, somebody he could stay with. He shook his head no, and passed back out.

A girl told me that she didn't believe in God. "Why does he take all the good people from us so soon?"

My uncle told me that I should sleep with 2 women at once. It will help me separate love from sex, because in his mind, they do not go hand in hand. I am destined to believe in love and want it above all other things because his brother, my father, felt the same way. It's in my genes.

A volunteer told me that seeking to be happy in ones' life is not a worthwhile goal. It ultimately leads to hedonism. The pursuit of joy is a much more realistic goal. She is a devout Christian, and her husband is a non-believer and it bothers her greatly. I was discussing past gifts I have purchased for people, and she commented that she has never received nice gifts like that from her husband. The joy that she knows she will never receive from her husband, she gets from the lord.

Inspiration.

money.

This entry was really supposed to be about my conversation with eleanor rigby, but then life happened.
I went to get locs done (man, that sounds a little light) and saw one of the most beautiful women I have ever saw. I wasn't attracted to her, but I could appreciate her beauty. I decided to ask her name. She turned to me, looked at me in the eyes, and said "Money". Money? And when she looked at me, my insides got cold. It's happened to me twice before. Once, at this conference in Seattle, and at the club. I'm not going to say that I was face to face with evil at those 3 times, but something for damn sure wasn't kosher.
The lessons learned:
1) The eyes tell you a story about a person that nothing else will. Words, body language, shoes, clothing, hands all can speak, but they all can lie. Eyes are incapable of fallacy. If you read them right.

2) She told me her name was Money. I guess that isn't a lesson but damn. Money? Maybe it's because she wears alot of green. Or demands alot of green. Either way, she said Money. Classic.