i've spent alot of time these past couple of weeks thinking about why people end up the way that they do. not what jobs they end up in, or houses they end up buying, but why do we start off so much the same, and end up so differently. i do believe that when we are born, we are more alike than we are different. genetics, how we were treated in the womb all play apart in how we initially come out, but growing up in this world is what begins to differentiate us. or so it seems. we all do seem so different, in the way we look, speak, act, and do, but that's because people don't take the time to look closer at people. i mean shit, we don't even take the time to look at our surroundings, much less the people who fill those surroundings. instead of understanding, we've filled our vocabulary with words as dissmissive as a backhanded wave. crazy, slutty, stupid. i can't even blame the words, but how we use them. we tag people with them, and then cast them off into the wilderness, with periodic check in's to see if the behavior matches the tag. it distances them and their action from us and ours, and that gives us comfort. that they are that way, but not us.
it's easy, but sure as hell not right.
but if you start off with the premise that we all pretty much come in here on a level playing field, then it has to be a reason they ended up so supposedly slutty. understand that, then you begin to understand that person. they went left, and you went right, and it was as simple as that. they aren't horrible losers or lames, weak or pathetic. they are what you could have been, or could be or...are. you bring them back from the wilderness. or you join them out there. either way, your alot closer to them than you ever thought you could be, in more ways than two.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
statue of us. a story, incomplete.
We set out to change the world, and change we did. We listened to our peers telling us it couldn’t be done, and we refused to accept it as truth.
It wasn’t easy, nor was it random. It was a plan, a well thought out and conceived plan to change everything around us. Every one wants to survive, even if actually living is a fanciful tale of lore. The world was turning so that even our survival wasn’t guaranteed. The things we wanted so simply, with every passing day, was becoming less of a reality.
We had to become honorable. We had to become virtuous. Two words hard to make into reality because the definitions are so obscure. The dictionary could tell us, but you learn by being shown. And these two words were apparently ex-patriates of our country, ordered to exile. Or maybe they voluntarily left. But current day examples were few and slim, far to none. So, we had to come up with our own. Movies and history could provide the catalyst, but the definition had to come from us.
We boiled it down to two very simple tenants.
Doing whatever is hard is virtuous. The easier it is to do, the less virtuous it was.
We must give back for everything we had received. God had blessed us tremendously, so we could give back until the end of time, and still not be on this side of even. And at the end of it all, we would know because there would be a statue of us.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
“A lot of time has passed since we first started this”
“It has. You never really know how much time has passed while it’s passing. It’s only until…”
“Yes, I know. She’s gotten huge, hasn’t she?
“And grown too. Too damn grown if you ask me. Ha. Just like her momma.”
“I mean, did you honestly expect her to be any other way?”
“No not really. Eh, well…no, not really”
“I wonder what our children would have been like.”
“A little of you, a little of me…”
“Right. All crazy.”
“Hell yes.” His laughter was quick, but trailed off slowly, as if the end was in retrospect about the beginning. “God knows there had to be a reason it never happened.”
She spoke without looking up. She spoke without knowing she was being heard.
“God knows why. I have no idea.”
“Huh?”
She looks up, with no wasted movement. Her eyes meet his, and nothing else. She has to get this right, because moments like this are fleeting.
“Why didn’t we have children?”
She expected a sigh filled with regret. With thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. She expected a comforting, protective tone. Instead, she received none of it.
“We chose not to. We chose not to do a lot of things. Virtue was the choice, remember? We were trying to save…trying to save everything. Everything from itself"
The words came from inside of him, marinated in emotion and wrapped in himself. It would have been easier to hate him if he didn’t believe in them. But he did. Hate was not a luxury to be afforded to her now.
“That didn’t leave any room for anything else.”
Her head moved back down, slightly between her shoulders, eyes looking between her feet. Searching on the floor in that small space on the floor for a feeling. She had the words. For years she had the words. Words stripped of their feeling is a tragic circumstance. She had seen enough tragedy not to want to knowingly add to it.
She found the feeling, and the words left her mouth with a desperate sense of urgency. She didn’t want to lose it. One chance to get it right. A pause. Her eyes closed slowly. A small rise in her chest. Her exhale was audible.
“Did you think it would cost us so much?”
Cost so much? He made no effort to complicate the meaning of her words. She was owed more than that. Those words settled on his chest like somber lead. He knew his answer and did not make her wait long to hear them. A hand on her shoulder, constant and steady. “There, there” is what she felt. She looked up at him.
“No.”
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
She got into it because of the children. Because of one child in particular. One child that gave her the motivation to try and change it all, a child that haunted her nights alone, when the only self, was herself.
In her attempt to give back to the world, to at the end, come on this side of even for all she had been given, she worked for a non-profit organization. It was a community center in her neighborhood, which also functioned as an outreach house for the discarded people. It never felt like work or a job when she was there, it felt like living. And this little girl, no older than 10, everyday taught her how to live.
They had conversations, but that isn’t how she learned from her. She learned by watching her be.
She approached everything with the exuberance of a ten year old child. Mainly, because she was a ten year old child. New and fresh every experience was to her. She was never afraid because everything was an adventure to her. After everything she saw, heard, smelled, tasted, accomplished- she realized that she changed. That she was, different. Started out one way, but ended up another. She relished that moment of realization. No sparks or colors, just deep rooted change. At 10, she didn't know this. Didn’t care to know. What she did know or care to know is that after spending time with her nana at Byrd's Sanctuary, helping to serve food to those layered in clothes that no more belonged together than crabs and ice cream, allowed her to view Mr. Buddy, who spent every waking moment on how to get wet and how to stay dry a little differently. She heard his words as kind, even wrapped in the slur of intoxication. These changes softened her, allowing her to bypass judgment based on appearance. The hue of skin, amount estrogen in a voice, or lack there of, meant nothing to her because she never noticed it. She saw, better yet felt, what made them, them. Goodness felt as warm and sweet as the crook of the neck of a woman loved. Sadness was thick and slow; anger, blindingly bright. A living, breathing canvas of emotional color, forever changing and remaining the same was her world, and she never wanted to leave its comforting embrace.
She saw that, and for the first time that she ever noticed, felt a twinge of what it means to be a mother. The desire to protect. Before meeting this little girl, she was content losing her place in this world. She saw it for what it was, and what it could be, but didn't know how to bridge the gap. Was it to get as much education as possible? Or maybe refraining from eating meat. Going to poetry reading was the answer for a while. Books with authors with little letter names, words infused with afrocentricity. All these things left her with temporary satisfaction, and constant confusion. Instead of feeling this way, she was content on giving up her slice of life, free of charge. Death wasn't an option, but detachment was. She was going to withdraw to find a place where she could at least feel like she belonged. But…she couldn’t.
She couldn’t shake the girl.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
”We need to talk, forreal.” She walked into his fenced backyard. The gray drab metal seemed to fit the mood. She felt that behind this 4 foot high fence, their decisions were protected from the ignorant scrutiny of the world. But her words wouldn’t be protected from him.
“About what?”
“About leaving.”
“I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“That you weren’t serious about it. You just can’t let go, can you?”
“I can’t” For the first time in the conversation, she broke eye contact. She walked passed him with her head down. With their shoulder parallel, she paused mid-stride. I will not feel like this. The feeling trickled down her mind like cold molasses. Slowly.
I will not be ashamed. She turned her head at less than a 45 degree angle, eyes meeting his once again. “But not for the reason you think.”
“What’s the reason?” Concern laced with anger. As if a bright, thin red line was drawn though the median all of his words and thoughts. It demanded attention.
“Does it matter?” A futile shove in the face of relentlessness. He didn’t budge an inch. The protective fence now looked like a cage, and getting smaller by the minute. Her back wasn’t against the wall…yet. She knew he would not back off. She didn’t want him to either. He deserved an explanation and he would be provided with just that.
“I can’t leave, not now. Maybe not never.” She not nevered him when she wanted him to laugh. To break up the monotony of his far-too-stern-to-be-this-young face.
It worked. He smirked. “What made you change your mind?”
She immediately wanted to share the girl with him. How seeing little she made her rub her stomach as if life lived there (inside). How seeing her little hands try to keep steady as she carried unruly soup that probed the edges of the bowl, tongue unknowingly peeking out the side of her mouth, eyes crossed in concentration as she moved this meal across the room, and the smile that accompanied achievement made her realize that she couldn’t give up. To leave was to give up on her, and the hope for her world.
But something would get lost in the translation. He wouldn’t get it. A desperate concern was slowly easing over his face. More desperate the longer she waited. The anguish and guilt were ganging up on her. She had to say something.
“We can’t run.
It wasn’t easy, nor was it random. It was a plan, a well thought out and conceived plan to change everything around us. Every one wants to survive, even if actually living is a fanciful tale of lore. The world was turning so that even our survival wasn’t guaranteed. The things we wanted so simply, with every passing day, was becoming less of a reality.
We had to become honorable. We had to become virtuous. Two words hard to make into reality because the definitions are so obscure. The dictionary could tell us, but you learn by being shown. And these two words were apparently ex-patriates of our country, ordered to exile. Or maybe they voluntarily left. But current day examples were few and slim, far to none. So, we had to come up with our own. Movies and history could provide the catalyst, but the definition had to come from us.
We boiled it down to two very simple tenants.
Doing whatever is hard is virtuous. The easier it is to do, the less virtuous it was.
We must give back for everything we had received. God had blessed us tremendously, so we could give back until the end of time, and still not be on this side of even. And at the end of it all, we would know because there would be a statue of us.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
“A lot of time has passed since we first started this”
“It has. You never really know how much time has passed while it’s passing. It’s only until…”
“Yes, I know. She’s gotten huge, hasn’t she?
“And grown too. Too damn grown if you ask me. Ha. Just like her momma.”
“I mean, did you honestly expect her to be any other way?”
“No not really. Eh, well…no, not really”
“I wonder what our children would have been like.”
“A little of you, a little of me…”
“Right. All crazy.”
“Hell yes.” His laughter was quick, but trailed off slowly, as if the end was in retrospect about the beginning. “God knows there had to be a reason it never happened.”
She spoke without looking up. She spoke without knowing she was being heard.
“God knows why. I have no idea.”
“Huh?”
She looks up, with no wasted movement. Her eyes meet his, and nothing else. She has to get this right, because moments like this are fleeting.
“Why didn’t we have children?”
She expected a sigh filled with regret. With thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. She expected a comforting, protective tone. Instead, she received none of it.
“We chose not to. We chose not to do a lot of things. Virtue was the choice, remember? We were trying to save…trying to save everything. Everything from itself"
The words came from inside of him, marinated in emotion and wrapped in himself. It would have been easier to hate him if he didn’t believe in them. But he did. Hate was not a luxury to be afforded to her now.
“That didn’t leave any room for anything else.”
Her head moved back down, slightly between her shoulders, eyes looking between her feet. Searching on the floor in that small space on the floor for a feeling. She had the words. For years she had the words. Words stripped of their feeling is a tragic circumstance. She had seen enough tragedy not to want to knowingly add to it.
She found the feeling, and the words left her mouth with a desperate sense of urgency. She didn’t want to lose it. One chance to get it right. A pause. Her eyes closed slowly. A small rise in her chest. Her exhale was audible.
“Did you think it would cost us so much?”
Cost so much? He made no effort to complicate the meaning of her words. She was owed more than that. Those words settled on his chest like somber lead. He knew his answer and did not make her wait long to hear them. A hand on her shoulder, constant and steady. “There, there” is what she felt. She looked up at him.
“No.”
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
She got into it because of the children. Because of one child in particular. One child that gave her the motivation to try and change it all, a child that haunted her nights alone, when the only self, was herself.
In her attempt to give back to the world, to at the end, come on this side of even for all she had been given, she worked for a non-profit organization. It was a community center in her neighborhood, which also functioned as an outreach house for the discarded people. It never felt like work or a job when she was there, it felt like living. And this little girl, no older than 10, everyday taught her how to live.
They had conversations, but that isn’t how she learned from her. She learned by watching her be.
She approached everything with the exuberance of a ten year old child. Mainly, because she was a ten year old child. New and fresh every experience was to her. She was never afraid because everything was an adventure to her. After everything she saw, heard, smelled, tasted, accomplished- she realized that she changed. That she was, different. Started out one way, but ended up another. She relished that moment of realization. No sparks or colors, just deep rooted change. At 10, she didn't know this. Didn’t care to know. What she did know or care to know is that after spending time with her nana at Byrd's Sanctuary, helping to serve food to those layered in clothes that no more belonged together than crabs and ice cream, allowed her to view Mr. Buddy, who spent every waking moment on how to get wet and how to stay dry a little differently. She heard his words as kind, even wrapped in the slur of intoxication. These changes softened her, allowing her to bypass judgment based on appearance. The hue of skin, amount estrogen in a voice, or lack there of, meant nothing to her because she never noticed it. She saw, better yet felt, what made them, them. Goodness felt as warm and sweet as the crook of the neck of a woman loved. Sadness was thick and slow; anger, blindingly bright. A living, breathing canvas of emotional color, forever changing and remaining the same was her world, and she never wanted to leave its comforting embrace.
She saw that, and for the first time that she ever noticed, felt a twinge of what it means to be a mother. The desire to protect. Before meeting this little girl, she was content losing her place in this world. She saw it for what it was, and what it could be, but didn't know how to bridge the gap. Was it to get as much education as possible? Or maybe refraining from eating meat. Going to poetry reading was the answer for a while. Books with authors with little letter names, words infused with afrocentricity. All these things left her with temporary satisfaction, and constant confusion. Instead of feeling this way, she was content on giving up her slice of life, free of charge. Death wasn't an option, but detachment was. She was going to withdraw to find a place where she could at least feel like she belonged. But…she couldn’t.
She couldn’t shake the girl.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
”We need to talk, forreal.” She walked into his fenced backyard. The gray drab metal seemed to fit the mood. She felt that behind this 4 foot high fence, their decisions were protected from the ignorant scrutiny of the world. But her words wouldn’t be protected from him.
“About what?”
“About leaving.”
“I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“That you weren’t serious about it. You just can’t let go, can you?”
“I can’t” For the first time in the conversation, she broke eye contact. She walked passed him with her head down. With their shoulder parallel, she paused mid-stride. I will not feel like this. The feeling trickled down her mind like cold molasses. Slowly.
I will not be ashamed. She turned her head at less than a 45 degree angle, eyes meeting his once again. “But not for the reason you think.”
“What’s the reason?” Concern laced with anger. As if a bright, thin red line was drawn though the median all of his words and thoughts. It demanded attention.
“Does it matter?” A futile shove in the face of relentlessness. He didn’t budge an inch. The protective fence now looked like a cage, and getting smaller by the minute. Her back wasn’t against the wall…yet. She knew he would not back off. She didn’t want him to either. He deserved an explanation and he would be provided with just that.
“I can’t leave, not now. Maybe not never.” She not nevered him when she wanted him to laugh. To break up the monotony of his far-too-stern-to-be-this-young face.
It worked. He smirked. “What made you change your mind?”
She immediately wanted to share the girl with him. How seeing little she made her rub her stomach as if life lived there (inside). How seeing her little hands try to keep steady as she carried unruly soup that probed the edges of the bowl, tongue unknowingly peeking out the side of her mouth, eyes crossed in concentration as she moved this meal across the room, and the smile that accompanied achievement made her realize that she couldn’t give up. To leave was to give up on her, and the hope for her world.
But something would get lost in the translation. He wouldn’t get it. A desperate concern was slowly easing over his face. More desperate the longer she waited. The anguish and guilt were ganging up on her. She had to say something.
“We can’t run.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
seriously.
went to the hamptons this weekend. man oh man.
fuck PETA. forreal. and i'm boycotting the NFL for its treatment to vick.
people seriously kill me. i know what happened with my man number 7. he got rich, and put one of his man's up in a crib, looking out for his peoples. his man asked for some dough to start a kennel, and on the low, started fighting dogs. i know fighting dogs is wrong, but michael irvin smoked crack. brett favre was a damn drug addict, and chris henry caught like nine cases. but I can't buy a vick jersey anywhere?
some these same people who are damming vick are still spending money from slavery. my god.
fuck PETA. forreal. and i'm boycotting the NFL for its treatment to vick.
people seriously kill me. i know what happened with my man number 7. he got rich, and put one of his man's up in a crib, looking out for his peoples. his man asked for some dough to start a kennel, and on the low, started fighting dogs. i know fighting dogs is wrong, but michael irvin smoked crack. brett favre was a damn drug addict, and chris henry caught like nine cases. but I can't buy a vick jersey anywhere?
some these same people who are damming vick are still spending money from slavery. my god.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
departure.
I'm starting to finally realize it all. Why this life goes the way it does, and why people end up the way that they are. I look at this truth without frustration or anger, not even disappointment. I believe I look at it as a person looks at death when it immediate and inevitable. With understanding and sadness. Understanding that this is the way it has to be, and sadness for not being able to do more. A friend of mine told me that I will find my place, that I am seeing the world in pieces, and when I see it in its entirety, I will be at ease, for I will see how I fit into the puzzle. For a brief moment I was comforted by that thought, that I will experience that seemingly ever-elusive feeling of true peace. But I know now that for me to have peace in this world, as it stands, means in no uncertain terms, that I have compromised. That I have given up. That I have made complacency my home, and traded in my conscious for peace. Because things are not right. I don't know if things are as they should be, but I know for damn sure, things are not right. They are so unright that to make changes at the margin of the problem would be the ultimate exercise in futility if not foolishness. Or maybe both.
I can't even begin to explain what is wrong. Everything is the best way I can describe it, because, for me, it is the only way to describe it. Everything is so wrong that people can't even see what's wrong anymore, because there is no standard of what's right to judge it against. We have identified the problem. Everything.
Now, we have to try and find a solution. I take the liberty of saying we, but that is making the bold assumption that you feel the same way. You may not, which is fine, but you can still come along on the journey for a solution, even if you are a passive observer. As far as the course we are going to take, I have only plotted out the first step. We, or me, or some combination of the two, will have to draw out the rest of the journey. But all journeys begin with one step.
We have to stop buying into answers that answer nothing, leave us unsatisfied, but with enough complacency to move on. Such is life. That's the way life is. I'm only human. Eh, whatcha gonna do? These have become the answers to our most dire questions and situations. Answers that leave us not better off before we heard them, and without the dignity to at least allow us a restful nights sleep. These answers, and more infamously, the mindset that accompanies these answers, have left us unable, unwilling, and unlikely to change what is indeed wrong in the world and in our lives. We ask god for the serenity to accept the things we cannot change. And if we were made in God's image, there is very little we cannot change. So many things that are detrimental has been accepted as being apart of life. I agree, these thing are apart of life, but they are not our lives. If we do not give up, then they can, and will, change.
Your life's path has not been set out for you. It is in large part what you make it. What you do, or do not do, who you are around, how you choose to spend your time, who you help, or do not help. These things determine the shape of the life you are going to live, the fullness, richness and satisfaction of your life. Or the lack thereof.
I have been asking a lot of my friends would they buy condoms for their children. An overwhelming majority of them say they would. They are going to do it anyway, and they rather them be safe. They say this knowing that in there lives, besides the climax, sex has not brought them any long lasting happiness, satisfaction or joy. They say this knowing that instead, it has brought them the opposite. Because they have brought into those horrible answers. If this is your child, the one thing God has truly given you to protect, why would you give up so easily? Why would you give up period? We have even become complacent in loving those people we're supposed to love.
There have been times that my father has been calling me to talk, and I didn't pick up the phone because I have having sex, or trying to. He's dead now. I can't go back and have that conversation that I missed. Times that I left my moms in the house, alone, watching movies, because I went to a club. A club? I could have shared that moment with her, gave her the love of her son through a conversation, and received in turn a mother's love for her son, and more insight about this world than I could ever get on my own. I can't lean on another unsatisfying answer. "Your young, your supposed to run the streets and have fun". But at what cost? The decisions we make are not inevitable. We choose to make them, everyday. And often times we turn our backs on true comfort for false satisfaction. It is so false that often times we have to abuse it just to feel something. Getting drunk. Going to 3 clubs in one night. More sexual partners than your age. 4 hours of T.V. a day. More clothes in your closet than days in the year. Abuse. "Such is life" can't save me now.
We have the power to change everything. How we live our lives. How the world lives their lives. The world we live in. Everything.
Everything happens for a reason I keep hearing. Your right, but for what reason? If the reason is horrible, does it still protect your decision? Does it still remove responsibility from you because it was "inevitable"?
If you believe that this is the best life has to offer, that all these terrible and truly unsatisfying things are just what life is supposed to mean, then you can have my piece. I don't want it anymore. I won't even charge you. Consider it my gift to you before I leave. Cause leave I will, because fight I must. I have to claw tooth and nail for change. For life.
I have it in me to get it.
So do you.
I can't even begin to explain what is wrong. Everything is the best way I can describe it, because, for me, it is the only way to describe it. Everything is so wrong that people can't even see what's wrong anymore, because there is no standard of what's right to judge it against. We have identified the problem. Everything.
Now, we have to try and find a solution. I take the liberty of saying we, but that is making the bold assumption that you feel the same way. You may not, which is fine, but you can still come along on the journey for a solution, even if you are a passive observer. As far as the course we are going to take, I have only plotted out the first step. We, or me, or some combination of the two, will have to draw out the rest of the journey. But all journeys begin with one step.
We have to stop buying into answers that answer nothing, leave us unsatisfied, but with enough complacency to move on. Such is life. That's the way life is. I'm only human. Eh, whatcha gonna do? These have become the answers to our most dire questions and situations. Answers that leave us not better off before we heard them, and without the dignity to at least allow us a restful nights sleep. These answers, and more infamously, the mindset that accompanies these answers, have left us unable, unwilling, and unlikely to change what is indeed wrong in the world and in our lives. We ask god for the serenity to accept the things we cannot change. And if we were made in God's image, there is very little we cannot change. So many things that are detrimental has been accepted as being apart of life. I agree, these thing are apart of life, but they are not our lives. If we do not give up, then they can, and will, change.
Your life's path has not been set out for you. It is in large part what you make it. What you do, or do not do, who you are around, how you choose to spend your time, who you help, or do not help. These things determine the shape of the life you are going to live, the fullness, richness and satisfaction of your life. Or the lack thereof.
I have been asking a lot of my friends would they buy condoms for their children. An overwhelming majority of them say they would. They are going to do it anyway, and they rather them be safe. They say this knowing that in there lives, besides the climax, sex has not brought them any long lasting happiness, satisfaction or joy. They say this knowing that instead, it has brought them the opposite. Because they have brought into those horrible answers. If this is your child, the one thing God has truly given you to protect, why would you give up so easily? Why would you give up period? We have even become complacent in loving those people we're supposed to love.
There have been times that my father has been calling me to talk, and I didn't pick up the phone because I have having sex, or trying to. He's dead now. I can't go back and have that conversation that I missed. Times that I left my moms in the house, alone, watching movies, because I went to a club. A club? I could have shared that moment with her, gave her the love of her son through a conversation, and received in turn a mother's love for her son, and more insight about this world than I could ever get on my own. I can't lean on another unsatisfying answer. "Your young, your supposed to run the streets and have fun". But at what cost? The decisions we make are not inevitable. We choose to make them, everyday. And often times we turn our backs on true comfort for false satisfaction. It is so false that often times we have to abuse it just to feel something. Getting drunk. Going to 3 clubs in one night. More sexual partners than your age. 4 hours of T.V. a day. More clothes in your closet than days in the year. Abuse. "Such is life" can't save me now.
We have the power to change everything. How we live our lives. How the world lives their lives. The world we live in. Everything.
Everything happens for a reason I keep hearing. Your right, but for what reason? If the reason is horrible, does it still protect your decision? Does it still remove responsibility from you because it was "inevitable"?
If you believe that this is the best life has to offer, that all these terrible and truly unsatisfying things are just what life is supposed to mean, then you can have my piece. I don't want it anymore. I won't even charge you. Consider it my gift to you before I leave. Cause leave I will, because fight I must. I have to claw tooth and nail for change. For life.
I have it in me to get it.
So do you.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
the rub.
The rub.
The rub is inevitable, often maligned, bedfellow of an action. A phrase lost in a time much more interesting than this one, where words hadn't been stripped of their meaning. It the the siamese twin of doing, it goes where the action is like the press. Goes together with making a decision like ice and cream, cigarettes and booze, hookers and the point. An example:
Your two pitchers of Irish Red, and a few Jameson and Ginger's into a relaxed evening with your homeboys. There is a break in the conversation, and out the corner of your eye you see what can only be defined as the reason God gave you sight: a beautiful woman. She walks like she wouldn't leave a footprint on the ground, and smells like hapiness. Her backside is blessed for sure, and she has The Look. The Look that if you make eye contact, time slows down like bullet-time and you freeze up, if only for an instant, because honestly, you have no idea what to do.
But here's the rub: she's got the meanest, stone cold bump on the side of her mouth. Could be a pimple. Just maybe. Could you be you running on the beach, singing "Just One More Day" popping those Valtrex pills, trying to time your flare-up's to coincide with football season.
The rub is the ultimate equalizer. It prevents people from doing whatever their twisted minds desire because there is a consequence to your action. It's as inevitable as eating too much, but as necessiary as the cool side of the pillow.
You can't duck the rub.
But we try all of the time. To live lives without consequence for the actions we undertake. We have gotten swept up in the malestrom of damn liberalism. We want casual sex without babies, man and woman whoredom and disease. We want to smoke without cancer. We want to live, and do whatever we want, and whatever feels good without any judgement from anyone. Because that judgement forces us to live a life with responsibility, that forces our hands to do things that are hard, taxing, yet essential.
The actions we make change us forever. Yep, it's that deep. For the better, or worse, we're changed. The actions we take define the people we are. Yep, it's that serious. Deal with a person knowing we shouldn't deal with, go to that place we know we shouldn't, take that pill, drink that drink, listen to that song, and we're different than we were before. Maybe we've gotten better. But most times, doing the things we know we shouldn't makes us worse. And don't cry now when shit gets thick and the world looks bleak. It's the life we chose. Now it's time man up and get better, or give up and get worse.
Consequences, responsibility and judgement is the natural system of checks and balance that should keep us ever moving towards the goal of being better than we were the day before. To being the best we can possibly be. To be the we that God intended for us to be. So everyone around us can do the same. But here's the rub:
Things will get better.
The rub is inevitable, often maligned, bedfellow of an action. A phrase lost in a time much more interesting than this one, where words hadn't been stripped of their meaning. It the the siamese twin of doing, it goes where the action is like the press. Goes together with making a decision like ice and cream, cigarettes and booze, hookers and the point. An example:
Your two pitchers of Irish Red, and a few Jameson and Ginger's into a relaxed evening with your homeboys. There is a break in the conversation, and out the corner of your eye you see what can only be defined as the reason God gave you sight: a beautiful woman. She walks like she wouldn't leave a footprint on the ground, and smells like hapiness. Her backside is blessed for sure, and she has The Look. The Look that if you make eye contact, time slows down like bullet-time and you freeze up, if only for an instant, because honestly, you have no idea what to do.
But here's the rub: she's got the meanest, stone cold bump on the side of her mouth. Could be a pimple. Just maybe. Could you be you running on the beach, singing "Just One More Day" popping those Valtrex pills, trying to time your flare-up's to coincide with football season.
The rub is the ultimate equalizer. It prevents people from doing whatever their twisted minds desire because there is a consequence to your action. It's as inevitable as eating too much, but as necessiary as the cool side of the pillow.
You can't duck the rub.
But we try all of the time. To live lives without consequence for the actions we undertake. We have gotten swept up in the malestrom of damn liberalism. We want casual sex without babies, man and woman whoredom and disease. We want to smoke without cancer. We want to live, and do whatever we want, and whatever feels good without any judgement from anyone. Because that judgement forces us to live a life with responsibility, that forces our hands to do things that are hard, taxing, yet essential.
The actions we make change us forever. Yep, it's that deep. For the better, or worse, we're changed. The actions we take define the people we are. Yep, it's that serious. Deal with a person knowing we shouldn't deal with, go to that place we know we shouldn't, take that pill, drink that drink, listen to that song, and we're different than we were before. Maybe we've gotten better. But most times, doing the things we know we shouldn't makes us worse. And don't cry now when shit gets thick and the world looks bleak. It's the life we chose. Now it's time man up and get better, or give up and get worse.
Consequences, responsibility and judgement is the natural system of checks and balance that should keep us ever moving towards the goal of being better than we were the day before. To being the best we can possibly be. To be the we that God intended for us to be. So everyone around us can do the same. But here's the rub:
Things will get better.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
a self quote.
I wonder alot about why everyone is so miserable. Why the masses of the population just cannot seem to get it right. Why day after day, the majority of the conversation that surrounds me is mired in the quagmire of mediocrity, dissapointment, frustration, disenchantment, anger, sadness and overal malaise.
Everyday we are pushed to strive after, to achieve things that do not really matter when it comes to our overall happiness. Cars, clothes, degrees, jobs, entertainment among others have been made paramount in the lives that we are told to lead. We sacrifice a piece of ourselves in order to have them. Children are neglected, families in essence deserted, marriages relegated to a schedule to make accomodations for these things. And none of it in the least makes the slightest bit of sense.
Everyday we are pushed to strive after, to achieve things that do not really matter when it comes to our overall happiness. Cars, clothes, degrees, jobs, entertainment among others have been made paramount in the lives that we are told to lead. We sacrifice a piece of ourselves in order to have them. Children are neglected, families in essence deserted, marriages relegated to a schedule to make accomodations for these things. And none of it in the least makes the slightest bit of sense.
We have seen enough movies, tabloids and personal experiences to tell us all what should be painfully obivious to us all. None of it makes you happy. Not by itself. Not without the most important piece of the puzzle. Love. This is not regulated to an intimate love between lovers, or the love shared between a parent and child. This is love in all its forms and incarnations, all incompassing in its scope. A sacrificial love. An unselfish love. A patient and kind love. A 1 Corinthians 13 love.
People focus so much on preparing the perfect side dish that they neglect the main course. The best mashed potatoes in the world will never make up for a horrible, shoe-leather steak. Never. The best car in the world will never make up for the lack of love in a person's life. Never. We work to take care of a family, but in the process neglect the family. We work to provide for a child, but the most important provision they need is you. We work to provide our significant others with the best, forgetting that when you were happiest together with all you had was each other, together.
I know its hard in the midst of bills, worry, stress, hatred, job frustration, life disspointment, smoking, having to be pretty and smart, the pressure to be thin, the pressure to be anything than what God made you, painful relationships, gas prices, pain, Darfur, the media, negative images, the quest for money to see the importance of love. In fact to see it period. All around you, the world is showing you its there, teaching you the importance. But, you have to pay attention to learn. That, in turn, means doing something difficult and hard, but all things difficult and hard are usually necessisary. You have to step outside of yourself, your own myopic mind and vision, away from your problems and your mistakes and just take a look around, and see the world away from yourself. Because your ruining it. See it for what it is, and not what you think it should be, or wish it was, or how it would be if you were doing it, and how it applies to your supposedly shitty exisistence.
I saw two men get on the bus, stumbling towards the back. Clearly intoxicated, and clearly not giving a damn. One sat down on the back bench beside me, the other on a seat on the side of the bus, near the back bench. My man sitting next to me must have had the brunt of the pint, because he was laid out like a rug, sprawled out like he was the shining example of how to make a snow angel. He was in and out of conciousness, but in those moments he was with us, he knew one thing: he was not comfortable. He took one of his legs and propped it up on his homeboy's knee. His homeboy took his legs, pulled it further on his lap, smiled, and let the breeze through the window take him away.
Love.
"You can learn something from anything, if you pay attention."
Friday, April 27, 2007
running with the bulls.
I was watching National Geographic one day. This "Discovery" special was on Bloodsports, specifically those relating to animals. The way that the special was structured was that they first did a quick overview on the sport, then had an Oxford-type comment on how barbaric the sport was, how it "fed on humans intrinsic desire to revel in pain and delight in blood, blah, blah."
(It's hillarious to me how a person can become a supposed expert in a field from learning about it mainly from a book. There is no substitute for experience. How can you know of something intimately, without being in it and at some point, being of it?). Then they speak to those who are involved on the sport on a regular basis, whether it be training roosters, or staging the dogfights.
They covered cockfighting and dog fighting, two activities that I have been exposed to at various points in my life. Then the topic moved to bullfighting.
(It's hillarious to me how a person can become a supposed expert in a field from learning about it mainly from a book. There is no substitute for experience. How can you know of something intimately, without being in it and at some point, being of it?). Then they speak to those who are involved on the sport on a regular basis, whether it be training roosters, or staging the dogfights.
They covered cockfighting and dog fighting, two activities that I have been exposed to at various points in my life. Then the topic moved to bullfighting.
I could never understand how a man could take pleasure in destroying an animal that, with every odd stacked against him, is destined to die. The beauty however, is the animal's desire to live.
In Spain, bullfighting is not considered a sport, much less a "bloodsport". In the newspaper, it is covered in the Arts section. Matadors are treated like top-tier movie stars, and the bulls are regarded with respect beyond that normally reserved for an animal. As they moved passed the overview, and the academic commentary, they moved to talking to those who have cut their lives around this. They interviewed an ancient matador, a bullfighter. He spoke as if knew tomorrow may never come. Words spoken deliberately as if eons had passed in their formation. Asked what would he ask a bull, if he could ask them anything as they were prepared for battle, he replied quite simply:
"Would you rather live as cattle, or die as a bull?"
As men, we are valued for being so through the masculine characteristics we display. We have an intrinsic need to provide for those around us, to be looked up to, to be admired, to protect. When two men enter the room, most of us want to be the man the people look at, because you can only look at one. Women value these characteristic in the men in their lives: they love their daddies because of it, and choose mates (hopefully) based, in part, on it. This desire to
"be a man" stretches far beyond socio-economic boundaries, and in fact is exacerbated by these boundaries that exist in every society. These boundaries give all of us a reference point by which we judge ourselves.
Very few of us in this country are subject to abject poverty, but that matters not.
Poverty in this country is a sense of lacking is those things that those in the socio-economic group we want to belong to have.
All around us, we see how the "other half" lives. We see the houses, the cars. The clothing, all of the outward signs of wealth on display for the world to see. We place importance on this, on attaining social status, on having materials.
All around us, we see the acceptable ways of acheiving this wealth: attending school, getting into college and working hard seems to be the intended path to the promised land of having. The problem is that this path is not in reality feasible for all of us in this society, but the desire to have is still as strong. For a majority of young men that live in urban areas, live in a household whose income barely reaches the poverty level, the traditional means of having isn't feasible.
We tell them to get off the corner. Stop selling drugs. Destroying our communities. Out of the same mouth we tell them to be men, provide. That having a nice car means something. Nice clothes means something. Makes you better than you were before.
No man wants to live as cattle.
These young men in these situations want what all men want, to be men. To be bulls. They want this so badly that they rather live for 15 minutes in on the stage, in the arena, than to live 15 years trolling the pasture, waiting to be slaughtered. They know that in their lives, they are seemingly destined to die, and all we offer them is the mantra of "doing right" and 6.15 a hour and a McDonalds shirt. We offer them a lifetime of mediocrity, and expect them to swallow that oh so bitter pill with a smile. We inherently tell them they are unworthy of being worthy, and wonder why they hit the streets with such vigor. To prove you wrong. We wonder why they buy 100 dollar shirts, and 24'' rims. To buy the worth that you said they couldn't have. Wasn't worth having.
Movies and the media warps our thinking into believing that all these men who hustle are sociopaths, who care about no one, even themselves, and are intent on destroying the free world as we know it. Watching too much New Jack City.
They just want what Bob, the college graduate wants. What the CEO of any corporation wants. What we all want. To have. If we want things to change, we have to offer them something better than the mediocre.
We have to offer them the legitimate chance to live as bulls.
april 27.
Today is my father's birthday. Say a prayer for my family when you read this.
Thanks.
I miss you pops.
Thanks.
I miss you pops.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
and this is why, jenny.
I was in the process of writing a entry "what went wrong with everything", listening to a song called 4th Time Around by Bob Dylan. My man Mike Brown put me on to it. And I heard something:
"Don't forget, everybody must give something back for something they get."
It made me think of Jenny, my Jenny. So this is for you.
I know you think about why I do the things that I do. Say the things I say. Wonder if they are geniuine and true, if they come from my heart. Is it because I love, or is it for some other purpose. To get you to fall for them just to leave, or say them because the words are easy on the ear the way a sunset is easy on the eyes.
I try to explain it, but the answers end up being more sappy than the actions. One part of you, the sappy side, loves those extra-heavy-on-the-syrup answers. But the other side, the side that for a long time I knew little about isn't buying it. It knows that sugar is sweet, but you cannot live off of it. I understand that.
Over the years of knowing you, you have given me true friendship. A always ready to listen ear. Advice when I need it. Encouragement. Smiles and laughter. Tears too. You have given me a hard time, and made some things easy. Given me piece of you when it would have been easier to keep it all to yourself. Given me justification for being giving by being the same. You gave me a card, "A friend is someone who reaches for your hand, and touches your heart. The scrapbook of all scrapbooks, that made all my friends want what I have with you. You (and your moms) gave me a mini-tour of Trini food in the comfort of your living room. Gave me 30 minutes of tears with Reghan in my yard. Looks that said it all, without saying anything at all. Hugs around my neck. A ride to Bible study. Peace and Happiness. Love Brownies and Love Cookies. One big ass love cookie loaf. Someone I know that will ride with me until the end of the earth. A smart mouth and a strong will that aint scared and won't back down, from anyone including me. A sense of what a woman should be. Humbleness, if thats a word. A different viewpoint than my own. Someone I love being around, even if nothing is said. Instant sunshine on some of my darkest days.
"I love you just the way you are." So add unconditional love to the list.
I could go on. But that would be getting away from the point. I give to you what I do because you've given me so much. I will keep on giving until I have nothing more to give. Then I'll find more.
I give to you my love because honestly, it's that best thing I can give.
Now, thats something even your mind can't explain away. Something that you can sink your teeth into. Chump.
(even though being from Cedonia, you probably don't even deserve this. Damn east sider.)
"Don't forget, everybody must give something back for something they get."
It made me think of Jenny, my Jenny. So this is for you.
I know you think about why I do the things that I do. Say the things I say. Wonder if they are geniuine and true, if they come from my heart. Is it because I love, or is it for some other purpose. To get you to fall for them just to leave, or say them because the words are easy on the ear the way a sunset is easy on the eyes.
I try to explain it, but the answers end up being more sappy than the actions. One part of you, the sappy side, loves those extra-heavy-on-the-syrup answers. But the other side, the side that for a long time I knew little about isn't buying it. It knows that sugar is sweet, but you cannot live off of it. I understand that.
Over the years of knowing you, you have given me true friendship. A always ready to listen ear. Advice when I need it. Encouragement. Smiles and laughter. Tears too. You have given me a hard time, and made some things easy. Given me piece of you when it would have been easier to keep it all to yourself. Given me justification for being giving by being the same. You gave me a card, "A friend is someone who reaches for your hand, and touches your heart. The scrapbook of all scrapbooks, that made all my friends want what I have with you. You (and your moms) gave me a mini-tour of Trini food in the comfort of your living room. Gave me 30 minutes of tears with Reghan in my yard. Looks that said it all, without saying anything at all. Hugs around my neck. A ride to Bible study. Peace and Happiness. Love Brownies and Love Cookies. One big ass love cookie loaf. Someone I know that will ride with me until the end of the earth. A smart mouth and a strong will that aint scared and won't back down, from anyone including me. A sense of what a woman should be. Humbleness, if thats a word. A different viewpoint than my own. Someone I love being around, even if nothing is said. Instant sunshine on some of my darkest days.
"I love you just the way you are." So add unconditional love to the list.
I could go on. But that would be getting away from the point. I give to you what I do because you've given me so much. I will keep on giving until I have nothing more to give. Then I'll find more.
I give to you my love because honestly, it's that best thing I can give.
Now, thats something even your mind can't explain away. Something that you can sink your teeth into. Chump.
(even though being from Cedonia, you probably don't even deserve this. Damn east sider.)
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
you can't trust a woman that doesn't have her voice on her voicemail.
Let's get this straight. I'm not saying this in response to me trying to get at a woman who didn't have her voice on her voicemail, she doing me dirty, and me coming up with concept.
I just have realized that the women I know, who has the computer voice on their voicemail, are sneaky and pretty much untrustworthy. It has to be a reason that they chose to do this. Most women do it, and secretly like to do so. It falls in the same category with writing their names over and over on a piece of paper, or dancing extra hard when they can see themselves in a mirror. I guess it feeds some internal narcissistic quality. Hearing their own voice, and then knowing other people will hear it.
I could attribute it to laziness, or not caring. I'm lazy at times, and I super don't care about things like that, but I still took out the time to set it up.
But those who don't. Eh. Something is up.
They don't want anything concrete, like a name attached to the number. Or something else equally as sneaky. No matter how you slice it,
Don't trust them.
Also, any dude who says "I'm gettin' my grown man on" is doing nothing of the sort.
Since when did grown men announce they were going to be grown?
If a man will put a ring in his mouth, he is liable to do anything.
If your a black man, and your going to wear a wallet chain, realize this. When I was coming up, only white kids that skateboarded, wore JNCO jeans, and wore AC/DC shirts wore them . So hell yea, I'm going to look at you funny. And shake my head. And they were attached to wallets, not two belt buckles. It's called a wallet chain for a good reason.
I'm through.
I just have realized that the women I know, who has the computer voice on their voicemail, are sneaky and pretty much untrustworthy. It has to be a reason that they chose to do this. Most women do it, and secretly like to do so. It falls in the same category with writing their names over and over on a piece of paper, or dancing extra hard when they can see themselves in a mirror. I guess it feeds some internal narcissistic quality. Hearing their own voice, and then knowing other people will hear it.
I could attribute it to laziness, or not caring. I'm lazy at times, and I super don't care about things like that, but I still took out the time to set it up.
But those who don't. Eh. Something is up.
They don't want anything concrete, like a name attached to the number. Or something else equally as sneaky. No matter how you slice it,
Don't trust them.
Also, any dude who says "I'm gettin' my grown man on" is doing nothing of the sort.
Since when did grown men announce they were going to be grown?
If a man will put a ring in his mouth, he is liable to do anything.
If your a black man, and your going to wear a wallet chain, realize this. When I was coming up, only white kids that skateboarded, wore JNCO jeans, and wore AC/DC shirts wore them . So hell yea, I'm going to look at you funny. And shake my head. And they were attached to wallets, not two belt buckles. It's called a wallet chain for a good reason.
I'm through.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
why I hate most everything/i am my brothers keeper.
I want to take a small break from the tributes to my homeboys to address something. People tell me all the time that I hate everything. I don't hate everything, just most of everything that this world is or has to offer. People ask why, or just shake their heads. People try to say I'm a contradiction, or I'm too negative about things. I want to take just a few moments to air it out.
I break down life into two seperate and distinct categories: things that are for me, and things that are not. I think everyone does this in their lives to a certain extent, which is a good thing. It helps people stay away from those things, people and situations that do not want to be exposed to. But, from my observations, people are still open to dabble in that other list. For most people, it's more of a " I prefer do to these things vs. I prefer not to do those other things." For instance, people may not prefer to watch award shows, but if one is on, and there are no other quick, suitable options, they may give it a go.
Not me.
If I put something on the "not for me list", I hate it. And I don't mean dislike. When I use hate, I know the evil, dismissive connotation associated with it. Me hating it prevents me from every exposing myself to it, because I think that if I do, it will adversely affect me. It will turn me into something I'm not.
My moms used to tell me that it is impossible to be in something and not be of it. Meaning that if your in Rome long enough, will not just only do as Romans do, but soon enough, you'll be arguing the benefits of a republic vs. emperor.
You'll be a Roman.
When I look around at most people, to be honest, I see idiots. Not to say that they don't have the potential to be intelligent, but if they constantly refuse to use it...
I mean, if your a dog and you act like a cat 95% of the time...might as well hop your ass in that litter box.
I don't want to limit "idiocy" to intelligence. That's just a very small part of it. I think idiocy is better defined by the inability to see yourself as a larger social structure. That what you do, and how you act, and what you learn (or don't learn) can positively or adversely affect those around you. In short, you have a responsibility to turn yourself into a "good" human being, because if you don't, the people around you won't.
Most people in this world don't do that. They are too busy "doing them." Selfish assholes.
I see most people using myspace, having ringtones, watching american idol, wearing chains, reading zane books, putting rings in their mouths, gossiping, acting tough when they are soft as cotton, smutting off, going to clubs among other things that I hate.
Let's use some logic here. If I believe most people are functioning idiots, and most people do those things, then most of the people that do those things are idiots.
I don't want to be an idiot.
This isn't to say that everyone who does these things are idiots. I have people in my life that I love and respect that do most of those things, if not all of them. And I know they are intelligent, caring, unselfish people. But I can't dabble. I'm not strong enough. I need to keep my head clear. My heart pure. Because one wrong turn, one bad weekend, and I'm done. I'm through. I'm wearing sunglasses at night, disrespecting women, and watching music videos from sun-up to sun-down. There are enough of those men in the world.
If you respect my mind, and the way I think. If you like the person I am, and don't want that to change, then you have to understand why I hate most of the things other people like. I have to be different, stand for something different because I want the world to be different. I want what everyone else secretly wants, but has given up on. If you let me hate, then maybe.
Just maybe, things will be as they should. Because you know, deep down, that they aren't. That this can't be all life as to offer. And maybe, just maybe, together, we can right the ship.
I break down life into two seperate and distinct categories: things that are for me, and things that are not. I think everyone does this in their lives to a certain extent, which is a good thing. It helps people stay away from those things, people and situations that do not want to be exposed to. But, from my observations, people are still open to dabble in that other list. For most people, it's more of a " I prefer do to these things vs. I prefer not to do those other things." For instance, people may not prefer to watch award shows, but if one is on, and there are no other quick, suitable options, they may give it a go.
Not me.
If I put something on the "not for me list", I hate it. And I don't mean dislike. When I use hate, I know the evil, dismissive connotation associated with it. Me hating it prevents me from every exposing myself to it, because I think that if I do, it will adversely affect me. It will turn me into something I'm not.
My moms used to tell me that it is impossible to be in something and not be of it. Meaning that if your in Rome long enough, will not just only do as Romans do, but soon enough, you'll be arguing the benefits of a republic vs. emperor.
You'll be a Roman.
When I look around at most people, to be honest, I see idiots. Not to say that they don't have the potential to be intelligent, but if they constantly refuse to use it...
I mean, if your a dog and you act like a cat 95% of the time...might as well hop your ass in that litter box.
I don't want to limit "idiocy" to intelligence. That's just a very small part of it. I think idiocy is better defined by the inability to see yourself as a larger social structure. That what you do, and how you act, and what you learn (or don't learn) can positively or adversely affect those around you. In short, you have a responsibility to turn yourself into a "good" human being, because if you don't, the people around you won't.
Most people in this world don't do that. They are too busy "doing them." Selfish assholes.
I see most people using myspace, having ringtones, watching american idol, wearing chains, reading zane books, putting rings in their mouths, gossiping, acting tough when they are soft as cotton, smutting off, going to clubs among other things that I hate.
Let's use some logic here. If I believe most people are functioning idiots, and most people do those things, then most of the people that do those things are idiots.
I don't want to be an idiot.
This isn't to say that everyone who does these things are idiots. I have people in my life that I love and respect that do most of those things, if not all of them. And I know they are intelligent, caring, unselfish people. But I can't dabble. I'm not strong enough. I need to keep my head clear. My heart pure. Because one wrong turn, one bad weekend, and I'm done. I'm through. I'm wearing sunglasses at night, disrespecting women, and watching music videos from sun-up to sun-down. There are enough of those men in the world.
If you respect my mind, and the way I think. If you like the person I am, and don't want that to change, then you have to understand why I hate most of the things other people like. I have to be different, stand for something different because I want the world to be different. I want what everyone else secretly wants, but has given up on. If you let me hate, then maybe.
Just maybe, things will be as they should. Because you know, deep down, that they aren't. That this can't be all life as to offer. And maybe, just maybe, together, we can right the ship.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
why do you say his whole name? mike brown.
It started off because somewhere down the line, the great name of Michael was overused and under appreciated. People all over the world flocked to it because of its simplicity and intrinsic nobility. What followed was a glut of men named Michael. In a group of seven, two people are bound to be named Michael. I was Mike, he became Mike Brown. And in that small act of youthful ingenuity (or lack thereof), he was created.
There are some people in your life you wonder why God put them there. And then there are some who you never had to question why, because the answer was as plain to see as jane.
One day I was at the bar with my man Mike Brown. We get to talking about women, and I was trying to describe how this one particular woman looked. I'm thinking, thinking hard, then it comes to me.
"This broad is fiefdom ugly."
I took a shot with this one. First I assume that the listener knows what a fiefdom is. Then I have to hope that he/she can draw a connection between a ancient system of landownership and a persons appearance.
Mike Brown is in tears with laughter. I never doubted it for a second.
I love movie, books and music. Mike Brown is one of 3 peoples opinion that I listen to when it comes to these things.
Nina Simone. Who can you find these days who appreciate Mr. Bojangles.
He is one of 4 people I listen to about life because I knows he's constantly thinking, feeding his mind, and making it all work for him. I'm crazy, but I know I'm not alone.
Why do you say his whole name? Because to leave out the Brown is like watch with no hands. It doesn't work without it.
There are some people in your life you wonder why God put them there. And then there are some who you never had to question why, because the answer was as plain to see as jane.
One day I was at the bar with my man Mike Brown. We get to talking about women, and I was trying to describe how this one particular woman looked. I'm thinking, thinking hard, then it comes to me.
"This broad is fiefdom ugly."
I took a shot with this one. First I assume that the listener knows what a fiefdom is. Then I have to hope that he/she can draw a connection between a ancient system of landownership and a persons appearance.
Mike Brown is in tears with laughter. I never doubted it for a second.
I love movie, books and music. Mike Brown is one of 3 peoples opinion that I listen to when it comes to these things.
Nina Simone. Who can you find these days who appreciate Mr. Bojangles.
He is one of 4 people I listen to about life because I knows he's constantly thinking, feeding his mind, and making it all work for him. I'm crazy, but I know I'm not alone.
Why do you say his whole name? Because to leave out the Brown is like watch with no hands. It doesn't work without it.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
sin eater. tatum singleton.
In the movie The Order, they talk about the sin eater. A person that would "eat" the sins of a person that could not seek absolution from the church to gain entrance into heaven. They damn themselves for eternity in order for others to have eternal pardise. The ultimate act of self-sacrifice.
Doing whatever it takes to take care of your family. Sleeping 2 hours a night. Having 7 different things working for you, and you have to work to make it happen. Always grinding. Always making it happen. Alot of people talk about the grind, but have no idea what it means to.
If you fail, it all falls apart. The seams split, the balloon breaks, the foundation slips and it all falls apart. You know that going in. You come out on the other side, and you still make it happen. The lights are still on. The mortgage paid. The children helped.
You eat the sins of those you love so they can live free. Even if it means you cannot.
You think no ones sees, but I do. You think no one admires, but I do. You are the example I give of what it means to be a man. When my father died, the shadow fell, and I saw all those who helped me grow. No person more than you TJ. No person more than you cousin.
(2nd smartest person I know. I'm counting my moms/pops as one unit. you get the shiny silver. black bastard.)
The world will know your greatness before I am through with it.
Doing whatever it takes to take care of your family. Sleeping 2 hours a night. Having 7 different things working for you, and you have to work to make it happen. Always grinding. Always making it happen. Alot of people talk about the grind, but have no idea what it means to.
If you fail, it all falls apart. The seams split, the balloon breaks, the foundation slips and it all falls apart. You know that going in. You come out on the other side, and you still make it happen. The lights are still on. The mortgage paid. The children helped.
You eat the sins of those you love so they can live free. Even if it means you cannot.
You think no ones sees, but I do. You think no one admires, but I do. You are the example I give of what it means to be a man. When my father died, the shadow fell, and I saw all those who helped me grow. No person more than you TJ. No person more than you cousin.
(2nd smartest person I know. I'm counting my moms/pops as one unit. you get the shiny silver. black bastard.)
The world will know your greatness before I am through with it.
Monday, February 12, 2007
hell cab. ronald samuels.
My man Ronald. It's been a long 13 years. Back to 1993-1994. Summer school. Me, you and Danny Shin. Getting hustled by you for my comics books outside of Carey Hall. I didn't know about the barcode on the front, but I learned quick. Soujourner-Douglass College. The lounge. Exploring the 4th floor. Fucking with the janitor Bernard. Always up to no good. Minds always on a scheme. I had it in me, but you brought it out. P.I.C.
This isn't the "get your life ruined on some nonsense" blog. So i'll keep the capers to myself. When your about it, you don't have to talk about it.
Alot of things go unsaid in our friendship, as it should. But if my pops passing taught me anything, it's to say what should be said before it's too late. And you never know it's too late until.
When my pops passed, I came home. Ronald called my house. I told him the business. He told me "Damn, thats fucked up."
He told me the truth. No lies, no weak ass euphemisims. He knew I was hurt, and he didn't know what to say, so he told me the truth. And this in this, lies his greatness. No matter what, I get the truth from my man because thats what he gives himself. Love it or hate it, it doesn't much matter because he'll never be anything else. Always. No high-octane fuel. His truth gives me grounding, motivation, clarity. The truth lets me know that he's there to ride to the end. That friendship means more than what you see on MTV.
Somebody once told me that he can't see how we are friends. If you know me, I can't see how we wouldn't be.
This isn't the "get your life ruined on some nonsense" blog. So i'll keep the capers to myself. When your about it, you don't have to talk about it.
Alot of things go unsaid in our friendship, as it should. But if my pops passing taught me anything, it's to say what should be said before it's too late. And you never know it's too late until.
When my pops passed, I came home. Ronald called my house. I told him the business. He told me "Damn, thats fucked up."
He told me the truth. No lies, no weak ass euphemisims. He knew I was hurt, and he didn't know what to say, so he told me the truth. And this in this, lies his greatness. No matter what, I get the truth from my man because thats what he gives himself. Love it or hate it, it doesn't much matter because he'll never be anything else. Always. No high-octane fuel. His truth gives me grounding, motivation, clarity. The truth lets me know that he's there to ride to the end. That friendship means more than what you see on MTV.
Somebody once told me that he can't see how we are friends. If you know me, I can't see how we wouldn't be.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
oh fat kid...what have you done?
At the end of my life, I want someone to say that. To look back at the life I led, and just ask that one question.
Hopefully, I have made a mess. An absolute mess of this life. Like 3 third graders with a bucket of paint, feathers and glue in your grandmoms living room. You will shake your head at my antics. I will have kicked up so much dust, it's like being in a sandstorm. You will shake your collective heads, throw up your hands and look to the sky and ask the lord why did you have to know me.
That's the promise I make people. I can't say that I will never hurt you. Dissapoint you. Make you beyond pissed. Way beyond exasperated.
But the ride will be interesting. And we both will be better because of it.
I've come to be The Last Mohican.
A marytr, maybe. You might not like me.
You'll love me though. Who doesn't secretly love the fat kid?
You don't have to ride down this path with me. Just root for me.
My next few posts will be for my homeboys. Just to let you know that it's all appreciated.
Hopefully, I have made a mess. An absolute mess of this life. Like 3 third graders with a bucket of paint, feathers and glue in your grandmoms living room. You will shake your head at my antics. I will have kicked up so much dust, it's like being in a sandstorm. You will shake your collective heads, throw up your hands and look to the sky and ask the lord why did you have to know me.
That's the promise I make people. I can't say that I will never hurt you. Dissapoint you. Make you beyond pissed. Way beyond exasperated.
But the ride will be interesting. And we both will be better because of it.
I've come to be The Last Mohican.
A marytr, maybe. You might not like me.
You'll love me though. Who doesn't secretly love the fat kid?
You don't have to ride down this path with me. Just root for me.
My next few posts will be for my homeboys. Just to let you know that it's all appreciated.
Monday, January 29, 2007
a story, in three parts.
Walking, he knew something was wrong. The air felt as though it had died the night before, cold and still. Things did not even look as they should. The sun's glare from the storefront had softened, and was a smooth as a tumbled rock. He stood still in order to maintain composure as the world speedily crept around him. With eyes close he saw the truth: that he never belonged here. Life was his to have, just not the life he was living. Death was never an option, for it would take him away from his purpose, if he could ever find out what that was.
The trek to work always seemed an insurmountable task, beginning at the first step. Not because of anything physical, but mainly due to the mental exertion he place on himself from the moment he stepped outside. Preparation to deal with a world never meant for him. People he was never to meet, conversations he was never meant to hear. Every step meant moving closer towards that chaffing feeling. A feeling that doesn't necessarily end in anger, but constant irritation.
"How was the weekend?" "How are you feeling today?"
Words stripped of their meaning is a tragic circumstance. A bird without wings, or even a notion to fly. He could not join in, could not add more empty phrases to fill the environment around him with nothingness. To have this vision of the world, to see emptiness as it was, is often viewed as a pessimistic quality. Negative was the word he most heard most often to describe his demeanor. True, he was negative. As he saw it, most everything in this life was a ghost, remnants of an existence once had. We worshiped the vestiges of what was (and in turn what could have been), but yet he refused. His vision allowed him to distinguished nothingness from somethingness. Somethingness was everything to him.
She approached everything with the exuberance of a ten year old child. Mainly, because she was a ten year old child. New and fresh every experience was to her. She was never afraid because everything was an adventure to her. After everything she saw, heard, smelled, tasted, accomplished, she realized that she changed. That she was, different. Started out one way, but ended up another. She relished that moment of realization. As she would grow older, she saw the virtue of good experiences that made you better as opposed from those that did not. No sparks or colors, just deep rooted change. Deep rooted in the sense that these small changes coupled with experience would lead to the foundations of the principles upon which her life would be based. At 10, she didn't know this. Or care to know. What she did know or care to know is that after spending time with her nana at Byrd's Sanctuary, helping to serve food to those layered in clothes that no more belonged together than crabs and ice cream, allowed her to view Mr. Buddy, who spent every waking moment on how to get wet and how to stay dry a little differently. She heard his words as kind, even wrapped in the slur of intoxication. These changes softened her, allowing her to bypass passing judgement based on appearance. The hue of skin, amount estrogen in a voice, or lack there of, meant nothing to her because she never noticed it. She saw, better yet felt, what made them, them. Goodness felt as warm and sweet as the crook of the neck of a woman loved. Sadness was thick and slow; anger, blindingly bright. A living, breathing canvas of emotional color, forever changing and remaining the same was her world, and she never wanted to leave its comforting embrace.
10 would teach him how to live.
The trek to work always seemed an insurmountable task, beginning at the first step. Not because of anything physical, but mainly due to the mental exertion he place on himself from the moment he stepped outside. Preparation to deal with a world never meant for him. People he was never to meet, conversations he was never meant to hear. Every step meant moving closer towards that chaffing feeling. A feeling that doesn't necessarily end in anger, but constant irritation.
"How was the weekend?" "How are you feeling today?"
Words stripped of their meaning is a tragic circumstance. A bird without wings, or even a notion to fly. He could not join in, could not add more empty phrases to fill the environment around him with nothingness. To have this vision of the world, to see emptiness as it was, is often viewed as a pessimistic quality. Negative was the word he most heard most often to describe his demeanor. True, he was negative. As he saw it, most everything in this life was a ghost, remnants of an existence once had. We worshiped the vestiges of what was (and in turn what could have been), but yet he refused. His vision allowed him to distinguished nothingness from somethingness. Somethingness was everything to him.
She approached everything with the exuberance of a ten year old child. Mainly, because she was a ten year old child. New and fresh every experience was to her. She was never afraid because everything was an adventure to her. After everything she saw, heard, smelled, tasted, accomplished, she realized that she changed. That she was, different. Started out one way, but ended up another. She relished that moment of realization. As she would grow older, she saw the virtue of good experiences that made you better as opposed from those that did not. No sparks or colors, just deep rooted change. Deep rooted in the sense that these small changes coupled with experience would lead to the foundations of the principles upon which her life would be based. At 10, she didn't know this. Or care to know. What she did know or care to know is that after spending time with her nana at Byrd's Sanctuary, helping to serve food to those layered in clothes that no more belonged together than crabs and ice cream, allowed her to view Mr. Buddy, who spent every waking moment on how to get wet and how to stay dry a little differently. She heard his words as kind, even wrapped in the slur of intoxication. These changes softened her, allowing her to bypass passing judgement based on appearance. The hue of skin, amount estrogen in a voice, or lack there of, meant nothing to her because she never noticed it. She saw, better yet felt, what made them, them. Goodness felt as warm and sweet as the crook of the neck of a woman loved. Sadness was thick and slow; anger, blindingly bright. A living, breathing canvas of emotional color, forever changing and remaining the same was her world, and she never wanted to leave its comforting embrace.
10 would teach him how to live.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
it's either or.
People are seemingly never content with the cards dealt to them by the lord above. They want to play a game that their cards don't allow them to win with. Can't win at poker with a good spades hand.
If your weird, you won't have alot of good friends. Just a few. But those few will ride to the end of the earth with you.
If your selfish, you can't expect people around you to give you their last.
It's impossible to have it both ways. People consistently and carelessly run into this fact of life like flies into a windshield. And then choose to get pissed at the result. It's the balance of the world. Balance hates those "have their cake and eat it too" bastards. Just too damn greedy. Then scale starts to tip.
At some point we all have to determine what is truly important to us, in all aspects of our lives. It gives us a standard by which we can base our decision upon.
Is it more important to be true to your cards, or to have what we want?
Sometimes they coincide, but don't hold your breath.
It's either or.
If your weird, you won't have alot of good friends. Just a few. But those few will ride to the end of the earth with you.
If your selfish, you can't expect people around you to give you their last.
It's impossible to have it both ways. People consistently and carelessly run into this fact of life like flies into a windshield. And then choose to get pissed at the result. It's the balance of the world. Balance hates those "have their cake and eat it too" bastards. Just too damn greedy. Then scale starts to tip.
At some point we all have to determine what is truly important to us, in all aspects of our lives. It gives us a standard by which we can base our decision upon.
Is it more important to be true to your cards, or to have what we want?
Sometimes they coincide, but don't hold your breath.
It's either or.
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