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.
Monday, January 29, 2007
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.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
success.
For my 24 birthday, I'm decided to create a list. The infamous "Things to be done before I die" list. I haven't crafted it yet, but I had some preliminary items up for consideration:
Drinking water from a natural water source.
Spending a night in a 5-star hotel.
Living a month outside of the good ol' red, white and blue.
Opening up laundromats for the homeless.
Then today happened. At the school where I work, we had a gender meeting among the 5th graders. This is where the students split up according to sex, and discuss various topics. The topic today was role models. Each child was given a sheet of paper with 3 questions:
1) Who is your role model?
2)Why is he/she your role model?
3) What are the charactics of a role model?
The children and the faciliator (me) all filled out a sheet, and we went through each question together. The third child, Khalil, when asked his response to the question, said Mr. Singleton.
He said my name. His role model was me.
"To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded."
I now have a new list.
Drinking water from a natural water source.
Spending a night in a 5-star hotel.
Living a month outside of the good ol' red, white and blue.
Opening up laundromats for the homeless.
Then today happened. At the school where I work, we had a gender meeting among the 5th graders. This is where the students split up according to sex, and discuss various topics. The topic today was role models. Each child was given a sheet of paper with 3 questions:
1) Who is your role model?
2)Why is he/she your role model?
3) What are the charactics of a role model?
The children and the faciliator (me) all filled out a sheet, and we went through each question together. The third child, Khalil, when asked his response to the question, said Mr. Singleton.
He said my name. His role model was me.
"To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded."
I now have a new list.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
road to perdition.
I'm sick of trying to understand why the life does the exact opposite of what it should. Things just don't make much sense.
Except music. I love music and it makes sense, excluding 97% of music produced in the 2000's. That isn't music, but organized static.
Maybe it's a sign that me and God need to get close again.
Except music. I love music and it makes sense, excluding 97% of music produced in the 2000's. That isn't music, but organized static.
Maybe it's a sign that me and God need to get close again.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
the straight dope.
As much as I think about saving the world, and getting people to be people again and not mindless drones, I think about something else alot. Relationships. Me finding a woman who could potentially be my wife. Someone told me that I'm not going to be happy until I'm someone's husband. That's partially true. Until I'm a husband and a father.
nope.
There is nothing in this world of ours that I don't have some sort of opinion on. I have thought out, well-supported opinions. I'm pretty confident I can hold my own in any arena. I'm a thinker: give me any amount of time time, and I can put it together.
Except when it comes to relationships. Good god, I have no idea.
There was a point when I studied relationships between people. Studied women.
It did absolutely no good.
Well, let me not say that. I did learn some things, I suppose. Nothing that has served me well over the course of these years. More along the lines of general at-the-bar-with-my-homeboys banter. I use it to give advice to other people, but I never know if it works. It doesn't for me.
I don't go for numbers. Over the course of my 23 years of living, I have probably attempted to deal with maybe 4 women. Maybe 5. Out of these 4-5, I made an all out effort for 2 of them. I mean, balls to the wall, nothing left, leave it on the floor, "I didn't leave anything for the swim back" effort.
Neither worked out as I planned. I learned from both though. About the evils of being selfish. How people can be from the same country and state, and speak two completely different languages. That first loves do not often last. How people are either, leaves, branches or roots, and your gunning for insanity if you can't tell the difference.
Leaves, branches or roots. Now a leaf chills on the tree, takes from the tree what it needs to florish and gives shade from time to time. They give a little sustanince to the tree, but not as much as they take. Even cast a little shade. But if the wind blows a little too briskly, they fall off.
Branches are a little trickier. They stick around a little longer than the leaves. Let a strong storm hit, and they hit the ground right next to the leaf. Alot more leaves than branches, so when they break away, it hurts a little more.
nope.
There is nothing in this world of ours that I don't have some sort of opinion on. I have thought out, well-supported opinions. I'm pretty confident I can hold my own in any arena. I'm a thinker: give me any amount of time time, and I can put it together.
Except when it comes to relationships. Good god, I have no idea.
There was a point when I studied relationships between people. Studied women.
It did absolutely no good.
Well, let me not say that. I did learn some things, I suppose. Nothing that has served me well over the course of these years. More along the lines of general at-the-bar-with-my-homeboys banter. I use it to give advice to other people, but I never know if it works. It doesn't for me.
I don't go for numbers. Over the course of my 23 years of living, I have probably attempted to deal with maybe 4 women. Maybe 5. Out of these 4-5, I made an all out effort for 2 of them. I mean, balls to the wall, nothing left, leave it on the floor, "I didn't leave anything for the swim back" effort.
Neither worked out as I planned. I learned from both though. About the evils of being selfish. How people can be from the same country and state, and speak two completely different languages. That first loves do not often last. How people are either, leaves, branches or roots, and your gunning for insanity if you can't tell the difference.
Leaves, branches or roots. Now a leaf chills on the tree, takes from the tree what it needs to florish and gives shade from time to time. They give a little sustanince to the tree, but not as much as they take. Even cast a little shade. But if the wind blows a little too briskly, they fall off.
Branches are a little trickier. They stick around a little longer than the leaves. Let a strong storm hit, and they hit the ground right next to the leaf. Alot more leaves than branches, so when they break away, it hurts a little more.
Roots feed the tree. Give it grounding in this world. Stick around as long as the tree does. The relationship is reciprocal. Neither feels slighted because what it taken is replaced. They will continue to feed the tree even if it is sick. Maybe only a couple of these ever in the course of a life. Take comfort in the fact that they are always there, until the tree isn't.
You can't blame a leaf for being a leaf, as much as you can't blame a cigarette for causing cancer. The problem lies in trying to make a leaf into a branch, or a branch into a root. God forbid a leaf into a root. Imagine using a Newport to heal a cut. It was never meant to.
You have to figure out what's on your tree. Not to prune it, but so you don't make the mistake of unrealistic expectations.
I'm lying a little. Sometimes you have to cut off some branches and pull off the dead leaves.Prune people out of your life. Not out of spite, but out of concern for your own well-being. No one really has to tell you how has to kick rocks and bop. Deep down, you know. Just have to follow your instincts.
That's the straight dope.
Friday, August 25, 2006
selflessly.
Most people are extremely selfish. I would say 97% of the world's population, which translates to almost everyone I know. Even people I love. Even those people who say they love me as well. People that say they love you. But, then again, more than likely, you are saddled up with that 97 out of a 100. Heavy.
Selfishness now has become a virtue. Ayn Rand would celebrate this fact. And at one point, I would have agreed. It's necessary to look out for yourself. Take care of yourself. Treat yourself. Have "me" time.
Nonsense.
It's hard to see people's selfish ways in this day, and at this particular time. We have been so neglected, passed over and depressed that small tokens of gratitude are amplified to gargantuan proportions. We want so badly to be surrounded in the shroud of selflessness, protected by it, sustained by it. As with many things that fall under the category of intrinsic human needs, the definition has been perverted. Perverted because the need to have it in any capacity has been far outweighed for the need of it to be true and legitimate.
Take love for example.
An intrinsic human need. As essential as sleep, water, and shade on a hot day. We need it so badly that we often take poor substitutes than to be without it at all. Eating a 7-11 doughnut when you really want a Cinnabon. At least its sweet. Because so many people accept these poor substitutes, the definition of love has changed. No longer rooted in sacrifice, no longer fed by empathy. What makes this so dangerous is that it isn't a want, but a need. You can do with out sugar, but not true love. So where as that doughnut will suffice, piss-poor love will not. It ruins people. This is bigger than intimate relationships.
Now the definition has changed. Pretty much anything that doesn't involve hospitalizing someone can fall under the umbrella of true, you-don't-know-her-like-i-do-momma, love. Pretty damn sad.
Selfish. It can manifest itself in so many ways. So many, that I rather not even get into it. It's better to know something by what it is, and not what it isn't.
selflessness:
giving when not giving is not only easier, but better for your own well being.
Jesus on the cross.
Your mother having you.
People get so gassed by the small things. And it's ruining the definition. Giving is more than material. The pilgrims gave the indians firewater, shiny beads, and diseased blankets. Its more than presents, dinners, sneakers, hugs, flowers, clothes and sex. The most important things that we are given are often things we cannot see, touch or use.
God has to smile when we give apart of ourselves. To someone. To the world.
Often times, it hurts. Sacrifice always does.
But, it never fades. Never leaves. Not transient, but eternal.
It's the only gift that keeps on giving.
So. Give.
Selfishness now has become a virtue. Ayn Rand would celebrate this fact. And at one point, I would have agreed. It's necessary to look out for yourself. Take care of yourself. Treat yourself. Have "me" time.
Nonsense.
It's hard to see people's selfish ways in this day, and at this particular time. We have been so neglected, passed over and depressed that small tokens of gratitude are amplified to gargantuan proportions. We want so badly to be surrounded in the shroud of selflessness, protected by it, sustained by it. As with many things that fall under the category of intrinsic human needs, the definition has been perverted. Perverted because the need to have it in any capacity has been far outweighed for the need of it to be true and legitimate.
Take love for example.
An intrinsic human need. As essential as sleep, water, and shade on a hot day. We need it so badly that we often take poor substitutes than to be without it at all. Eating a 7-11 doughnut when you really want a Cinnabon. At least its sweet. Because so many people accept these poor substitutes, the definition of love has changed. No longer rooted in sacrifice, no longer fed by empathy. What makes this so dangerous is that it isn't a want, but a need. You can do with out sugar, but not true love. So where as that doughnut will suffice, piss-poor love will not. It ruins people. This is bigger than intimate relationships.
Now the definition has changed. Pretty much anything that doesn't involve hospitalizing someone can fall under the umbrella of true, you-don't-know-her-like-i-do-momma, love. Pretty damn sad.
Selfish. It can manifest itself in so many ways. So many, that I rather not even get into it. It's better to know something by what it is, and not what it isn't.
selflessness:
giving when not giving is not only easier, but better for your own well being.
Jesus on the cross.
Your mother having you.
People get so gassed by the small things. And it's ruining the definition. Giving is more than material. The pilgrims gave the indians firewater, shiny beads, and diseased blankets. Its more than presents, dinners, sneakers, hugs, flowers, clothes and sex. The most important things that we are given are often things we cannot see, touch or use.
God has to smile when we give apart of ourselves. To someone. To the world.
Often times, it hurts. Sacrifice always does.
But, it never fades. Never leaves. Not transient, but eternal.
It's the only gift that keeps on giving.
So. Give.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
buying dreams and renting reality.
I've been at some stage of unrest for some time now. I think it was spurred on by sleep deprivation from traveling so much these past few weekends. All good trips, all satisfying, which is good. True satisfaction is hard to come by these days. I stayed up for 2 days straight in South Carolina. I was Navigator, First Class for the first autonomous trip made by second generation Singleton males. Well, three of us anyway. Didn't want to end up in Jersey so I stayed up to read maps. Till my stomach hurt and my hands shook. Ugly to feel that way. After I came back, nothing seemed at place. Gravity turned of in this mind of mine, and everything got mixed up. Things in my life, situations, that I had all given their particular place was just haphazardly floating around. Bumping into each other. Spilling out of containers. Sliding under sofas. Trying to put them back was like grasping at straws made of smoke, trying to grab a birthday ballon with the world smallest string.
I don't mind telling you about some of these rebellious objects. Been like almost two years since I've been in a relationship. My response to moving on was to do the exact opposite. Didn't deal with anyone except myself. There is a person out there that I should be with, but am not. And up until the day after SC, I was fine with that.
I'm moving out this weekend. Fine. Until I came back.
Contract is up at my job. More than fine. Until, of course.
I have dreads. Small ones, but locs nonetheless. I like them, especially with a big fitted hat. Not when I came back though.
I was getting weird headaches and feeling weak.
I made my niece something to eat a couple of hours ago. Well, I heated up some leftovers. As I was heating up this chicken leg, I felt calm.
Poured her a drink. I felt cool.
Cut a slice of cake. I felt collected.
I felt at ease.
I realized something, but don't know what. I think it's that movies make me happy. I love my niece even though she is feeling out who she is and sometimes that is annoying. People are just people, but I wish they were more. That being you is something that you have to be comfortable with, once you find out who you are.
That people like to be sold dreams and to rent reality.
Nothing would make me happier than to have a wife and children at a house I own, having a cookout with all my mans.
I love how I have changed from 16, and look forward to what changes will come with tomorrow. Writing for yourself, and having it mean something to others is slick. I put the hurt of my dad's death somewhere, and I have to find it before...well, find it soon.
That people give alot of explainations of life which are true, but unsatisfying. You can always tell because interspersed in the body of the conversation is "that's just the way it is". I am here to tell you that that is a wack-ass explanation. I promise if you ask me something, I will give you the best, most satisfying answer I can muster. For that, we might have to sacrifice some truth. But truth in this instance isn't essential. You being able to sleep at night is.
Things are back on the shelves.
I don't mind telling you about some of these rebellious objects. Been like almost two years since I've been in a relationship. My response to moving on was to do the exact opposite. Didn't deal with anyone except myself. There is a person out there that I should be with, but am not. And up until the day after SC, I was fine with that.
I'm moving out this weekend. Fine. Until I came back.
Contract is up at my job. More than fine. Until, of course.
I have dreads. Small ones, but locs nonetheless. I like them, especially with a big fitted hat. Not when I came back though.
I was getting weird headaches and feeling weak.
I made my niece something to eat a couple of hours ago. Well, I heated up some leftovers. As I was heating up this chicken leg, I felt calm.
Poured her a drink. I felt cool.
Cut a slice of cake. I felt collected.
I felt at ease.
I realized something, but don't know what. I think it's that movies make me happy. I love my niece even though she is feeling out who she is and sometimes that is annoying. People are just people, but I wish they were more. That being you is something that you have to be comfortable with, once you find out who you are.
That people like to be sold dreams and to rent reality.
Nothing would make me happier than to have a wife and children at a house I own, having a cookout with all my mans.
I love how I have changed from 16, and look forward to what changes will come with tomorrow. Writing for yourself, and having it mean something to others is slick. I put the hurt of my dad's death somewhere, and I have to find it before...well, find it soon.
That people give alot of explainations of life which are true, but unsatisfying. You can always tell because interspersed in the body of the conversation is "that's just the way it is". I am here to tell you that that is a wack-ass explanation. I promise if you ask me something, I will give you the best, most satisfying answer I can muster. For that, we might have to sacrifice some truth. But truth in this instance isn't essential. You being able to sleep at night is.
Things are back on the shelves.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
why don't you smile awhile for me, jenny.
She smiles so beautifully, with so much joy, it's contagious like yawning. You can't help but pull a Joker when you see it. You feel a little different afterwards. Not much, but different. Hot shower after a hot day different.
I didn't know why for the longest time why she had this...ability. My inability to understand did not stop the inevitable from happening.
I see, I cheese.
My homeboys' see, they cheese.
Random restaurant diners see, they cheese.
Nor did it stop my desire of wanting that "different" feeling afterwards. Caused by something as simple as a smile.
It takes me back to the time before all of this. A time when doing a pennydrop off the monkey bars was nothing short of miraculous. Ride bikes to play ball, play ball to a fight, fight to the corner store, and eat 25 cent bags till the hum of the streetlights signaled the end of day well spent. A smile had heavy value back then. The bottom hadn't fallen out of the market yet. Price riding high and constant.
I mean, you carried the look and the smile from your 5th grade crush in your heart for at least a week. It became the thought that you recalled in your quiet time, away from it all. Made you stare at your feet and wonder if that hummingbird trapped in your chest would ever take a nap. And it did, till you saw her again. And if your lucky, that gift wrapped behind lips would be unwrapped for you. You didn't need it forever, the 5 seconds was plenty.
This stuff was potent. 5 seconds lasted you 5 days. Beating drugs at their own game.
She takes me back to this. And I now know why. Her simple gift is just the beginning of seeing who she is. The smile shows us her beauty, hidden deep inside. That will sustain her even when the looks fade. That will sustain us when she fades.
5 second exposure, a lifetime picture of true beauty.
Polaroids don't last that long
Thank you.
I didn't know why for the longest time why she had this...ability. My inability to understand did not stop the inevitable from happening.
I see, I cheese.
My homeboys' see, they cheese.
Random restaurant diners see, they cheese.
Nor did it stop my desire of wanting that "different" feeling afterwards. Caused by something as simple as a smile.
It takes me back to the time before all of this. A time when doing a pennydrop off the monkey bars was nothing short of miraculous. Ride bikes to play ball, play ball to a fight, fight to the corner store, and eat 25 cent bags till the hum of the streetlights signaled the end of day well spent. A smile had heavy value back then. The bottom hadn't fallen out of the market yet. Price riding high and constant.
I mean, you carried the look and the smile from your 5th grade crush in your heart for at least a week. It became the thought that you recalled in your quiet time, away from it all. Made you stare at your feet and wonder if that hummingbird trapped in your chest would ever take a nap. And it did, till you saw her again. And if your lucky, that gift wrapped behind lips would be unwrapped for you. You didn't need it forever, the 5 seconds was plenty.
This stuff was potent. 5 seconds lasted you 5 days. Beating drugs at their own game.
She takes me back to this. And I now know why. Her simple gift is just the beginning of seeing who she is. The smile shows us her beauty, hidden deep inside. That will sustain her even when the looks fade. That will sustain us when she fades.
5 second exposure, a lifetime picture of true beauty.
Polaroids don't last that long
Thank you.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Monday, July 03, 2006
much more.
I was watching "Ali" recently. Everytime I watch this movie, one segment hits me particularly hard. Settles heavily on me like a steel blanket.
Ali has come to Africa for the second time, to battle George Foreman for the heavyweight championship of the world. He had his own title stripped from him in 1964 for failing to accept induction into the United States Armed Forces. 32 years old, his prime boxing years have passed, being unable to box anywhere as he fought against the U.S. Government to overturn his conviction for refusing the induction, and fighting against boxing commissions in every state to regain a boxing license so he can fight somewhere. Anywhere.
George Foreman is young, and looks like a superhuman experiment gone wrong. George Foreman laid Smokin' Joe Frazier out like a rug. People all over believe this same fate will visit Ali. Critics doubt him. His wife doubts him.
He doubts himself.
Everytime he goes anywhere in Zaire, he goes with great fanfare. A simple jog is no different, as people swarm him, chanting "Bumaye Ali!" (Ali, kill him). He wonders briefly about this attention he his receiving, but dismisses it. He his Ali, the greatest heavyweight of all time. He is Ali, the "Louisville Lip" who proclaims his greatness from every mountain top, or hill, or small mound, to any ear within range. He is Ali, who fought against Big Brother, the sho' nuff badddest brother around town, and won.
As he jogs through town, however, he sees for the first time why these people follow him. People who have no doubt heard of some of his exploits, but not all of them, and none of the details. They have no real reason to love him as they do, but that does not stop the outpouring of love that they shower upon Ali.
Pictures are scrawled on every blank space with depictions of a larger than life Ali, fighting tanks and planes. Mosquitos that carry malaria. Fighting despair, sickness, hopelessness, war, famine, hunger, oppression.
He is more than a boxer to the people of Zaire. Much more.
He has transcended being a "mere mortal". He has become a feeling, an emotion.
He is hope.
Damn. Damn. Heavy.
And in that, he finds the strength to do the impossible.
We are all more than advertised. God has given us all gifts that allow us to become a emotion to someone. Joy. Peace. Hope.
To become a feeling. Inspiration. Motivation. Sanity.
We can inspire those around us to achieve anything.
We all are more to someone than we believe ourselves. More than a friend. More than a daughter, son, brother, sister, aunt, uncle.
We have to realize that we have the ability to do the impossible.
Much more.
Ali has come to Africa for the second time, to battle George Foreman for the heavyweight championship of the world. He had his own title stripped from him in 1964 for failing to accept induction into the United States Armed Forces. 32 years old, his prime boxing years have passed, being unable to box anywhere as he fought against the U.S. Government to overturn his conviction for refusing the induction, and fighting against boxing commissions in every state to regain a boxing license so he can fight somewhere. Anywhere.
George Foreman is young, and looks like a superhuman experiment gone wrong. George Foreman laid Smokin' Joe Frazier out like a rug. People all over believe this same fate will visit Ali. Critics doubt him. His wife doubts him.
He doubts himself.
Everytime he goes anywhere in Zaire, he goes with great fanfare. A simple jog is no different, as people swarm him, chanting "Bumaye Ali!" (Ali, kill him). He wonders briefly about this attention he his receiving, but dismisses it. He his Ali, the greatest heavyweight of all time. He is Ali, the "Louisville Lip" who proclaims his greatness from every mountain top, or hill, or small mound, to any ear within range. He is Ali, who fought against Big Brother, the sho' nuff badddest brother around town, and won.
As he jogs through town, however, he sees for the first time why these people follow him. People who have no doubt heard of some of his exploits, but not all of them, and none of the details. They have no real reason to love him as they do, but that does not stop the outpouring of love that they shower upon Ali.
Pictures are scrawled on every blank space with depictions of a larger than life Ali, fighting tanks and planes. Mosquitos that carry malaria. Fighting despair, sickness, hopelessness, war, famine, hunger, oppression.
He is more than a boxer to the people of Zaire. Much more.
He has transcended being a "mere mortal". He has become a feeling, an emotion.
He is hope.
Damn. Damn. Heavy.
And in that, he finds the strength to do the impossible.
We are all more than advertised. God has given us all gifts that allow us to become a emotion to someone. Joy. Peace. Hope.
To become a feeling. Inspiration. Motivation. Sanity.
We can inspire those around us to achieve anything.
We all are more to someone than we believe ourselves. More than a friend. More than a daughter, son, brother, sister, aunt, uncle.
We have to realize that we have the ability to do the impossible.
Much more.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
last, no more. part 1.5.
What just realized that in healthly relationships, you do not have to try and finish the race first. Your friends, true friends, will push you towards the finish, just as you guide them to the same finish. The love and care you have for each other is effortless. They want more than anything for you not to be last, and you feel the same way.
I have to say thank you to those who have always had my best interest at heart. And know that I have yours at heart as well.
Thanks for finally helping me see this. I'm going to make it after all.
I have to say thank you to those who have always had my best interest at heart. And know that I have yours at heart as well.
Thanks for finally helping me see this. I'm going to make it after all.
Monday, June 05, 2006
last, no more.
I have some cool ass neighbors. Deep down, innate cool. The kind that cannot be taught. I genuinely enjoy their company. We look nothing alike. We were raised differently. But the threads that connect us run deep.
One of my neighbors sister's came down to spend the weekend with him. I heard alot about her before I actually met her. She did not disspoint. She has this tattoo, that I heard about before I actually saw it. On the inside of her bicep, there is a detailed bird's wing. The wing is broken. Inscribed inside the wing are the words "last, no more."
Vanilla ice cream.
I want the people I love to be...right, I guess. Whatever God intended for them to be. We love, in the truest sense of the word, because we know what it means to love.
My neighbors sister is the same way. And I know of others. And it is a beautiful thing, to be this way.
Until the evitable happens. You run across a person who will never appreciate this gift of love that you have been given. They will never truly understand, and if they do understand, they will never truly appreciate. Give all you may, you will never receive. You make them a priority. They make you an option. The race is run, and you always lose. In fact, you never make the podium. No one sees you finish the race. The tape, crumbled and covered in footprints.
You have made yourself last. You. Not this other person. Yes, they may have pushed, guided, goaded you to this position, but at some point, you allow it to happen.
"In the case of emergency, the floor lights will illuminate, and lead you to the exits of the plane. Oxygen masks will fall from the compartment above you. Place your mask on first before assisting any others around you.You will find further instructions in the pocket in front of you..."
How can you help anyone if you can't even breathe?
There are people who need you. Most importantly, you need yourself. And your no good to anyone running on empty.
Take care of your self. Make a play on breaking the tape and finishing 1st. 3rd place still gets a medal my friend. 9th is better than last.
Surround yourself with people that care. That know truly what you are made out of. That leave something behind. It's the only sustenance that will do.
last, no more.
One of my neighbors sister's came down to spend the weekend with him. I heard alot about her before I actually met her. She did not disspoint. She has this tattoo, that I heard about before I actually saw it. On the inside of her bicep, there is a detailed bird's wing. The wing is broken. Inscribed inside the wing are the words "last, no more."
When something touches so deeply as to leave an imprint on the essence of everything that I am, I know. I know because my body reacts to it. I speak about it, I tingle. A warm, faint tingle through out my body. My ears get hot. And I speak without recognition of where these words are coming from. This would only happen when I would speak of God. Until I saw this tattoo. The funny thing about these imprints is that I don't feel them as they are being created. It's only when I talk about it that I know.
"Last, no more." Those words never left me from the time I met them. From before the sun went to work, and long after it has gone home, I thought about those 3 words. I wrapped my mind around them to see if they would fit. And fit like Wallabees they did.
Vanilla ice cream.
I want the people I love to be...right, I guess. Whatever God intended for them to be. We love, in the truest sense of the word, because we know what it means to love.
My neighbors sister is the same way. And I know of others. And it is a beautiful thing, to be this way.
Until the evitable happens. You run across a person who will never appreciate this gift of love that you have been given. They will never truly understand, and if they do understand, they will never truly appreciate. Give all you may, you will never receive. You make them a priority. They make you an option. The race is run, and you always lose. In fact, you never make the podium. No one sees you finish the race. The tape, crumbled and covered in footprints.
You have made yourself last. You. Not this other person. Yes, they may have pushed, guided, goaded you to this position, but at some point, you allow it to happen.
"In the case of emergency, the floor lights will illuminate, and lead you to the exits of the plane. Oxygen masks will fall from the compartment above you. Place your mask on first before assisting any others around you.You will find further instructions in the pocket in front of you..."
How can you help anyone if you can't even breathe?
There are people who need you. Most importantly, you need yourself. And your no good to anyone running on empty.
Take care of your self. Make a play on breaking the tape and finishing 1st. 3rd place still gets a medal my friend. 9th is better than last.
Surround yourself with people that care. That know truly what you are made out of. That leave something behind. It's the only sustenance that will do.
last, no more.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
it makes text messaging easier.
Assholes.
Why do people have Sidekicks and regular cell phones at the same time?
I want to leave, move to some scenic, pastoral setting, garden, fish, and write.
Never to return. Because honestly, I do not think I was meant for all of this.
This world never made sense to me, and its only getting worse.
I want out. I don't want to die, but live somewhere that is cut out for me, and people like me. God, if your listening, and I know you are, show me a sign that this is where I need to be. Because secretly, I'm banking on you giving me a secret decoder ring and a password to your hidden clubhouse where I can stay for a while.
Or give me something to look forward to other than degrees and a job.
I don't want my masters, or Ph.D.
Because that doesn't take away the dual threat of a sidekick and a cell phone.
Or Young Jeezy. Or the neverending threat of Neo-Soulism. Lost black people chasing after a dream never meant for them. Loving the scraps left lovingly out back of the Big House. Grin an' smile fo' massa.
Closed minds and hearts. Liberalism. You know there are still color-struck Black people? I saw a Che shirt with rhinestones. I heard a song with sex as the hook. And I heard 5 people say it was the album of the year.
Will my degrees protect me from this?
Will it protect me from you?
Will anything protect the people I love?
I pray to God that he will. To give me the strength to never stop fighting and protecting. To preserve my mind and my voice, amplify my song and purify my life.
I was born on December 23. I'm not into astrology, but I do know I was born on the cusp between Sagittarius and Capricorn. I heard yesterday that the Sagittarius sign is the only sign meant to be alone.
That's in me.
My love is the only thing that keeps me here.
I will never abandon those in my heart.
I saw some rims that displayed an image over the entire face of the wheel.
JESUS.
I'll be alright.
Thanks Sar.
Why do people have Sidekicks and regular cell phones at the same time?
I want to leave, move to some scenic, pastoral setting, garden, fish, and write.
Never to return. Because honestly, I do not think I was meant for all of this.
This world never made sense to me, and its only getting worse.
I want out. I don't want to die, but live somewhere that is cut out for me, and people like me. God, if your listening, and I know you are, show me a sign that this is where I need to be. Because secretly, I'm banking on you giving me a secret decoder ring and a password to your hidden clubhouse where I can stay for a while.
Or give me something to look forward to other than degrees and a job.
I don't want my masters, or Ph.D.
Because that doesn't take away the dual threat of a sidekick and a cell phone.
Or Young Jeezy. Or the neverending threat of Neo-Soulism. Lost black people chasing after a dream never meant for them. Loving the scraps left lovingly out back of the Big House. Grin an' smile fo' massa.
Closed minds and hearts. Liberalism. You know there are still color-struck Black people? I saw a Che shirt with rhinestones. I heard a song with sex as the hook. And I heard 5 people say it was the album of the year.
Will my degrees protect me from this?
Will it protect me from you?
Will anything protect the people I love?
I pray to God that he will. To give me the strength to never stop fighting and protecting. To preserve my mind and my voice, amplify my song and purify my life.
I was born on December 23. I'm not into astrology, but I do know I was born on the cusp between Sagittarius and Capricorn. I heard yesterday that the Sagittarius sign is the only sign meant to be alone.
That's in me.
My love is the only thing that keeps me here.
I will never abandon those in my heart.
I saw some rims that displayed an image over the entire face of the wheel.
JESUS.
I'll be alright.
Thanks Sar.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
how did you do that?
Music, movies and books are essential parts to my life. At any given moment throughout the course of the day, I am either listening to my shuffle, reading a book, or watching a movie. I am not a movie, book or music whore however: I do not watch, listen or read just anything. Because these 3, my unique "holy trinity" (and will be referred to henceforth as the "trinity". I'm better than the Matrix. Don't you never forget it.) serve a special, essential purpose to my life.
I always wanted to write a book or a movie one day. I have made efforts at my personal literary tour-de-force, vastly underestimating the amount of time, effort, dedication and stubborness it takes to craft such a work. Sculptors, when asked about how they crafted a particular sculpture, remarked that the figure was already within the stone: all they did was free it. My story lies within stone. I'm chipping away.
With the movie however, I get scenes in my mind one at a time. A scene came to me the other day: a man standing at a window, with a steady rain outside. Rain drops slide down the glass of the window. A woman comes behind the man, without touching him but close enough for him to feel her presence. The man touches the window and briefly follows the path of one of the droplets with a finger and states "the world cries the tears that I cannot."
The trinity serves that purpose. A good movie, book or song in my estimation is one that effectively conveys an emotion. They make you tingle, like when I talk about God. Or get that little guy running around in your gut, like when you see someone you have a passion for. They allow you to be close to an emotion with immersing yourself in it. Allow you to feel it without it consuming you. My father is dead, and one of my close friends was killed. I need to remember the joy caused by their lives and the hurt caused by their deaths because in that, I remember them. I know love, intimate and otherwise, and the trinity brings me close to it even in those moments when it seems a million miles and a lifetime away.
I feel these emotions without losing myself in them because the world will not allow it. Sadness and joy do not stop the cogs of the world from turning. They don't even slow them down. Mired in grief, the world does not look upon us with pity, and decides to take a break until we get on our feet. Face to face with your soulmate, lost in a love that is forever, people do not stop needing you, relying on you. Money doesn't become less of a necessity, your house doesn't clean itself, and we still need to eat. Lord knows we need to eat. Needs still need to be met, and progress continues to be made. The Bluest Eye can cry on your behalf.
Songs, movies and books allow you to visit happinessangerlovepainjoypeace, be reminded of its presence, and move on, that much stronger for the experience.
Cry without crying.
Smile without smiling.
It's magic. Without the wand.
I always wanted to write a book or a movie one day. I have made efforts at my personal literary tour-de-force, vastly underestimating the amount of time, effort, dedication and stubborness it takes to craft such a work. Sculptors, when asked about how they crafted a particular sculpture, remarked that the figure was already within the stone: all they did was free it. My story lies within stone. I'm chipping away.
With the movie however, I get scenes in my mind one at a time. A scene came to me the other day: a man standing at a window, with a steady rain outside. Rain drops slide down the glass of the window. A woman comes behind the man, without touching him but close enough for him to feel her presence. The man touches the window and briefly follows the path of one of the droplets with a finger and states "the world cries the tears that I cannot."
The trinity serves that purpose. A good movie, book or song in my estimation is one that effectively conveys an emotion. They make you tingle, like when I talk about God. Or get that little guy running around in your gut, like when you see someone you have a passion for. They allow you to be close to an emotion with immersing yourself in it. Allow you to feel it without it consuming you. My father is dead, and one of my close friends was killed. I need to remember the joy caused by their lives and the hurt caused by their deaths because in that, I remember them. I know love, intimate and otherwise, and the trinity brings me close to it even in those moments when it seems a million miles and a lifetime away.
I feel these emotions without losing myself in them because the world will not allow it. Sadness and joy do not stop the cogs of the world from turning. They don't even slow them down. Mired in grief, the world does not look upon us with pity, and decides to take a break until we get on our feet. Face to face with your soulmate, lost in a love that is forever, people do not stop needing you, relying on you. Money doesn't become less of a necessity, your house doesn't clean itself, and we still need to eat. Lord knows we need to eat. Needs still need to be met, and progress continues to be made. The Bluest Eye can cry on your behalf.
Songs, movies and books allow you to visit happinessangerlovepainjoypeace, be reminded of its presence, and move on, that much stronger for the experience.
Cry without crying.
Smile without smiling.
It's magic. Without the wand.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
a baby and happiness.
I was feeling off the 2 weeks prior to April 22. Not for one particular reason, but a hodgepodge of various events, the most important being my sister's impending marriage. I expressed this to someone, and they told me to get over it. To stop acting like a "baby". Like alot of things about me, I don't think people get it.
About 4 years ago, my niece and I were outside shoveling snow. She was about 4 years old. We weren't as much shoveling snow as we were attacking each other with it. With her on the losing end often enough, and loving every second of it. A slightly chilled elation. A white GS rolls up slow. It was lauryn's father. He's been absent from conception. I try to block her view as I'm called to the car. We talk for about 30 seconds. Lame attempts at concern for my sister which I counter with lame attempts at tact and being cordial. I walk back to the sidewalk, trying to wash this recent exchange from my memory. I sit on the steps and lauryn walks between my knees. Playfully, I pull her hat over her eyes, and she pulls it back up.
"Was that my dad?"
"Yup"
"Why didn't he say hi to me?"
The inner shell that seperates feelings from expression cracked inside of me. I shed tears. Mainly, because I knew there was no way I stop the cogs of her 4 year mind from turning. No way to help her make sense of it all. I couldn't euphemize my words. Children are black and white. Truth or lies. So I gave her what she would understand.
I don't know sweetheart.
I knew then that this was much more that being a uncle. As my father knew it was much more than being pop-pop. And if that person understood, they would realize it was much more than "acting like a baby." That is my baby. From the day she came out of the womb. And stuck that needle in her yellow ass. Gel on her eyes and in my arms. And still now, as she leaves my house and moves on to her new life, with her new dad. Still my baby. Still, it hurts.
Me and my sister's relationship began in dissapointment. They called home when I was born, to assauge my sister's excitement about her new sibling.
It's a boy!
The forecast: a steady rain shower of tears in and around the Kelli Singleton region of the Northeastern United States.
From then, its been a rollercoaster. Times and of joy and pain. But do know this. My sister loves me, through and through, to the bone. She has threatened women in my life with pain if they hurt me, and she meant every word.
And the love is reciprocal.
I can't explain it. It's like explaining a inside joke.
You get it, or you don't.
Just like me.
On a slight tangent:
People say the only thing that is guaranteed to us is death and taxes. I have a addition to that terse and abrupt list. Happiness. Now, I have no idea how to obtain it. I do know that it doesn't come off the rack. Like a good suit, it is talior-made for the individual. This past week however, I have realized how not to obtain it.
I love movies. And in every drama, there is this scene, basted in poignancy. There is one individual, no dialouge. Soul-stirring music. The person is knee deep in thought.
Whenever I'm feeling...off, I recreate this scene, believing (however falsely), that if it works in the movies, it will work for me. And it always fails. Like a comfortable, but detrimental relationship, I run back to it.
What I realized is that in that moment, if you do not come to any real realizations to make your life better, then that moment is wasted. There is no one watching you, hearing the music and feeling your angst through the screen. It is just you, the thoughts you own, and God who sold them to you.
It's up to you to put the purchase to good use.
About 4 years ago, my niece and I were outside shoveling snow. She was about 4 years old. We weren't as much shoveling snow as we were attacking each other with it. With her on the losing end often enough, and loving every second of it. A slightly chilled elation. A white GS rolls up slow. It was lauryn's father. He's been absent from conception. I try to block her view as I'm called to the car. We talk for about 30 seconds. Lame attempts at concern for my sister which I counter with lame attempts at tact and being cordial. I walk back to the sidewalk, trying to wash this recent exchange from my memory. I sit on the steps and lauryn walks between my knees. Playfully, I pull her hat over her eyes, and she pulls it back up.
"Was that my dad?"
"Yup"
"Why didn't he say hi to me?"
The inner shell that seperates feelings from expression cracked inside of me. I shed tears. Mainly, because I knew there was no way I stop the cogs of her 4 year mind from turning. No way to help her make sense of it all. I couldn't euphemize my words. Children are black and white. Truth or lies. So I gave her what she would understand.
I don't know sweetheart.
I knew then that this was much more that being a uncle. As my father knew it was much more than being pop-pop. And if that person understood, they would realize it was much more than "acting like a baby." That is my baby. From the day she came out of the womb. And stuck that needle in her yellow ass. Gel on her eyes and in my arms. And still now, as she leaves my house and moves on to her new life, with her new dad. Still my baby. Still, it hurts.
Me and my sister's relationship began in dissapointment. They called home when I was born, to assauge my sister's excitement about her new sibling.
It's a boy!
The forecast: a steady rain shower of tears in and around the Kelli Singleton region of the Northeastern United States.
From then, its been a rollercoaster. Times and of joy and pain. But do know this. My sister loves me, through and through, to the bone. She has threatened women in my life with pain if they hurt me, and she meant every word.
And the love is reciprocal.
I can't explain it. It's like explaining a inside joke.
You get it, or you don't.
Just like me.
On a slight tangent:
People say the only thing that is guaranteed to us is death and taxes. I have a addition to that terse and abrupt list. Happiness. Now, I have no idea how to obtain it. I do know that it doesn't come off the rack. Like a good suit, it is talior-made for the individual. This past week however, I have realized how not to obtain it.
I love movies. And in every drama, there is this scene, basted in poignancy. There is one individual, no dialouge. Soul-stirring music. The person is knee deep in thought.
Whenever I'm feeling...off, I recreate this scene, believing (however falsely), that if it works in the movies, it will work for me. And it always fails. Like a comfortable, but detrimental relationship, I run back to it.
What I realized is that in that moment, if you do not come to any real realizations to make your life better, then that moment is wasted. There is no one watching you, hearing the music and feeling your angst through the screen. It is just you, the thoughts you own, and God who sold them to you.
It's up to you to put the purchase to good use.
I took the red pill.
Friday, April 14, 2006
which one do you want sir? all of it.
I spent the last weekend in Philly with dudes that I have known, and been close to for over 10 years. They provided me something that I cannot lose. Memories.
Thank You.
Thank You.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
the rundown, ver.1.0
My sister is getting married this month. Jeez. I have alot of mixed feelings about it. A veritable plethora. Mainly concerning the person she is planning to marry. And how long they have known each other But, I love my sister alot, and I will support her in her decision. From this upcoming event, I have learned alot of things. About "the process" of getting married. Didn't know there was so much to it beyond love.
This is my first wedding.
I learned two very important things, one of which I cannot share on here for various reasons. But if you are a man, contact me somehow and I will let you know about a theory that will potentially save your sanity when it comes to love, marriage and women.
The second thing I learned is that the woman I marry is going to have to sing "Be Good to You" by Vivian Green to me before I ask her to marry me. Seems shallow, yes. I have very few requirements. Two including this one. So I don't honestly feel that badly about it. I can't budge on this one. She doesn't have to do it well. And I'll drop hints beforehand. Just a heartfelt attempt.
When my sister is nervous about the wedding, my niece tells her to think about pizza, and that will cheer her up.
Before I give my sister away, I have to come up with something to say to her that will make her laugh out loud. That loud, but brief quick laugh. The one that slips out. You know what I'm talking about. The trick about this is that it has to be something that requires no thought, no comprehension. No time for that. Quick and dirty laughter is what I'm after.
I can't wear my wedding clothes to the reception. I'm about comfort, not being uncomfortable in some slippery earls, hardbottom editions with slacks that hug in me in all the wrong places. I know that sounded a little fruity, but I'm funny shaped and its the truth. I want to wear some sweatpants but that might be going a little too hard. Another problem that needs solving.
This is going to make my mother happy. And its something uniquely special about a child bringing happiness to their parents. Somewhere, an angel plays a drum roll.
The question was raised if I was bringing someone. Now, I've never been the one to bring people to family events. It always seemed selfish. My cousins would always bring their girls to cookouts, and I always roasted them for being suckers. The girl doesn't know anyone, so she's uncomfortable. She feels weird getting some potato salad and a burger, and I feel her. This ain't her family. She has to beauty pagent smile at all of these people for no good reason. Talk to people about nothing. Get left alone when her "date" leaves her to talk to me about...well anything. I want to put someone through that. See how she holds up. Good test of character. I won't feel that bad. I'll try to document it, like an experiment.
And now some parting words from Mack Mittens:
I feel your pain when you restrained and your love die-
and make your heart hard, the blood in your vein fry-
Feel like I'm trapped and I'm blindfolded-
But my eyes wide open to see, Feel like the O'Jay's, climbin those stairways, hopin' Heaven's gates wide open for me-
Towards Allah seekin' direction...Still I spin in every direction, seekin direction-
Tryin' to balance out the good with the imperfections, Yeah I know I still move with nowhere to go....
This is my first wedding.
I learned two very important things, one of which I cannot share on here for various reasons. But if you are a man, contact me somehow and I will let you know about a theory that will potentially save your sanity when it comes to love, marriage and women.
The second thing I learned is that the woman I marry is going to have to sing "Be Good to You" by Vivian Green to me before I ask her to marry me. Seems shallow, yes. I have very few requirements. Two including this one. So I don't honestly feel that badly about it. I can't budge on this one. She doesn't have to do it well. And I'll drop hints beforehand. Just a heartfelt attempt.
When my sister is nervous about the wedding, my niece tells her to think about pizza, and that will cheer her up.
Before I give my sister away, I have to come up with something to say to her that will make her laugh out loud. That loud, but brief quick laugh. The one that slips out. You know what I'm talking about. The trick about this is that it has to be something that requires no thought, no comprehension. No time for that. Quick and dirty laughter is what I'm after.
I can't wear my wedding clothes to the reception. I'm about comfort, not being uncomfortable in some slippery earls, hardbottom editions with slacks that hug in me in all the wrong places. I know that sounded a little fruity, but I'm funny shaped and its the truth. I want to wear some sweatpants but that might be going a little too hard. Another problem that needs solving.
This is going to make my mother happy. And its something uniquely special about a child bringing happiness to their parents. Somewhere, an angel plays a drum roll.
The question was raised if I was bringing someone. Now, I've never been the one to bring people to family events. It always seemed selfish. My cousins would always bring their girls to cookouts, and I always roasted them for being suckers. The girl doesn't know anyone, so she's uncomfortable. She feels weird getting some potato salad and a burger, and I feel her. This ain't her family. She has to beauty pagent smile at all of these people for no good reason. Talk to people about nothing. Get left alone when her "date" leaves her to talk to me about...well anything. I want to put someone through that. See how she holds up. Good test of character. I won't feel that bad. I'll try to document it, like an experiment.
And now some parting words from Mack Mittens:
I feel your pain when you restrained and your love die-
and make your heart hard, the blood in your vein fry-
Feel like I'm trapped and I'm blindfolded-
But my eyes wide open to see, Feel like the O'Jay's, climbin those stairways, hopin' Heaven's gates wide open for me-
Towards Allah seekin' direction...Still I spin in every direction, seekin direction-
Tryin' to balance out the good with the imperfections, Yeah I know I still move with nowhere to go....
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
"with the fury of a thousand suns..."
I try everyday not to hate people. Not all people, but a select segment of people I know.
I never understood the Bible when it said its better to be cold than lukewarm. Now I get it. Like the ring falling in the sixth sense. Cold means your probably do not know any better. Anger at a baby who soils the pamper? Never. There is no knowledge of another course of action. But lukewarm? That means you know you could be hot. Or be cold. But choose neither. You make mediocrity your refuge. I'm am surrounded by these people. And I am tired of making excuses for them. Some are my friends, some are not.
Maybe I need to face the fact that these people are stupid, worthless nimrods whose existences would have been better served as tables and/or chairs on the titanic. Men and women who continually subject themselves to the most trivial of pursuits, however lose sight of the triviality. And these are the bastards who are supposed to know better. These are DuBois' talented tenth. The cream of the crop. Our chosen future.
Who are on facebook, myspace, black planet the majority of the day sending dumb ass message back and forth about nothing. And this is not conjecture, I have witnessed it happen. Not about how to make money, or being active in helping...helping anybody. Not about spiritual salvation, or lack of the need for it. A coherent, lucid, slightly meaningful dialogue? Shit, you must be out of your mind.
Or better yet, how many more asinine conversations will I be subjected to about the conquest of some misguided black girl lost. Or the plans make this conquest a reality. How about the ranting of a young black women and her "baby boy", the young man she refuses to demand manhood from. She loves his second childhood because she demands nothing more. He loves his second childhood because no one has reminded him of manhood, and with no knowledge of it, how can he feel the sting of its absence?
She is no more a woman than he is a man. And this would be understandable. If there were no diplomas. Degrees. Understanding parents. Supportive adults. Food, shelter, knowledge, wisdom, information, definitions of love and success, right and struggle, wrong and freedom. If there were no more pictures of emmitt till, young babies carrying babies on bus with no man present. If there were no more families where everyone has a different last name. No young men, who lacked the love and knowledge that the chosen so recklessly take for granted, forced to hug a street corner for the security that is guaranteed to us in the constitution. No young men, who are the loved and the chosen, who glorify the struggle of those who were not provided with the same opportunities as them. None of the elderly whose broken backs on the outside just mirror their broken spirits on the inside as the youth cast them demeaning glances. Then I can say you forgot. You can't fix something you know nothing about. But. You know.
How can we ever survive if our goals are mired in regression?
I know this isn't the most lucid of my entries. It's the fury inside of me. Some of what I have written is directed at me. But more so to you. A part of me doesn't want you to change. Keep talking loud and often about nothing. Keep buying ringtones. Keep shaking your ass at clubs. Keep rejecting womanhood. Keep your hats big and sunglasses on at night. Keep ducking manhood. Keep away from the hood, keep away from saving it. Keep away from schools, and those children that cry out for your guidance everyday with a inaudible song.Never, ever, ever seek out the truth about anything. Keep talking. Just make sure its stays at talking. Please don't give up on text messaging your life away. No businesses, no independence. Love the security that 50 hour work weeks, 60 grand a year and benefits bring. Retire at 60. Don't care about each other. Because if you change, what will I write about?
I never understood the Bible when it said its better to be cold than lukewarm. Now I get it. Like the ring falling in the sixth sense. Cold means your probably do not know any better. Anger at a baby who soils the pamper? Never. There is no knowledge of another course of action. But lukewarm? That means you know you could be hot. Or be cold. But choose neither. You make mediocrity your refuge. I'm am surrounded by these people. And I am tired of making excuses for them. Some are my friends, some are not.
Maybe I need to face the fact that these people are stupid, worthless nimrods whose existences would have been better served as tables and/or chairs on the titanic. Men and women who continually subject themselves to the most trivial of pursuits, however lose sight of the triviality. And these are the bastards who are supposed to know better. These are DuBois' talented tenth. The cream of the crop. Our chosen future.
Who are on facebook, myspace, black planet the majority of the day sending dumb ass message back and forth about nothing. And this is not conjecture, I have witnessed it happen. Not about how to make money, or being active in helping...helping anybody. Not about spiritual salvation, or lack of the need for it. A coherent, lucid, slightly meaningful dialogue? Shit, you must be out of your mind.
Or better yet, how many more asinine conversations will I be subjected to about the conquest of some misguided black girl lost. Or the plans make this conquest a reality. How about the ranting of a young black women and her "baby boy", the young man she refuses to demand manhood from. She loves his second childhood because she demands nothing more. He loves his second childhood because no one has reminded him of manhood, and with no knowledge of it, how can he feel the sting of its absence?
She is no more a woman than he is a man. And this would be understandable. If there were no diplomas. Degrees. Understanding parents. Supportive adults. Food, shelter, knowledge, wisdom, information, definitions of love and success, right and struggle, wrong and freedom. If there were no more pictures of emmitt till, young babies carrying babies on bus with no man present. If there were no more families where everyone has a different last name. No young men, who lacked the love and knowledge that the chosen so recklessly take for granted, forced to hug a street corner for the security that is guaranteed to us in the constitution. No young men, who are the loved and the chosen, who glorify the struggle of those who were not provided with the same opportunities as them. None of the elderly whose broken backs on the outside just mirror their broken spirits on the inside as the youth cast them demeaning glances. Then I can say you forgot. You can't fix something you know nothing about. But. You know.
How can we ever survive if our goals are mired in regression?
I know this isn't the most lucid of my entries. It's the fury inside of me. Some of what I have written is directed at me. But more so to you. A part of me doesn't want you to change. Keep talking loud and often about nothing. Keep buying ringtones. Keep shaking your ass at clubs. Keep rejecting womanhood. Keep your hats big and sunglasses on at night. Keep ducking manhood. Keep away from the hood, keep away from saving it. Keep away from schools, and those children that cry out for your guidance everyday with a inaudible song.Never, ever, ever seek out the truth about anything. Keep talking. Just make sure its stays at talking. Please don't give up on text messaging your life away. No businesses, no independence. Love the security that 50 hour work weeks, 60 grand a year and benefits bring. Retire at 60. Don't care about each other. Because if you change, what will I write about?
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
inspiration.
When I update my blog, I am normally moved by some event that compells me to write.
Don't you hate when the title of something has little-to-nothing to do with what it is actually about?.
I normally wait for one of these events before I attempt to write, because that inspiration allows me to write with conviction and emotion. So I have been waiting. And waiting. Seemingly in vain. While waiting for this great epiphany, I realized alot has happened since I have last written. No one "the earth is round" realizations. In fact, not one realization. Just events that I have yet to interpret. And I don't think that I will. You know what they say about translations. Something is lost between the original manuscript and the new ititeration. I just want to take these events as they happened. No additives and preservatives, just the feeling that accompanied my initial reaction.
I talked to a kid that was 16 years old in the 9th grade. He told me that he didn't want to repeat the 9th again, so he was dropping out. He wanted help getting into job corps. Why did he miss so much school? His mother was "fucking up". She got stabbed in the head, got her throat cut, shot a dose of heroin that was, unbeknowst to her, cut with rat poison. And she told his cell phone for money for more dope. His older sister gave his mother a bag of dope. She wants her to die.
I talked to a girl who was dating a young man who hustled. She didn't mind because her dad did the same thing all of his life. He tried to stop once but her and her sister's and her mother's constant want for finer material things quickly pushed him back to the street, and back to jail. He has been locked up most of her childhood. She likes "fast money" because she doesn't like to wait to have the latest fashions. Her mother is the same way, and her cousin has a nice house and a porsche truck from dealing with a guy who is now doing fed time. She says she could never deal with a dude that has no money.
Sitting outside of a bar, my cousin and I saw a homeless dude get thrown out of the bar, drunk. He fell in the street, and passed out for about an hour, in the middle of the street. Cars drove around him. My cousin woke him up and asked him if he had somewhere he could go, somebody he could stay with. He shook his head no, and passed back out.
A girl told me that she didn't believe in God. "Why does he take all the good people from us so soon?"
My uncle told me that I should sleep with 2 women at once. It will help me separate love from sex, because in his mind, they do not go hand in hand. I am destined to believe in love and want it above all other things because his brother, my father, felt the same way. It's in my genes.
A volunteer told me that seeking to be happy in ones' life is not a worthwhile goal. It ultimately leads to hedonism. The pursuit of joy is a much more realistic goal. She is a devout Christian, and her husband is a non-believer and it bothers her greatly. I was discussing past gifts I have purchased for people, and she commented that she has never received nice gifts like that from her husband. The joy that she knows she will never receive from her husband, she gets from the lord.
Inspiration.
Don't you hate when the title of something has little-to-nothing to do with what it is actually about?.
I normally wait for one of these events before I attempt to write, because that inspiration allows me to write with conviction and emotion. So I have been waiting. And waiting. Seemingly in vain. While waiting for this great epiphany, I realized alot has happened since I have last written. No one "the earth is round" realizations. In fact, not one realization. Just events that I have yet to interpret. And I don't think that I will. You know what they say about translations. Something is lost between the original manuscript and the new ititeration. I just want to take these events as they happened. No additives and preservatives, just the feeling that accompanied my initial reaction.
I talked to a kid that was 16 years old in the 9th grade. He told me that he didn't want to repeat the 9th again, so he was dropping out. He wanted help getting into job corps. Why did he miss so much school? His mother was "fucking up". She got stabbed in the head, got her throat cut, shot a dose of heroin that was, unbeknowst to her, cut with rat poison. And she told his cell phone for money for more dope. His older sister gave his mother a bag of dope. She wants her to die.
I talked to a girl who was dating a young man who hustled. She didn't mind because her dad did the same thing all of his life. He tried to stop once but her and her sister's and her mother's constant want for finer material things quickly pushed him back to the street, and back to jail. He has been locked up most of her childhood. She likes "fast money" because she doesn't like to wait to have the latest fashions. Her mother is the same way, and her cousin has a nice house and a porsche truck from dealing with a guy who is now doing fed time. She says she could never deal with a dude that has no money.
Sitting outside of a bar, my cousin and I saw a homeless dude get thrown out of the bar, drunk. He fell in the street, and passed out for about an hour, in the middle of the street. Cars drove around him. My cousin woke him up and asked him if he had somewhere he could go, somebody he could stay with. He shook his head no, and passed back out.
A girl told me that she didn't believe in God. "Why does he take all the good people from us so soon?"
My uncle told me that I should sleep with 2 women at once. It will help me separate love from sex, because in his mind, they do not go hand in hand. I am destined to believe in love and want it above all other things because his brother, my father, felt the same way. It's in my genes.
A volunteer told me that seeking to be happy in ones' life is not a worthwhile goal. It ultimately leads to hedonism. The pursuit of joy is a much more realistic goal. She is a devout Christian, and her husband is a non-believer and it bothers her greatly. I was discussing past gifts I have purchased for people, and she commented that she has never received nice gifts like that from her husband. The joy that she knows she will never receive from her husband, she gets from the lord.
Inspiration.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
money.
This entry was really supposed to be about my conversation with eleanor rigby, but then life happened.
I went to get locs done (man, that sounds a little light) and saw one of the most beautiful women I have ever saw. I wasn't attracted to her, but I could appreciate her beauty. I decided to ask her name. She turned to me, looked at me in the eyes, and said "Money". Money? And when she looked at me, my insides got cold. It's happened to me twice before. Once, at this conference in Seattle, and at the club. I'm not going to say that I was face to face with evil at those 3 times, but something for damn sure wasn't kosher.
The lessons learned:
1) The eyes tell you a story about a person that nothing else will. Words, body language, shoes, clothing, hands all can speak, but they all can lie. Eyes are incapable of fallacy. If you read them right.
2) She told me her name was Money. I guess that isn't a lesson but damn. Money? Maybe it's because she wears alot of green. Or demands alot of green. Either way, she said Money. Classic.
I went to get locs done (man, that sounds a little light) and saw one of the most beautiful women I have ever saw. I wasn't attracted to her, but I could appreciate her beauty. I decided to ask her name. She turned to me, looked at me in the eyes, and said "Money". Money? And when she looked at me, my insides got cold. It's happened to me twice before. Once, at this conference in Seattle, and at the club. I'm not going to say that I was face to face with evil at those 3 times, but something for damn sure wasn't kosher.
The lessons learned:
1) The eyes tell you a story about a person that nothing else will. Words, body language, shoes, clothing, hands all can speak, but they all can lie. Eyes are incapable of fallacy. If you read them right.
2) She told me her name was Money. I guess that isn't a lesson but damn. Money? Maybe it's because she wears alot of green. Or demands alot of green. Either way, she said Money. Classic.
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