toe-tagged truth.

my cousin had me out here feeling lightweight bad. making me feel like i'm asking too much from these women out here.

"you still looking for perfection." that's what he hit me with just on friday. after he left my crib, i was up for a minute thinking about what he said. i mulled over all the women that i knew, used to know. maybe i judged wrong, or too harshly. maybe the mistake was that i judged at all. maybe the criteria i was looking for was bullshit. maybe i set it up in my mind for them to fail from jump. 

maybe cause of my last relationship, i was still fucked up. going too hard, you know? looking for diamond flaws though a 20x loupe. your bound to see the feathers and cleavage.

looking for that fairy tale. that notebook. i was up for a minute, mulling it all around. this isn't the first time he hit me with that. aint the first time i heard it period.

then a thought showed up like a 4am raid. why is he telling me this?

_________________________________________________________

you know the best advice? advice that comes from another man's fuck up. you put the pussy on the ceiling, nail it, and tell the next man how not to. your failure has the power to teach another. but you gotta stretch it out that cold slab naked, and lift up the sheet. with this future relationship i'm going to have with my future wife, i need the people around me to show me the autopsy:

this is how the relationship died. this is how i messed up. this is how i picked wrong. this is how i was weak, this is how i let that loneliness get to me. i was lazy and aint want to try. it could be a million reasons, but there are reasons nonetheless.

at the end of the day, if you give me that, i'm going to learn forreal, and hopefully with the information i can do it right. and when i have some failure, or out and out get a cold F, i can tell my honest tale to the next, and he can learn from my shortcomings. but don't set me up to take the same bogus trip you just made. 

you read the map wrong, so we both at AAA?

 

i know i'm my own man, we are all our own people. but you a fool and a liar if you think you make it through this life leaning on just your own understanding of what is around you. we all get advice, and we all need it from time to time. i'm not asking for proverbs or meditations. just the truth.

yeah, you probably not going to walk this path and come out clean on the other end. you might look like a simp, a sucker for love ass nigga, but who hasn't worn that uniform before? can't be a g all the time fella, don't let them rap songs tell you different. that shit is going to sting like iodine when you think about all the bogus rap you laid on the track, all the bullshit you wish you had never said. all those things you wish you had. actions you took that began the downfall. 

you might cringe. i know i did. but to speak fallacies is to teach lies, and learning and lies aint in the same schoolhouse, much less the same classroom. those people who may learn may do it better than you...seeing that will highlight your own shortcomings, exposing the regret hiding in the shadows of you. 

but though all that discomfort, you can learn too. exposing your story gives it a different hue and your forced to look at it brand new. it has not only become the truth for someone else, it has become the truth for you. now, with all you've given, you get something back. 

a chance to do it differently the next time it comes down the pipe.

and it will. always does. 

...

now, i knew she was bad. we all did.

but did you know about that radio flyer she was toting on her back?
she's got more action following her than a bookie on superbowl sunday. jesus.

from baltimore.

i remember when i first went away to college. i was sitting in a lounge during my dorm orientation. we went around in a circle, and everyone said where they were from. it got to me.

i'm from baltimore.

boooooo. damn. got booed from being from my fair city.

i'll take it. and it was war from then on out. we all got cool, but i'll ride for my city. and ride i did.

i owe baltimore more than a quick hit. i'll do it justice soon.

the undefined, part 2.

what is the downfall of things moving to the realm of the undefined? it creates chaos and disruption, where esteem and peace are merely cannon fodder on the front lines of a massacre of the human spirit. without definitions, people never define themselves. instead, the world creates their definition, that is subject to change without notice. and it does change, almost every minute of every hour of everyday. trying to build a house in a whirlpool. got you going in circles? this shit is more like a mobius strip. your never pretty, strong, man, happy, advanced, informed, social, woman, liberal, conservative, concious, rich enough. or maybe your cups runneth over with all of those things. the problem is that if you are relying on the world to let you know where you stand...

it's like being in tanzania with a map a of quebec, playing a game of 21, down by 22.

you already lost.

the world loves this confusion. they profit off of it.

don't know what happiness means? that's just because you never read the box of this 3,000 dollar 61- lcd television. or is it the new touchscreen camera mp3 player phone this month.

a woman? cop some wrinkle defining cream, stop eating and do coke...it just melts of the pounds. when the lack of food and salt shaker of soft white you just ran through starts making its magic on your mind, pop three zolofts and a half a vicodin. then read glamor. or is it elle. paste all them shits back to back so you never miss an update on some celebrity that you will never look like or sex secret that aint a secret.

you don't know what a daddy is? shit, that aint too hard. work all your for three skittles, never see your kids, your wife and fill the void with booze, hookers and a corvette. your son learning what it means to be a man from the men on tv. and your daughter doing the same.

and for all the worlds ever changing and slowly fading definitions, none of them actually define anything. no one ever is satisfied enough to move on along a true path that gives them something worthwhile to aspire towards, much less achieve. the people in your life, in this world whether they are cognizant of it or not, still need those definitions. it's essential for any semblance of success. they need you to be a father, even if you haven't figured it out. They need you to be decent and good, even though those words should be on the back of a milk carton, progressed for age.

they yearn for it just as you do, and this yearning will never fade, no matter how long the feeling goes unsatisfied. a lack of true definitions will lead to the acceptance of any definition no matter how shoddy and slipshod. changing and empty, given to them by a world that desire to neither know or love them, these definitions will render them mindless and numb, shells of a beautiful humanity that is no more. driven on by an innate desire, they will continue to search, but will search in vain.

you've seen the search. driven from their homes wednesday through sunday, mind bent on getting bent, falling in love for the night and giving up something that will never return. at the mall on one of the few days away from work, but back at work, shopping for hours for things that don't need, but treat as if they do. back home and filled with goods, but still unsatiated, they wonder why they still feel empty, but only until the next commericial spins its 30 second yarn. children jamming drugs in every available orifice, and when none that god gave will sufice, small ones will be created. gangs or death metal, they seek out solace even if it hurts, lose themselves in it hoping that home and all its monuemental dissapointments will be forgotten. and will never find them.

because the definitions they seek were supposed to come from us. it would have fed their souls and taught their minds. they would have been better for it and more importantly, with a true definitions, been able to show others what these words mean. that you can't buy it, acquire it...that you have to learn it. but somewhere along the line, we have to learn the definitions for ourselves.

baltimore vs. the slouch socks.

tell them dirty little niggas to wash behind their ears before they come to baltimore with that bullshit.

men do what they want.

boys do what they can.

the undefined, part 1.

everything in this world has a definition, and i don't when that that became a bad thing, but it has. i was talking to one of my co-workers about going out and drinking. she asked me what i drank, and i told her scotch. she said what else. i said beer. 

no mixed drinks?

not unless the liquor is in the title.

why?

cause i don't like those type of drinks. and i don't think men should drink them. that last line got a raised eyebrow. 

a drink doesn't define your manhood.

so if you went out with a dude, and this nigga ordered a sex on the beach, you would be cool with that?

if that's what he liked. that last line made me raise a eyebrow. at what this world has become.

_____________________________________________________

man, woman, child, daughter, smart, stupid, rich, poor...all those words, along with every other word in our lexicon has a definition. sure, some things about the definition change, but they all have definitions nonetheless. it's definition gives it meaning, makes it more than a grouping of letters. it gives us a standard, a baseline, some foundation.

it lets me know that 10 dudes on a basketball court running with hockey sticks hitting a volleyball aint necessarily playing basketball.

what's happening is that slowly but surely our definitions are being rubbed out. started off as a smudge. then certain words were erased, until soon, every word will have one definition.

"undefined."

i think its that people hate being held to a standard, or more importantly, falling short. the fall is far, and excruciating when you hit the ground, but that pain is for a reason. the next time you have more incentive not to fail. fail at living up to the definition. 

but now people feel that sting, and run away from it. instead of stepping up, they step out and instead re-reading the defintion so they know what to do different next time to fall in line with it, they just tweak it so failing aint failing. and no pain is felt. 

and they never get better.

my pops. we had a good relationship, but things changed when i went away. i got caught up in my own little world that i didn't remember that i had to reach back to my old one. my pops would call, and i wouldn't call back. when i came home, i didn't spend as much time with him as i should have. i didn't completely fuck up, but i didn't do all that a son should. because being a son means certain things. the word has a meaning. i knew the meaning.

then he died. now i know towarsds the end, i wasn't doing what i should. does that mean i lie to myself, and change the definition of what being a son means because i fell short? it hurt like shit. my pops gone. i can't go back and tell him "my bad." can't go back and return those calls, spend that time. 

but what i can do is make sure i don't ever fall short of the definiton with my moms. be a son till she's over and all i have is her memory. what i can do is check the other definitions that apply to me, and make sure that i'm adhering, staying close. when i stray, and i will stray, i know that i have to get back. because whether they know it or not, those people are depending on me to live up to it. my niece needs me to be a uncle for her. my sister needs me to be a brother. my cousin a cousin. 

the world needs me to be a man. and for men to be men. straight up. 

i hear alot "i like to see a man that is comfortable enough with himself to do (blank)." I can dig it, but that man can't keep on doing those blanks and be still considered living up to the definition.

i like to see a man who is comfortable enough to wear pink. drink fruity drinks. get facials. watch sex and the city. wear tight clothes. go to a gay club. get a tounge ring.

you see where this is going? eventually, dude aint a man. buy him a maxi cause he's about to bleed. not one of those events alone means your any less of a man. but you have to have limits. boundaries. it was a reason your peoples told you that you couldn't go past the mailbox on one end and the last lightpole on the other. because you might get lost out there and forget the way home.

as a man, i do plenty of shit that i don't like to do, but have to do. women do the same. plenty of shit, but you do it because you have a standard to live up to. my moms doesn't drink out of bottles or wear pants to church. in her era, women didn't do that. i know times change, and the definitions follow suit but they cannot change to the undefined. it can't be a free for all, whatever feels good, and hurts less. whatever is less work.

damn the general titles. you have a name, a name that someone gave you. generally, us sons and daughters of slaves, our names mean nothing more than the definition we give them. 

don't you want it to mean something?

we're in this together.

until the lights go out.

giving up your seat.

Judgment is mine said the lord. For a long time, I didn't think that was true. Judgment was my right. If people did shit I thought was dumb, then i'm putting a dunce cap on the toliet. I wasn't just checking for stupid shit though. It could just be things that I wouldn't do myself, I jammed on it, and treated my opinion as truth.

It's tiresome and time consuming being that way. 

People start off at different places, on different levels, with different family, friends, neighborhoods.

Different contexts.

All with the innate desire to figure out the way to belonging and peace of mind with no map. Taking a test where the answers could be everything. The shit is confusing to everyone who picks up the paper, and your handed one at birth. Even the most enlightened do not have the answer key. 

No one knows the complete context of lives of everyone they meet. Judgment blinds us from seeing that. Or remembering that.

To understand that about those around us, is in part, is what allows us to keep our humanity.

We often judge those who think and live differently that us. Having people around you who are ten toes deep in a lifestyle and mindset that you can't fade will have you more fucked up and down bad than a love affair with dope. Spending a lot of time passing judgment on them will do the same. It makes for certain that you will slowly, but surely, be stripped away from all that separates you from the animals.

Expose yourself to the world. Try vigorously to understand people outside of your circle, talk and learn from everything you do. If you disagree with what you find, then do so, but don't get caught up in easy trap of wandering the wilds of judgment, damning all those you encounter. Realize that that world isn't home and never will be.

princess leia.

I think my littlest heart finally loves me.

I have a niece who is ten and about 9 months ago, my sister had another child who for at least 7 months of her life didn't not trust that new nigga over there, that nigga being me. She just wasn't having it. Kept two eyes on me as soon as she figured out how to move those eyes in unison. Drinking a bottle, eyes on me. Getting that ass changed, eyes on me. And her face gave me no comfort, no real recognition of our relationship. Just filled with infantile wariness.

See, i've been down this uncle road before, but it was different with lauryn. Lauryn's pops wasn't around, so my pops and I filled the void. I held her fresh out of my sister, when she still had primordial fur and what looked like crisco packed in her crevices. I was there for everything, first words, first steps. My first and only song, I sung to her to put her to sleep. When I went on field trips, I saw my little heart explain to her classmates that I wasn't her dad, but I was her uncle, and how that was even better than being her dad because "uncles are cool." Walks home from school, impromptu trips to the playground. Sneaking her ice cream and curse words...man.

But now, my sister has a husband, and leia has a father. It's different. I'm not the first man in her life, her pops is. And a good father and husband he is indeed. I don't see her nearly as much as Lauryn because she doesn't live with me. Because of those facts, to leia, I was just a strange voice without the light coos and goo-goo's of her mother, grandmother and sister. I wasn't there when she woke up, didn't put her to sleep. My voice wasn't one of the voices she would use when constructing the foundations of her speech.

I wasn't her pops. And I know that's how it's supposed to be.

One day last month, I was at my mom's house, and both my niece's were there. Leia was in her carseat, and even though I wanted to pick her up, I didn't. My past experiences with holding her hadn't been good at all, batting 1.000 for tears everytime. I went to wipe her mouth, and she started to sing. I wrapped my finger up in a blanket, and started to cover and uncover her mouth. turning her voice into a staccato sound. She loved it. We made music for about a half and hour, and at the end, she looked and me and smiled. Eye shining, telling the tale that the mouth is unable to do alone. My littlest heart loves me. Ha.

God knows. That smile helped me through the week. I thought about it every night at work, and hoped that I would see it again soon.

Now, we're good. I'm money around 8-12 months, cause then I can do what I'm good at from here on out. Helping her walk, spinning and tossing her gently all around, coming up with games that aren't games at all. Then it's toys, contraband and secret handshakes. Nicknames and sock fights. Homework and plays. I see that smile often, and thank god that i'm able to. I'm not daddy, nor do i need to be, because she found room for me.

(the problem with being the uncle who plays is that when the playing stops, shit gets a little shaky, you dig? but i'm learning to dig deep for an extra ten-minutes, and make the smooth transition into staring out the window, which my back is always grateful for)

reggie!

when barack obama won, i was happy, but not like everyone else was happy. i mean people, young people were crying, flipping out. it was like whenever i saw a video of michael jackson going overseas...people would be having seizures damn near. my phone wouldn't stop going off with a variety of text messages, i heard from people i hadn't heard from in a minute. I couldn't stop thinking about why i wasn't feeling like the rest of the world around me was apparently feeling.

and it wasn't the reaction of the old that made me take a look at myself. i can understand why they were so happy. my momma remembers a time when racism wasn't hidden, wasn't just instutionized, it was an institution. jesse jackson shedding tears, i can dig it. but it was the reaction of the young people that did it. snot bubble tears from the young had me thinking hard man.

at first i blamed it on me being an asshole. yeah, i don't like most shit. 90% of the time i have a good reason. that other 10, could be anything. i'll jam on it just because. i didn't dislike barack at first, but i didn't hear him saying anything new. but the more i listened, the more i heard things that were hella different. like true change, breaking down bullshit barriers that have seperated us, riding in the struggle together. i'm all for that. i rooted for dude. so i couldn't chalk it up to the asshole.

i think now its because he took a shot, and me and my homeboys haven't yet put one up yet. when i thought of him, all i could think of is us, both here and gone (god rest your souls chris and ty), and how we haven't really heaved one yet.

outside looking in, people would say we're making progress. we're good black men, educated, employed, all that shit.

outside looking in, we are all upstanding dudes that are going places.

outside looking in, aint nobody asking about those places that we're going to. and if we want to go there. i don't, and haven't wanted to for awhile now. i peeked at the end of that book. 100g's a year if i'm lucky, benefits and retirement at 65. dying old and stressed out, hoping i was a good enough father and husband, cousin, brother and friend. hoping that i lived, hoping i gave back enough, that i took enough.

it's a suckass ending. so fuck that ending, two times.

haven't really tried to get free, not be employee's, tell the world how we feel. open up a restaurant. put out music. write screenplays. do movies. things that are in us to do. we've all tried various things, but not with vigor. the good thing is that we have begun to do what we should have been doing along. started this summer. just gotta keep rolling until the rave is over.

gotta keep shooting till the target falls, the rim bends and the veins close.

the nikki jean theory.

Now, I do not know nikki jean. Not even in the way some people "know" their favorite celebrities. I've seen her in one lupe video ("hip-hop saved my life"), and I saw 15 seconds of a clip she made on youtube. What I do know is that she can sing, and she has a smile that reminds me of when i was young, when a smile was enough to carry a young man through a whole 3 week relationship with his 5th grade girlfriend, whole time in love.

I've gone through this love affair once before with Rosario Dawson. Until I found out she was on with that dude from Dawson's Creek, doesn't much matter which one, and that love died. He may not be an assclown, but he was on a show for assclowns, which is too much makeup and shit for me to stomach. I told myself that if I were ever to meet her, I would ask her to lunch, and with two hours of talk time, I'd soon be sporting her around town, holding her hand, and kissing her on the mouth in public. Yup, all of that. Wouldn't even care. Sport her everywhere, and as long as I wasn't making a mockery of my name, it would go down. I said it applies to Rosario, and now Nikki, but it probably applies to every woman I think smells like home.

Let's say Jean was my woman, and in a months time shit fell apart. Some heavy cake came to spirit my woman away and the heavy cake did just that. Would I be mad? I couldn't say I would, because I had her for a month.
If Nikki Jean is as cool as she is bad, I had a bad ass woman, who could sing, liked football, eating and beer. Fishing and fresh air. Grilling. Reading. If she didn't like these things, as least she was open for the suggestion. She put me on to shit that otherwise I couldn't fade, helped me see shit that was lost to me. Chilling on a saturday afternoon catching the breeze.

If I had that for a week, month...shit, three days, I would count it as a blessing, thank god, and move on. I wouldn't lament the fact that it was over no more than I had to. Wouldn't curse her, fault myself, take my homies ears and fill them with lament. Not to say I wouldn't try to make it work. But if the credits began to roll, and the lights came on...well, I would follow the signs. Not many dudes ever had a girl like that ever. Met one, much less dated her. I won in the big game champ, even if the victory was short lived.

I try to look at everything in my life in the same way. When I have it, and it's sweet, I cherish every got damn moment, because as you get older,the good times are the short times without fail. No matter how long they are, it's never long enough. Whether it be a miscommunication gone awry or death, it all ends eventually. So cherish it while it lasts, with no thought to the end. Soak it in so you can carry it with you, so when appreciation and joy leaves you and regret and anger fill the void, you will have some reminder, some signs to hang to show you the way back home.

(So nikki jean, i'll take a smooth 5 minutes and treat it like 5 years. Come make the theory reality)

perpetrating a fraud.

Swag is absolute bullshit. Straight up. It is not what people are portraying it to be. The definition is off and jaded, been tampered with and molested and now a shell of what it once was, down to swag from swagger, and from respect to buffoonery.

I never heard the word coming up. People called it different things back then. Presence. Charisma. It was what took over a room when my father entered it. It was the silence that followed when my mother spoke. It was what made schools and neighborhoods follow my cousin. It was never said, just understood. Back then, when people were people and not counterfeit images, they knew somethings were better experienced and not proclaimed.

In this world, we are so quick to name a thing, so it can be defined, packaged, bottled and sold. It can be traced and copied. Swag is no different. Now, it's down to the right sunglasses and jeans. skull clothing and mohawks. Vans and Nike SB's. It can be as simple as copying a rapper, who copied it from somewhere else. Jim Jones loves this proclamation, but he stole it from white rock stars, and now you steal it from him.

Your no better than 3rd hand swagger? That's pretty damn sad.

Before, you learned how to carry yourself from men and women you knew and respected. You knew them, what made them stand out, and you learned from them. Even still, it was awhile before your own particular presence stood out, because it didn't fit you yet. You had to live, learn, follow, fall, be taught, understand, comprehend, fail. Succeed.

Some of it, you couldn't learn. Some of it was bound to your DNA. Born with it or not. A square is a square, even if the packaging is fair. Aint no changing that.

Even then, you had to tailor make it for your life. You had to show and prove. And it was more than clothes or talking slick. It was standing up and showing the world through action that you were a man or woman to be respected, listened to and followed, because you went through the trials and tribulations of being your own man/woman no matter what. Up against the torch, you stood up still, and took the hands of those who needed to be led and did so, with care and concern, because you realized that their welfare was in your hands. That they depended on you. Through these actions, you walked different, talked differently because that responsibility made you different. You had to have this presence, this swagger in order to stand up and lead, to take brunt of the foul lies the world is waiting to cast on you and yours. And yet still, you never proclaimed it, for if it were true, the world would validate you and tell your tale.

I never understood swagger to be anything, but when I think about it, that's what I understand it to be. My father had the respect of the those men who were to be respected. They listened to him, waited for him to speak. He didn't change for the world, but the world changed for him. Young women want to be like my mother, and young men hope that their wives are like her. They bring comfort and understanding through their lives and actions and people in turn follow them. It has stood the test of time and scrutiny.

But this shit in 2008? Grief, I have no idea what this is. What I do know is that weak men fabricated it, and foolish women have validated it, and now its counterfeited form is being mass produced on fraudulent assembly lines housed in factories of ignorance. And its all too sad, because now those among us who possess the gift, and have paid the cost are now being overshadowed by the masses of those who proclaim swagger, but possess nothing of the sort. And when pressed, the flaws show, the quality is lacking and they all crumble, leaving all of those who fed on their lies unsatisfied and confused.

Leaders, stand up and lead, and give the world a true definition.

class of 2000.

My homeboy Ty got shot in the back of the head on September 6th. He wasn't completely dead when he got to the hospital though. His brain held on until later that night, but was slowly dying in the process. His mother and four sisters decided to take him off of life support Saturday morning. His sister showed me, Patrick and Darnee a short video they made at the hospital right before they took him off of life support and took him to harvest his organs. I didn't want to watch it, but his sister TT wanted us to, all the while ensuring us that he looked the same, except for a tube down his throat. The video showed Ty laying in a bed, with the back half of his head wrapped in bandages. His eyes were below half-mast. He did have a tube down his throat. His face looked normal, but he didn't look the same.

"He gone right there Mike." I wasn't looking at TT, but I knew the voice was hers." He gone."

That's what was different. His body was there, but he was gone.

I remember about 4-5 years ago, sitting outside of my mom's house with my girlfriend at the time and her mother. 2 weeks before that, our man Chris told me that Ty had been locked up, that he wanted to find him, and wanted me to help. Chris and Ty were like brothers. The situation came up while talking to my girlfriend's mother, and it led to a bigger conversation about my friends, and my hopes for all of our lives. I wanted to help Tyrone, Chris, Ronald, Darnee, Patrick, Eliott and Mike Brown in any way I could. We all looked out for each other like that. We were homeboys, then and now. 

"Your not Jesus." That was her response. She said some other shit after it, about me not taking on other peoples burdens, that I can't save the world and how that's the reality of life. She probably called herself trying to help me, handing down valuable life lesson learned through her years of living. 

Now Chris and Ty are gone. 

attack of the remedial cretins.

we are suffering by lumping all women together. the good ones are suffering as a result of their numbskull brethren. i mean all women got some shit with them that is just intrinsic to women. can't take that away without also stripping them of their womanhood. Women are going to be a little manipulative, a little selfish. i can understand that. being a bit manipulative is how that woman that you never knew got you to huff that t.v. into her car, or change that tire. how she got you watch "p.s., i love you". i don't knock women for that.
no, your not going to find the woman worth her salt that's cool with you going out every weekend and not coming home, or having 17 female friends. or loves beer (even though thats changing), cause they don't love lager induced guts built for body shots.

but that doesn't mean their not good. just means:

1) they are human.
2) they are not dudes.
3) they have some sense.

but these other ones. yeah, we have to exile them. what's happening is they are ruining the definition of what a woman really is. we take all their loathsome qualities and traits and dump them into the definition, and then lie to ourselves and say it applies to all women generally. it is a transgression. now we hold women to a miserably low standard, allowing the degenerates to be no better than they are.

let me say again. there are some things that us men do not understand or like that most all women will bring to the table. can't duck that. excessive beer and the late night swine laced cheese-steak is going to make for a mess the next day. can't duck that.

but some other shit, nah champ. it aint all of them. people try to tell me that it is. shit, i hope not. maybe it's just that one sneaky tramp. or herd of sneaky trampers. maybe its just your slum broad. but i am going to tell you this:

i am tired of dumb ass women.

and it took me a long time to get to the point where i was using that benign designation for these scallywags instead the infinitely more ignorant tag i was tossing around. dumb ass women who like dumb ass shit, and do dumb ass things. how do you spend your time, you knucklehead? it can't be reading, because you never tell me of any books you read, or never put me on to anything to read. nor it eating decent food because you eat at TGI Friday's, the cheesecake factory, ruby tuesday's and any other god-awful chain restaurant like you have an endorsement deal. maybe you spend your time pursuing fashion, perusing fine catalogs filled with designer names and imported fabrics. but past bebe, all the names are pretty much foreign to you, and cotton, or polyester, as long as it's tight, short, and shows crack on your chest like you got an ass on it, you're money. maybe you travel, jaunt around the world, absorbing culture and taking in all this life has to offer. miami, vegas, cancun and black bike week must be fucking cultural hotbeds, you halfwitted numbskull.

(forreal though...who are you fooling? we know what the business is as soon as we hear the destination. sure to come back a little lighter in the soul department. )

people respect people who have worked on their bodies. gone to the gym, got in shape with a brand new build to show for it. it shows discipline and dedication. why don't people treat their minds the same way? school doesn't save you by itself. you have to work on your mind, introduce it to new ideas, try different things. read a real book, listen to real music. travel to places not normally traveled to. the things expose yourself to expand you as a person, expand the realm of things you can discuss, and broaden your interests. you become a better person. if not, how are you spending your time? malls, clubs and cancun do not have the same effect.

i can hear you now:
1) "how did you become the expert on things that are "worthy"?" "just because you don't like it, doesn't mean i can't or shouldn't."

yeah, i've heard the argument. maybe i'm not an expert, but i'm in the gym everyday trying to make this brain of mine stronger. i'm around people who do the same. and i do know the type of people who are a result of all those actions whose stupidity i alluded to above. i know that i don't want to be around these people for any extended period of time. we don't have conversations, because you don't know shit. what can you recommend to me? we can't even do something as simple as watch t.v. because the minute you get the remote, i'll be watching a non-stop stream of music videos and reality shows. thats the 2008 lobotomy.

what can i learn from you, if you aint even trying to learn?

2) "what about stupid guys? i know plenty of guys that don't read, don't know anything besides madden and bars, etc... i'm tired of stupid guys, why don't you talk about that?"

you know whose a potential mother and wife for me and my homeboys? women. you know whose not? men. so honestly, i care more about the female side. and if you want to address it, write about it.

i don't know how to talk to a woman about this without her getting pissed, or tearing her self-esteem apart. i don't mind her getting mad, but i'm not trying to down or degrade her. all i can do is to congratulate the women who are trying to get it right. trying to become better and hope you help your homegirls who are slacking like the loosest of rope.

i pray that i don't somehow have a child with one of these women, cause i've put them 10 steps behind, being into a mental prison. my pops always use to tell me "whatever you do, please marry a smart woman." now i understand why. he wasn't talking degreed-up smarts, high SAT smart. he meant a woman who was cognizant of the world around her, and asks questions about it. who tries, tries to...i don't know, who tries.

get your mind right.

you are NOT the father.

I used to be addicted to Maury. Every morning I was wake up and watch it, sometimes at the expense of being late to class. When I missed it, I would be mad for at least a hour.

Not all Maury shows are created equal, even though he doesn't change up all that much. My least favorite are the shows about the 75 lbs. 2 year olds, whose moms feed them more than I eat, and I'm a fat kid. Maybe the fact that it's just momma up there is explanation enough on why there is a toddler that eats 2 t-bones, 6 eggs and is on stage in the Bam-Bam loin cloth.

I don't like the I used to be ugly, now I'm not shows either. The women get breast implants and come dressed like strippers (or are strippers), which doesn't mean your not ugly, but just more worthy of sexual advances. Your like the perfect late night come up: down bad enough in the face to ensure that a reasonable man won't get shot down, but with enough Total Nonstop Action to justify what you just put your little man through, once the truthful sun cuts through the lying haze.

Dudes lose weight, workout, and become strippers. Which is bullshit for me because no matter what the day, an oily dude in leopard skin drawers is a sight I could go my whole life without seeing. With that dumb ass smile plastered on your face. Aint nothing to be happy about. Pops can't be proud.

But my favorite shows are the lie detector tests and the paternity tests. I could talk all day about the shit I find funny about those shows, but that is for another time and place, and for another computer that just doesn't register every 5th keystroke. All situations are not created equal however, as some situations lead only to tears, as others paths end in a heroin laced escape.

5) The woman who has brought up 3 dudes at a time to see who the dad is, for a month worth of of shows. Then they hit her like the Brady Bunch for the introduction: her picture is in the middle, the headshots of all the other dudes she brought on surrounding her. You know its bad, cause the last 5-7 dudes don't even give their real names...so she has to hear "Smoke, you are NOT the father...". Then they do the at home update, where she reports that she has given up on the search, and resigns to raising the child by herself, while the Maury audience cheers the cheer of buffoons in the background. When did just mommy become not only acceptable, but worthy of applause?

4) The man who loves his wife, been together for 5 years, has a three year old son, and she comes on the show to tell him that he might not be his, words mired in a sea of tears. It's even worse when both parents are of one race, and the kid is a octaroon riding on the back of a zebra, pops holding on to that foolish yet understandable hope that his white DNA can somehow make Tiger with no Earl. Bad, but trumped by...

3) Add two more kids, none of which are his. Pain, on this level, is unique. Many of us will never scrape this level. Those tears he shed are as real as they come. Nothing like break-up or death tears. This is like white kid, Linkin Park suburban angst, mixed with crack hands and dope arms.

2) Man, wife, married, 3 kids, youngest one is of his line, but the 2 oldest are someone else's. Enough to make you sick to your stomach when you look at her, but the one that's yours is probably enough to make you stay.

1) Your baby's pops is a carny.

Carnival folk.

The dude at the toss a ring at a milk bottle game.

What's the logistics of an at like that? Where does it go down? On the stuffed monkey I just won my niece? I worked for a prize that had carny ass on it?
Whats the motivation of smashing a carny? He's only in town for 2 weeks, tops, so it can't be the scintillating conversation. And lets face facts...you let a dude WHO WORKS AT A CARNIVAL, run in it like purple suit Eddie?


(raw?)

Yeah, thats gotta be number one. We gotta start giving a f*ck about these kids.

no more heroes.

honor, loyalty, respect. where did they go, or were they ever here? i think they were, but it was never widespread, never commonplace. you found it here, there...maybe never.

carlito brigante. the fictional anti-hero of the brian depalma classic, carlito's way. used to move heavy dope, got downed for a murder charge and hit with a football number.30 years. thanks to his lawyer, only served 5, and was back on the streets, but a changed man. no more dope. 75 large and he's off the the bahamas, straighted up, and flying right. wants to do it the right way. but.

always a but. he is who he is, and that's never going to change. for ideas that have gone the way of the high top fade, first downs and saccony's. extinct, over, through with and cashed out.

a stand up guy. i hate to use mob terms, but its the only one that fits. when everyone is kneeling, ducking, cowering, he stands. stands for what he believes in, like a tree (and i dare anyone to try and move me). Loyalty, honor, respect. When it's hardest, when it's not in your best interest to do so.

even over cash. yeah, over money.

the problem as i see it, is that people don't even check for those qualities anymore. it's no longer necessary because it's on nobody's list. you can only pick friends and the person you'll spend the rest of your life with, and if any criteria was important, i would think it would be those. those ideas that you can't really express. but you know in a situation where life's got you by the short hairs, you can look over and know. when push comes shove, and shove turns to wrestling, you look back into your corner and no ones there, because they are out there fighting with you.

i was talking to this young woman, and we were talking about a situation where this dude snitched on his homeboy. they were both doing dirt, one got caught, and gave up his man.

"shit, i don't blame him. he said they weren't that cool anyway. he's got his future to think about. i would have done the same thing."

i was speechless. not much robs me of the ability to comment. even now, trying to type a response now that accurate describes i how feel is almost impossible. what i do know is that no one truly loves a person that thinks like that. few remembers that person when they gone.

whether we know it or not, we need brigante's in our lives. we yearn for it even when we don't know it. look at the movie that won best picture this year. llewellen moss. cut from a different cloth. a man with principle. the sheriff. a man with principles. even anton chirgurrh. principles that he stuck by, no matter how warped. people are attracted to it because they need it like water, but is as scarce as beepers.

in our own lives, we talk about those people when they aren't around, thinking about them give us solace. we love them. even the people they meet in passing are forever touched and changed. their lives change in some small way because of meeting them, and for the better.

they are our heroes. make them apart of your lives if you are lucky enough to know one. spend time with them. share with them. because when they are gone, your likely not to meet another.

spend time doing what you love.

this friday, i made a run on the town. i had a plan that i formed on wednesday:

1) eat some mussels.
2) drink a good beer or 6.
3) have a scotch on the rocks.

simple plans are the best ones. all i had to do was get some people who would appreciate the plan. and lucky for me i have been blessed with friends that would not only appreciate the plan, but enjoy the spoils. come friday, it went down. it was great. man, damn.

what i like doing is spending time with the people i love, eating and drinking. thats not all i love, but i sure do loving doing all of those things, preferably together. those times i don't do those things, and do other shit like:

1) go to poetry readings. once...and that's a lie. i've been like 5 times and its all the young africans' fault.
2) go to the club.
3) go to the mall.
4) eat sushi. other than that fried soft shell crab. that is pretty good.
5) spend any amount of time around someone having level 1 conversation: the conversation you had with people when you came back to school from break, most conversation white people have with each other, or co-worker conversation.

its miserable.
it's painful.
its what's behind door number 4. and people spend so much downtime doing wack shit. i mean, maybe you like eating raw fish and hearing some dude named blacC Ra sing songing some words together. if you do, then go do it. if it's your thing, then i'm not knocking you.

(well, not alot. i'm knocking you a bit. enough to let you know i'm there, but not enough to wake you up if your sleep.)

if you don't, then why. it doesn't make you different, special or progressive. plus, even if god gives you old age, it still aint alot of time to be doing things that you really don't like to do.

(fellas, girls will jam you up heavy on some dumb shit. going to the mall for hours, eating at nasty restaurants. girl movies. sometimes you got suck it up so you win in the big game. i'm not never going to be there for you in the nighttime hours, but she might. but for the love of it all, stand up when you got to and say no. put her on to something good. behind door number 3 and the purple curtain.)

you should spend that time aside from doing what you have to, doing what you love. it only makes sense.

things that are true. added to in perpetuity.

A)
I was watching a football game one day. Giants versus somebody, and Osi Umenwhatever, the defensive end made a sack. He celebrated by jogging up field, one hand simulating a plate, and the other motioning like he was eating. Justin Tuck, the defensive tackle rushed over to him, patted him on the back, and started to mimic his celebration.

You can't do that. If the celebration isn't meant for two people (like the jumping side-shoulder bump), or not pre-planned for you and you teammate/homeboy, then you just can't celebrate beyond a hand-clap. Maybe several handclaps. But to copy the celebration makes you like like an expert pole-rider. Someone seeing you will think

"Damn. Why is he riding his nuts so hard?"

And that's no good. In fact, it's shameful. Maybe you think doing another celebration could save you. It won't. It would look stupid with two people doing two different celebrations caused by the same event. And you still look like your favorite swing set is your man's scrotum.

B)
If you say, "to be perfectly honest", the statement that follows should be savage, preferably with a curse word in it somewhere in the phrase. If you don't curse, you should. But if you don't, then don't. But don't cheapen such a necessary phrase such as "to be perfectly honest" with a pleasantry with a couple rough spots. In this world of deception and lies, passive aggressive behavior and the like, we need honesty. And "to be perfectly honest" is just the alley-oop some of us need in order to gracefully jam on someone.

Wrong: "to be quite honest, I don't believe that behavior was the smartest course of action." "to be perfectly honest, I think think that was too bright."

Right: "to be perfectly honestly with you main man, you are a fucking numskull for doing that dumb ass shit. Live near a microwave tower, become sterile and do us all a favor. Smart like a wet sack of hammers."

It seems rough. It is. But I mean, it is honest. You shouldn't do it often, jam on someone like that. But when you do, make it count. It might be the wake up shout they need.

C)
Aight, this one applies more for men. There are two different types of toilets we encounter. Toilets we try to piss in (house toilets, hopefully) and toilets we try to piss at (bar toilets).

Never shit in a piss-at toilet.

D)
This one is for the women. If you ever looked down at your feet, and thought even for a second that your feet are a little big, if your your below 5'5 and wear a 9 or above, don't look at, think about, cop or definitely wear All-white Air Force Ones or any variations of the all whites. Or Timbs. You know if your shits are big. They make you look ridiculous. Like big ass ice-cream sandwiches without that brown cake. Running around like you jammed your feet in some damn tissue boxes. . Never should someone look at your feet and think "shitkickers".

E)
Men, hear this. You can't go to the bar and order certain drinks. Straight up. I don't care if your
1) not much of a drinker 2) they taste good or 3) they get you trashed.

1a) If your not much of a drinker, then don't drink. Or drink beer. If you don't like beer, then don't drink.
2a) You shouldn't be drinking liquor because "it tastes good". No offense, but that's what women do. Unless you think liquor neat tastes good. Then by all means.
3a) All liquor is pretty much the same strength. Unless you drinking in the above/below 80 proof club, all that other shit is the same. It will get you equally tore down. This is for the long island ice tea crew. What your saying is that is gets you wet, in relation to the taste it has. I addressed taste in 2a.
What you drink, like alot of things, says alot about you to the world, whether what's being said is true or not. I went to the bar the other day, and ordered a Dewar's. The bartender commented "now that's a gentleman's drink." I didn't order it because I thought she would say that, but it didn't hurt. It's better than her thinking "me and my girlfriends love that drink!" or "I wonder if he's gay." That means no Apple Martini's. No Sex on the Beach (I mean, that should go without saying). Named drinks that don't mention the liquor in the name are borderline. I mean, there are decent drinks that fit into this category...Manhattans, Tom Collins'. But you don't drink that. You drink RedHeaded Sluts. You can't drink RedHeaded Sluts.

F)
There is no right reason for a man to have a ring in his mouth, or have a "man-bag". I had sandals on the list too, but I realize that that is a matter of preference. But the mouth ring and man-purse (otherwise known as the Shameful Murse) simply wrong. I always thought men did it for women. I heard the defense countless times that they didn't do it for women, they did it because they wanted to, which is true. They wanted to do it cause they thought women would like it. But if they was ever a wrong reason to do something, it would be to impress the herd of she-beasts who like tongue rings.

G)
Old white women waitresses are generally the best waitresses. I think its because 1) There are super motherly, and call you sweet shit like honey, baby, sweetypie, hon, and are patient and smile and all that 2) They come from a blue-collar background. Even though they may have come up in a situation where the world nigger was slung around reckless, like it or not, most black people have more in common with blue collar whites than upper-middle class or rich white and black people. She's old enough to have seen enough of this life not to care about all that. She just wants to take care of you. I think once the maternal instinct is turned on, then its no turning it off. That's why most mommas can't wait to become grandma (unless they are ducking getting old, and that something else entirely). Maybe old black women too, but I've seen more old white women waitresses.

H)
Your talking to a girl and she gets to jamming on some dude that she's dealing with. Or just talking about a dude she's dealing with. You cannot ever starting downing that man in attempts to either make yourself look better, or take that man's spot. You know you've traveled into the far country if anywhere in your conversation you have said:

1)"i would never do that to you."

2)"you deserve better than that." Cause number 1 and worse is only a phone call away.

She knows you wouldn't do that to her. And as far-fetched as it sounds, she knows she deserves better. And she's still dealing with someone else and not you. The reiteration of those facts is just redundant. And say it does work, and she deals with you because of those two things. Is that how you want your relationship to start, by saving? Cause if that's the case, then get some extra capes and tights cause your going to be saving this girl alot.
If you can't have her simply on the strength of your own merits, then it's time to cash in your hope chips buddy. Everything isn't fair in love and war. Remember, the destination is important, but so is the road you took to get there.

I)
When I hear a woman is "sexually liberated", I just think she's a freak. All the additional rap about finding your sexual identity, being emancipated from the notions conceived by men and placed on women like the shackles of slavery all sounds like bullshit, cause it is bullshit, and I take it a sign of disrespect. If you told me that you had a rough childhood, looking for love in all the wrong places, then i can understand. i really do. but to give it a slick name and ride it out?

Do I look stupid? Do I have a "Dumb Nigger: Will Fall for Anything" shirt on?

I start looking around the room at things that I have put my mouth near, and hope you didn't do the same. Then I think, "man, I hope I don't end up with something like this as a wife. Or a mother to my kids." And then I follow that up with a prayer for the same.

there there.

Every so often, I look at the obituararies in the newspaper. I always pause when i see "198x-200x". Always. I look and I stare at the notice because no matter what the X is, that person is around my age, and is no longer here. You see alot of those dates when you look at the war casualties.



I went out on a scotch adventure with one of my homeboys. We were talking about relationships, specifically his relationship with his girlfriend He told me that love is a blessing, no matter what form it comes in. When you have it, cherish it. If you think you can have it with someone, take the shot. God doesn't send you too many true chances at having it.



"With people who give a lot of themselves to the world, they need that one person who gives to them. And it’s more important than anyone realizes. I know we're supposed to get all we need from God, and I do, but it means something else when a person, as flawed, frail and weak as I am makes the sacrifice to give to me."

I wrote that to a friend of mine awhile ago, about myself. What I now realize is that everyone gives alot of themselves to the world. Everyone needs that kind of sacrifice from someone. It's the definition of love.

_______________________________________________________________________________________



I woke up this morning thinking about those three things. One after the other, over and over again. I knew they were linked, but I couldn't see how, because seeing how they were linked would make me look at myself a little differently. It would change what I once thought was a fact of life as it related to me. Those three ideas, in a distilled form look like this:



1) People die all the time, way before they or anyone else thought it was time for them to do so.
2) You don't get many chances at true love.
3) We need to be loved by someone other than a person we are related to, or God. Because it means more.

It's the truth. No matter how it sounds, it's all true. You don't have to look far for the confirmation. We all know someone whose death made us question our own mortality. We all know how elusive rocking-chair love can seem. And we all know it different it feels to have someone, for absolutely no good, logical reason give us a piece of themselves, a piece no one else has. That no matter the weather, they will never swap us out.

For a long, long time, I thought I was entitled to the last one. Number 3. Entitled to it because I tried to be a good son, brother, friend, cousin, man, person. Entitled to it because I like to write, and have a true deep appreciation for good food, music and scotch. Because I like to write. Because I was too good for the psuedo social networks of facebook and myspace. Because I'm loyal and love god. I think alot of people spend their lives thinking that number 3 is going to be there for them when they decide because they deserve it, for a number of reasons. Sure, their reasons will be different than mine, but I think we all have reasons nonetheless.

All of those things about me are true. But all it means is just that. Those things make up who I am. It makes me no more entitled to Number 3 than being named Michael Singleton.
Because of Number 1 and Number 2.

I can die whenever. There is a plan for my life, but I have no idea what it is. By getting close to the one who made me, I can know what road I should follow, but I will never have any idea of when that road will end. None of us do. God doesn't not promise you old age. God does promise you that one day, you will die.
You will not meet many people in this life that you will actually get to know. Even fewer will become your friends, even fewer still will become your friends for a lifetime. Now add the fact that this person will be of the opposite sex. And you have to be attracted to them. What are the odds of many of those coming down the pipe?

You are not entitled to true love. You may deserve it, but sad to say no matter how much you believe that, life is not listening. There is no guarantee that you will have it, even if you are blessed to enter the winter of your life. I don't say this to depress you, but to sober you up. Smelling salts of sorts. When you have a chance at it, take it. Now, this isn't to say that you throw yourself under the bus with every oppositely charged individual to whom you are attracted to and who shows reciprocal interest. I don't know with whom you should try with. But I do know that inside, you know. You know who would be worth it. Sometimes it's immediate, sometimes it takes a leap of faith. But if it all ends up at happy, does it matter how it started?

I think about the end of my life, well, the end that i want. Sitting out on the wraparound porch, rocking chair, looking out at the Singleton homestead. Thinking about the life I have led. My thoughts of my success, my loves, my cherished moments eventually lead me to my regrets, my dissapointments, my failures. I fix my stare into the distance, hoping that if I keep still, the oncoming storm won't find me. Keep my eyes still, and the flood behind my eyes will be contained.

but you can't stop what's coming. 

Only one voice can steady me during this oncoming storm. Only one touch can help me lean into the wind, stand the rain and the not fear the thunder. Only one person, by my side.

i'm here. always have, always been. it's getting dark, but i'm here.

That's worth trying for.

an outlaw and a runaway.

"there's always sombody knows where you're at knows where and why. for the most part.

are you talkin about god?

no. i'm talkin about you.

she ate. well, she said you'd be in fix if you didn't know where you was at.

i don't know. would you?

i don't know.

suppose you was someplace that you didn't know where it was. the real thing you wouldn't know was where someplace else was. or how far it was. it wouldn't change nothin about where you was at.

she thought about that. i try not to think about stuff like that, she said.

you think when you get to california you'll kind of start over.

them's my intentions.

i think maybe that's the point. there's a road goin to california and there's one comin back. but the best way would be just to show up there.

show up there.

yeah.

you mean and not know how you got there?

yeah.

i don't know how you'd do that.

i don't either.

that's the point.

She looked at him. I guess I aint sure what the point is, she said.

the point is there aint no point.

no. I mean what you said. about knowing where you are.

he looked at her. after a while he said: it's not about knowin where you are. it's about thinking you got there without takin anything with you. your notions about starting over. or anybody's. you don't start over. that's what it's about. ever step you take is forever. you can't make it go away. none of it. you understand what i'm sayin?

i think so.

i know you dont but let me try it one more time. you think when you wake up in the mornin yesterday dont count. but yesterday is all that does count. what else is there? your life is made out of the days its made out of. nothin else. you might think you could run away and change your name and I don't know what all. start over. and then one morning you wake up and look up at the ceilin and guess who's layin there?

She nodded.

you understand what I'm sayin?

i understand that. i been there before."

-no country for old men

that oberlin sh*t.

(i will apologize beforehand for this. i'm not doing this to put anyone outthere, hence why i didn't use any names. sorry to make you into a story. i'm lying, i'm not sorry, but know its not done with malicious intent. well, maybe some. yes i am a bastard. yes i am.)

i wrote a friend of mine an e-mail, where i asked her a question:

"are father's stronger than the childless man?". simple enough i thought. nothing much to read into, or so i thought.

the response: "define father."

okay, wasn't quite expecting that. i exhaled

(here we go)

and even though didn't want to, i started to type out my definition of father. but before i could finish, i got another e-mail.

"even before you answer my other email. i must say i dont like that question. i've pondered. i have no clue where you're going with that question but i feel as if it shouldn't matter whose stronger."

what?
see...that's that oberlin shit.

my first crack at higher education came at oberlin college. beautiful campus, hyper-intelligent students, dedicated staff. i learned a lot about a lot at that place. a lot about people. about how people take things, and themselves, far too seriously. back home, i could say something, and i know i would get a normal response.
my pops died. i told my man ronald. he replied:

"damn. that's fu*ked up."

see? see how simple that was? how something so complex didn't necessarily require a complex response. just a honest one. that's what i was used to, that's what i grew up with. that's what i respect. oh how did all that change when i went to oberlin. now everything was a debate. everything was thoroughly examined. everything was scrutinized and mulled over, everything became a damn dissertation. i walked into a extentialist nightmare's nightmare. it was like talking to a film student about magnolia, or a english major about that dumb ass poem about the red wagon.

what you mean by 'black'? when you say 'man', what are you implying? when you said that her name was 'pretty', were you making the inference that she identified as a woman?

if it wasn't that, then it was people taking offense to everything in the world. i remember one time this white girl made these flyers to promote a party she was having at little dance hall on campus. on the flyer, there was an old time drawing of a man dancing with a girl, i think. the man looked chinese to me. to everyone else, he was a minstrel. they made a big deal about that. they had a damn sit-in.

basically you couldn't say anything with either someone breaking the shit down like a lego castle, or getting indignantly pissed about it. and people were so proud to be this way. of course, nobody said it outright, but they thought of themselves as intellectuals, progressive. liberal. cognizant. people aren't supposed to be that way outright. you need balance. think about life, but don't drown life in the sea of your thoughts, realization, pondering and the like. you think your way out of enjoying what life has offered you because your thinking about being offended, or offended by your thoughts. nothing meaningful ever gets done. and i mean rocking chair meaningful. sitting in a rocking chair, knocking on heavens door, and you can think about it, and it still means something good to you. whether it be a action, or a conversation.

(you will have played the game of life and lost.)
you have taken the human element out of living. the simplicity of being human, one of the foundations being simple, normal conversation. on the inside, we love it. we need it. look at the movie that won the oscar for best picture this year. no country for old men.

simple conversation. read the book. plain talk. yeah, the characters were "complex", but so is everyone whom god gave breath.

the question i asked my friend, about stronger daddies came from me and my homeboys talking about "daddy strength". how when you get grown, you get a little stronger, esp. when you need to put the big hand on one of these young boys that will come eventually visit your future daughter. shake his hand, and let him know that your daddy out here. that was it. nothing more, nothing less. i didn't want to define father, or to be asked to define father. i didn't want my question jammed on with no explanation. i didn't want that oberlin shit. but that's what i got.

if i have been guilty of it, i am truly sorry. never again.

play your position. tragedy complete.

if you have ovaries, be a woman. testes? be a man. if not ruin and calmamity will soon follow.
the reality of it is that there are plenty of things as a man i could do. may even want to do. but cannot do. its the charge of sacrifice you make when you take the title. you should not be able to do whatever your hearts desire. it is the reason why god gave you parents. guides to help you do what you should, not want always want you want, and not definately doing everything you could do.

well, i can hear...i'm grown. i can do what i want, as long as its not hurting anyone. aight, it may not have drawn blood, maimed or disfigured, but depending on your actions, you could be hurting plenty, the ranks often filled with those whom you love.

you ever seen smokin' aces? saw that .5O cal snatching the soul out of people through the window? yeah, thats you, no army gun.

i remember talking to a young woman. she told me that she should be able to do whatever she wants sexually, as long as she's safe.
actually she said this: "when i want some dick, i get some dick."

to her i said this:

what would your daddy say? how would that make him feel? how would he look at you?

"my father is very proud of me." yeah, let me tell you something. that's bullshit. maybe if it doesn't know that you said the words "dicked down" out of your mouth. maybe. but if he knows that your out here catching penis like the plague, he is far from proud.

he feels like a failure. i know i would. his one hope is that through it all, he can love and provide you to womanhood. and no matter how you explain it, women don't carry themselves like that.

damn feeling like a failure, he has failed. and your not hurting who?

men, i would be remiss to leave you out. i saw a young man acting a savage. running through this young woman's life snatching anything that wasn't nailed down. her money, her mind, her body. and he was so proud. so proud. provider and protector turned maligner and molester. another failed father. you would hope that men see their mother in the women in their lives. that the some semblance of respect you show for the woman whom birthed you would transfer to the woman who could potentially birth the legacy of you both. guess she wasn't as lucky. 

men don't behave in that manner.

its not even that deep all of the time, you know? its also about the simple day to day actions that are being discarded. chivarly. support. nuturing. the whole nine.

inevitable oberlin question/comment:(voiced as if a black harvard professor with a white wife was speakng) "so what does it mean to 'be a man'? or to 'be a woman?', because gender roles were defined in the early creatatous period" "i think you are taking ...blah, blah who gives a shit. you know what it means to be both. you may go against it, but you know. if you don't, then nothing i am going to say is going to bring you back from the lands afar that you have traveled to. i don't have a map that detailed. no get back champ. settle up out there.

play your position. a tragedy in two parts.

You know why teams in general, are successful? Because they all have a position on the team. Everybody has a clear defined role, a role that they accept, and then they perform within the realm of that position. If they do that, then more likely than not, they are successful as a team. We've all been playing pickup ball at some point, and this 6'8 240 goofy bastard takes the inbound pass, and walks it down the court. He plays the perimeter, hoists threes, and call imaginary plays through a series of hand gestures. It's ugly, its frustrating, and more importantly, it's senseless. All in your mind your yelling "Get your big ass on the block and post something up! Punk ass nigga." He can do more on the block to help ya'll win.It's not arbitrary, he's tall. He's closer to the basket. He clogs up the lane. He deters shots. He has the skill set to be effective in the post.

In life, we all have positions to play, men and women, and problems begin when those positions are not played.

Let me say this first. Fellas, we dropped the rock. We stepped down from role of leadership and provision, and both of those abhor a vaccum. Someone has to fill the role of Captain in order for this ship to sail to the land of milk and honey. Women filled the role. I don't know when it happened, I am not a sociologist or a historian, and in this instance, I don't have to try. It happened, I do know that much. Men started thinking it was acceptable to not help raise his children, provide for his family, protect his loved ones. I mean, dudes stopped paying for meals man. Not even a pump fake to the pocket. Doors weren't opened, parents weren't met...rules weren't followed. In short, we shirked our responsibilities as men. I know. I see it even now. I speak up to it to every man I know, peer, old or young. I live my life as an example of how I was taught to be a man. I'm not perfect, but I'm trying hard, and I'm making sure every man around me is trying as well. And shit, we're lightweight succeeding. There still work to be done, but we're on the rails, going down the track.

But...women. Damn.

Men and women are created equal. I do believe that. But not equal to do every thing.

If i was sick, super down bad, and most girls who were around me who had love for singleton, their natural inclination would be to nurse me back to health. Take care of me. Nuture me. That maternal instinct. Instinct. No one has to teach you instinct, that came on your bill of sale fresh out of heaven, and out your momma's womb. It's in you, and aint no earthly person put it there. If we went out to eat, and we were walking on the street, my natural inclination is to protect you. Scan the street for threats, walk on the street side so I can get clipped by the reckless driver. Give you my jacket if its cold. It comes naturally to me. I gotta get you home in the same shape I got you, no worse for wear.

It's how we're built. If my cousin came and seen me throwing up cause my stomach was on tilt, he would look at me, shake his head, and ask can get me something. That dude would not be putting cold cloths on my forhead, and spoonfeeding me medicine. Wouldn't even occur to him. (and lets thank the sweet lord for that). You, as a woman, really aint cut out to do everything I can do. And neither am I cut out to do everything you can do. Nor do I desire to. When men do, well. You ever seen Project Runway? But because we dropped the reins, and now ya'll picked them up...ya'll are loving it.

You looked around at what men had, and chased it to have it, with no thought on whether you should have it. Playing all out of position. And us both, men and women, playing whatever position our hearts desired has gotten us here.