Bad News And The Gospel (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) 2013

I got some bad news today My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! But that's what my whole life has been about, bad fuckin news. So, this was no different. I guess if there is one difference, that would be the fact that I realized at any second, finally I understand, yo ass can die! Oh, sure you know it, went to funerals of loved ones, maybe even seen someone die..all that is fine and good, but what about yo sorry ass? Do you really understand the fact it is only a matter of time when you will be where you are witnessing an individual which you knew was alive and now the mothah fuckah lyin prone in a box? Just ready for the shit to go south, into the ground? Does yo sorry ass really understand that? Really? Well My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs; alas, I must say you are way better than me. Because my ass being just 48 years old didn't see it comin! Sure for othah mothah fuckahs, but not to my broke down ass! But, "It is finished! Amen!"

Time for My Black ass to shine before the fuckin lights go out for the last time on my Black ass. Damn right bout that! So I'm goin to write a story fo y'alls asses that has some joy! How bout that fo my sorry ass? Time tah see some goodness in this piece of shit life! My Blessed God! And here we go...

___________________________________________________________________________

Sometimes this guy I know, he gets too rapped up in the dark side. But you see, every once in awhile he has to let himself feel and experience the warm essence of the Son! A balance if you will so he will not go completely mad. Maybe taking a .380, jacking one in the chamber and...Yao Ming? He cannot allow himself to become a Nicolatian. No, that would defeat the purpose of wandering blind in the darkness. He is dwelling there for a time for just that reason, to quell his self-righteousness. He must, not shall, every once in awhile peek out and let the Son shine on him. Then and only then the justification is solidified of what he will eventually allow his body to be overcome by...the effulgent essence of the universe! And that...is a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! Check it out My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. I entitled this one...


Opportunity Knocks

Reality Sets In (Forty-Six Years Old, Non-Custodial Male Parent) 2012

As in life, there was nothing more to do but tarry. That’s all life is really, oft times sitting at your various locale and waiting for things to happen. Productive of course in nature but not in the adverse. The downside of that waiting game is oft times it takes too damn long, but I guess waiting has no time limit on it less there is one given and in this instance there wasn’t. This could take a very long time, years; maybe ten years or longer. I had to understand that. You see, when one, like I, has decided there is nothing else I can do to expedite the situation or to come to some type of relative conclusion or should I say acquiescence, there is no other option but to be patient and be of good will because all I was doing before was wasting time, effort and energy, which I am not replete with either of the three being 4 6 years of age.

And I guess too I have realized through all of the travails of custody disputes that I cannot fight against what is. And ‘what is’ is a traditional mindset in the juvenile courts and divorce courts that says, the child should be with the momma until…and that until was and is variant and rare. What is; what was; what has always been, is almost impossible to fight against. But, “Egypt wasn’t built in a day,” nor too our various ideological mindsets, oft times rooted in religiosity. It is a waste of time most often than not to tell an individual they have been wrong in their given staple that they have been force fed most of their collective lives, religion; which our judicial system is rooted in. When one dissects a system one must look at the little things and broaden out not the other way around. Good things always start with good intentions then parasitic microbes adhere to it and eventually take over the host; hence, “ Welcome to the present parasitic state!”

The Parentless Generation (Forty-Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 2005

Nobody wants tah take accountability for their own lives. No one. Just want tah keep blamin their Mommas' and Daddys' and they don't want tah evah look at the fact their asses are grown like a mah fuckah. When the fuck yo ass gonnah grow up? Shiit! I mean, good goddamned, yo ass is past the age of suffrage with yo no count havin ass. The fuck you thinkin? Yo old ass is free tah make your own mah fuckin choices now. Don't be usin Momma and Daddy as an excuse so yo tired ass can be a lazy fuckin parent. Got fuckin parents lettin their child or children run the fuck free, gettin intah all kinds of shit, cause, "My parents were so strict!" So the fuck what mah fuckahs! So that means you just don't give yo child no structure or discipline at-the-fuck-all? Just sit the fuck back and let the winds take care of the shit? "Lettin the marketplace dictate" the way yo child or children are going to behave as an adult? How the fuck that make any goddamned sense? Please tell a niggah cause he really would like tah know?

Got mah fuckahs talkin bout their parents in a bad mah fuckin way! And what the fuck do you know? Yo mah fuckin ass has turned out just like their no count havin asses, yo ass avowin every fuckin time for anyone tah hear. "My Father worked all the time! He was never there for us!" And look at cha? Got children and yo sorry ass workin twelve tah sixteen hours a fuckin day! The fuck? "My parents were never home, they were always working. I'm so damaged from that!" So, why the fuck you and your spouse workin all the fuckin time?

Then you got these no count males and these silly ass women sayin, "Well child rearing is all about the Mother. It's the Mother's responsibility." You stupid Bastard and Bitch you! Cause that's what yo fucked up thinkin ass sounds like, somebody that don't know parenting and the othah from not the human animal. Cause the shit happens that way in the animal kingdom cause they not sentient but for our rational ass that shit is a fuckin lie! Straight up! Ain't no goddamned Mother or Father got nothin tah do with it, that just tells yah the fact of the two people that were involved in the procreation process. Now, parenting is a whole nother thang all togethah! Momma or Daddy or Both togethah, it's about fucking parenting. I don't give a good fuck of traditional fucked up thinkin! That shit is pass-the-fuck-er! For real!

We are fuckin humans! Damnit! Ain't no dogs, or cats, or tigers, or bears... Oh, My! Nah, mah fuckahs we should know the fuck better! We should! But we don't! Hear mah fuckahs talkin that shit, "Well we work so much so our children can have a better life than we did." Well why in the fuck you done told me some bullshit bout Momma or Daddy, or both, not bein there when yo lyin ass was growin up? So, the shit you doin ain't bout those children at-the-fuck-all! No, what it is about is yo ass! Let's just get the shit right! Cause children just wants tah be round yo ass, they don't care about the othah shit really. Cause if yah around and payin their asses the attention they deserve yah can teach them about not havin this materialistic fucked up ideology that is so pervasive today! Don't play with me! The fuck I look like!

That's why these mah fuckahs buyin their child or children all these PlayStations, Cell Phones, $150 tennis shoes...Cause they don't wantah fuckin parent. Shiiit, it's easy tah throw money at those mah fuckahs! Here, you little mah fuckah! Take it! Here's a hundred dollahs! Now get the fuck out my face! Yao Ming? But the hard mah fuckah is tah put that time and emotionality they so very need. We better recognize! And what the fuck does a little mah fuckah need a goddamned cell phone for any fuckin way! Once again, parenting from a-fuckin-far! Cause if yah really was doin yo fuckin job you wouldn't have tah keep up with yo child by a goddamned cell phone! And we wonderin why this world is so fucked up now! Puh-leeze mah fuckahs! We's some absurd mah fuckahs! And that ain't no Beautiful thang at all! Just sad! Sad Awhile! Too fuckin sad!

Peace! More to come...

I Must Live Because...(Thirty-Three Years Old, Iraq War Veteran, Male, Triple Amputee) 2012

I want to walk amongst the trees, feel the bees buzzing.

I want to swim in the seas, at ease, as I tease life and death.

I want to run in the sun, feel the earth under my feet as I retreat into another facet, a mindset beset on truth which will take me far beyond the heavens.

I want to see humanity come together as one; but I'll never witness the Son...

I want to die...but I don't want to die alone.

Playing God And Being God (Forty-Six Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 2012

Sorry ass mothah fuckahs havin these babies and can't take care of'em! Can't-the-fuck take care of one and havin the nerves tah have another one...then maybe even another, then another...Shame fo God! Supersillymothafuckas! Gotsta nerve tah play God then yo sorry ass don't wantah be responsible for said creations. The fuck! Shiit, God sayin tah yo no count havin ass, "Get some You! Get some! Now you see how I feel with billions of y'alls stupid asses!"

Then we wantah sit up there on our knees and pray fo the lawd tah help our insolent, arrogant, ignant asses; as parents and co-creators? The fuck times two! The lawd ain't helpin yo sorry ass with yo creations cause you done drank the kool-aid and eaten from the forbidden tree, the sacred tree of creation. The jig is up Son! God sayin to our asses, "I tried to tell yah! Oh, yes I did! Now look what yo sorry ass done went and done! Why do I waste my time with y'alls ignant asses? But if yah gonnah play God, then be God! And welcome to the party My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs!"

And that My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs...is a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is!

Peace! More to come...

Hit It, One More Time And Quit It! (Black Stoner) 1980

I’m flying again to begin the healing needed for true feeling; sealing the doubts throughout my life which have been leaking. The atmosphere unclogging the pores then restores the power which has been lost. The cost of not having faith in my five senses of truth. The Heavens imbuing the sixth so I can recognize, finally realize the wasted energy spent. In an altered state where my fate waits for me to exact; enact the pact of a disavowed belief. Rejuvenating ever more each time I soar; letting the universe do its chore; tarrying, while my spirit charges up, getting rich; my soul purging the poor.

Give Me Another Hit! (Forty-Six Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 2011

Pick your poison muh fuckah! Life is a fuckin drug too! And just like any drug you partake in for a very long time it takes ovah and eventually you die from knowin said drug of choice, such as in life. We die from this drug of life! Fuckin die son! Oh, yes we do! Got us so strung out so bad we just can't help but to keep inhalin the shit.

Good goddamned! That's some good ass shit! While yah playin! Talkin bout this Oxy, Ron, Crack, Meth...pick your poison muh fuckah! But this shit here! Shiiiit! This muh fuckah got all us humans hooked like a muh fuckah! Shakin and cryin out for mercy just tah keep puttin this drug of living into our being until our dyin breath! Wishin we just had one more hit of this here life! Shiiit! Fuck That!

We all some Life-Heads! But my sorry ass will gracefully and gratefully decline this bad ass shit when it gets passed to me again. Fuck that! Yah heard may? Just say,"No"! Goddamnit! Gotstah get my ass clean! Yao Ming?

And that my Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs...is A Beautiful Thang! Oh, yes it is! Peace! More to come...

Stop All The Bullshit! And Start Making This World A Better Place! (Forty-Six Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 2011

Time! Muh fuckin time! It's runnin the fuck out! Oh, yes it is. And the bad thang bout that shit is, that all these muh fuckahs wastin their precious time sinnin with the flesh, having ideological avarice, covetin and shit. Muh fuckahs puh-leeze! Look around your sorry ass and start concentratin and thankin your lucky stars bout the shit yo ass is blessed with today! Quit all that wantin bullshit! Oh, I just gotstah have that new dick or pussy I met today! I know I'm yo friend but I ain't helpin yo ass with shit unless I get paid! Why the fuck that muh fuckah got a ride like that rollin on 24's and I don't?...Shiit! I deserve all that! Cause yah only live once!

Really? Well I'll be fuckin damned! I hope yo sorry ass is right bout that livin once shit. I hope the fuck fo yo sorry ass sake! For real! Yah can't fool a recoverin foolah, that's fo damn sho! Nor lie tah a recoverin liah! Yah heard may?

Love yah My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! I really do! Hollah back! Or just fuckin hollah. It's all just frozen ice! And that My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs...well, you know. Peace! More to come...

The Creator (Male, Tribe Person, Aspiring Writer) 2016

I was getting ready to write when I saw on the piece of writing paper that it was dirty, had some type of residual dirt from a hand or something being placed on it...So I peeled it off and threw it away. Sat back down. Looked at the now unblemished piece of paper on the front of the tablet I had resting on my lap. Was pleased. "Perfect," I thought to myself. And started putting pen to paper on the Eden which was present in pure form.

Eden started to become blemished but with the creation of my hand, mind and ink. The world was starting to come alive, sin. I began creating the genesis of a world and life that was finally going to make some fucking sense!

Society's Bill Collector To The Federal Government (Segment From Revolutionists Group Weekly News Letter, "Time Bomb") 2015

One, two, three it’s easy in this sleazy way of subsisting; existing to only labor always to favor a better way of living; giving to our fellow humans who have not a can of Spam to eat. Unseat the neat politically dressed, deaf and blind figures, savors the delectable caviar and wine while they dine for some time while the poverty stricken whine. Pulling twine as this world unwinds through the sands of time; crimes happening at an astronomical rate. Satiate the criminal mind as the lines get snorted and reported. Purported a retort; sorted as first class but laughing with their crass way they delay the humanistic way. Payday is today! Give me my due diligence, my money with your insolent, arrogant, ignorant ass! Nothing is funny as my life has been thrown and slaved away; laboring for a pittance, a remittance of someone giving birth. My self worth has been compromised, analyzed and finalized. What a surprise! No prize unless I demand the payment swiftly. Time is running out getting closer to my due date pitifully. I’ll hate to slay you before I get paid, you have never answered any of my numerous collection calls. The gun is cocked, don’t wait too late; or I just might have to shoot off all your sorry, nasty, hairy, wrinkly, pea size balls.

Opportunity Knocks (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) 2013

Sometimes this guy I know, he gets too rapped up in the dark side. But you see, every once in awhile he has to let himself feel and experience the warm essence of the Son! A balance if you will so he will not go completely mad. Maybe taking a .380, jacking one in the chamber and...Yao Ming? He cannot allow himself to become a Nicolatian. No, that would defeat the purpose of wandering blind in the darkness. He is dwelling there for a time for just that reason, to quell his self-righteousness. He must, not shall, every once in awhile peek out and let the Son shine on him. Then and only then the justification is solidified of what he will eventually allow his body to be overcome by...the effulgent essence of the universe! And that...is a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! Check it out My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. I entitled this one...


Opportunity Knocks


There was a knock at the door, which surprised him because there was no one that he knew that would be knocking. As a matter of fact there was no one. Shit, he had no friends. So he had not a clue who it could possibly be? He never made any noise unless he accidentally dropped something on the floor. He had a 1000 watt stereo system he only listened to through his three hundred dollar headphones. He listened to the television the same way but with separate headphones, the wireless kind where he could go all through his apartment and not miss what was transpiring by audio. He was a very light walker because of eighteen years being under a roof with a Father that didn’t want to hear him walk, nor his Mother either for that matter. His Father being the type he would be in his room doing something, minding his own business and all of the sudden he would feel a presence and turn around and his Father would be right next to him, or behind him, smiling and his Father would state to him how long he had been in that very space without him knowing. So, he and his Mother did the same. Both getting very good at it, but not as good as his Father was at it.

Another knock and he looked at his door. By the sound of it he would guess it was a woman at the door. Not a loud knock, just enough of one to make the person inside, he, to realize someone was on the other side. And that had him stumped because he hadn’t a woman, no lady friend for some eight years now. Maybe the person had the wrong apartment, seeing as that he lived in a secured building where one had to buzz the given apartment of the one they wished to visit and the other would buzz the visitor in. He took another drag off the cigarette he was working on. There was a long pause, longer than the time from the first knock to the second so he shrugged and looked back at the computer screen and began typing again. Definitely the wrong apartment. Then he heard three knocks in succession, still with the same characteristic, no malice or urgency and definitely female.

He stubbed out his smoke and walked to his door. He had a peephole but he never used it. His Father’s conditioning again, “If someone knocks on your door Lil’ Man never be afraid to open it. Open that damn thing real wide and look at them and say, “The fuck you want!”” He never did that. Never had to, again living in a secure building now and before he just didn’t get visitors period. He wasn’t mad or disturbed, as a matter of fact, he was a little excited that someone was finally at his door, knocking for whatever reason. He still put on the sternest face he could muster, not intimidating but he would hope at least feigning irritability. He unlocked the two deadbolts turned the knob, opened the door wide and his face instantly softened. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever met or seen. Now he was totally perplexed.

“How can I help you beautiful lady?” He asked. When the opportunity arose such as this one he was always on point. Even if she did have the wrong apartment he was going to speak what was in his heart. Again his Father’s words, “Boy, whenever you come across a looker. Listen to me now. Like your Mother. Never-I-mean-never, have a loss for words. You might only get that one shot! State facts, ones the woman will know are true and genuine. Not some come on. If they look that good they done heard all the bullshit. No, say it conversationally like you would say, “Good morning.” Throws them for a loop. Now they concentrate on you. Believe me when I tell you! Just look at me and look at your Mother and tell me if I’m not right? Ask her how we met? Shit, I seized the opportunity! For real young blood!” And he had been correct in this instance because this beautiful woman in front of him let out the most wondrous luminous smile he had ever witnessed. She did not say a word for a long time. She just was looking at him with that smile which he could have viewed until his heart stopped and died. “Keep it togethah baby! Just keep it togethah,” was his mantra to himself as he continued to awe in this living masterpiece before him. Come on in, make yourself comfortable for god’s sake! Can I fix you something to eat? Shiiiiit! Just stay with this poor soul for a moment. Make his day or life while yah playin. Just let me be in your presence for a time, Sunshine. What can a Brothah do for you? Of course he did not say this aloud but he wanted to. All those thoughts were running through his mind as he took in her essence. Stand there as long as you want, I have a lifetime. Then she finally spoke.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bother you…” She said.

“No problem at all. Believe me, My Sweet Sistah. What in the world has happened in my life to be so fortunate for someone with such beauty to be rapping on this poor soul’s door?” He said with a warm sincere smile all the while. And she laughed. Sweet beautiful laughter. Head ever so slightly moving back enjoying this moment like he surely was. She caught his gaze once more, with the softest look in her lineaments, making his heart melt. Speak the truth Morgan. If she doesn’t have a man then she will have one after this encounter, or at least a very good friend if it be her will because it surely was his.

“You need to quit it.” She said still trying to abate the laughter.

“I wish I could but I think that would be an impossibility. Based on the remarkable human being who befalls these eyes, from not a minute ago, which were so sore,” he said again conversationally and with warmth. And there it was again, that joyous enraptured laughing and he could have died at that moment and the universe would have been so kind to him for this being his last thing he had ever seen in this lifetime. But he was glad that he hadn’t died because he was so filled with the lovely emotion that was going on within his soul. He had opened the door into sunlight and it was shining so brightly on him. Keep on shining you lovely woman, he said to himself.

“I needed this. I really did! Thank you for your kind words. You just don’t know how this day started.” She said.

“Kind is a word of pontification in my lexicon. No, I am speaking truths. Believe me. Alas; I understand this is not something one like I can continue because one like you surely have better things to do then to listen to me speaking said truths. I would surely like to indulge you for an eternity if I were permitted. But I would not want to keep you from, which I surely know, is a very fulfilling life.” He said. She looked at him for a time with that smile, those white straight teeth beaming at him. Morgan didn’t know for how long but it didn’t matter. He didn’t know what she was thinking, or what she might be trying to figure out. Time had stopped and if it were left up to him he would break every timepiece in existence. She kept looking into his eyes and finally she spoke
.
“My name is Elaine! I know this might sound crazy but I just had a thought. Do you have any coffee?’ She asked.

“And My name is Morgan. I am no Psychologist or Psychiatrist but you sound quite sane. And to answer your query, I absolutely do! Seattle ’s Best is the best. Would you like to join me in a cup on this start of a magnificent day, Elaine?” He asked.

“I would like that Morgan! I really would,” she said.

“Well like that no more, because it is as good as done! Let us partake in the morning liquid communion. My dear Elaine.” He said. Bowed and stepped aside so this angelic figure could pass.

“Thank you,” she said and floated into his humble abode.

(To be continued...)


Oh, it will have such a sweet ending. I just can't wait to see where my mind takes this lighthearted whimsical story. Peace! More to come...

Meredith

The Last Appointment? 2013

“So what’s the verdict?” I asked the doctor.

“Meredith. I don’t know what to say?” The doctor said to me earnestly.

“Well, to take a little bit of pressure off of you. You don’t have to say anything. I already knew. Bad?” I asked.

“The worst,” Doctor Whiteman said.

“Well, thank you Doctor Whiteman,” I said getting up from the chair.

“You don’t want to know what kind?” The doctor asked with surprise.

“Not at all Doctor Whiteman. I don’t have any insurance to defend it. And if it is indefensible I really don’t want to know the little time that I have. It’s okay,” I said.

“Really?” The doctor responded quizzically.

“Really,” I said.

“Well. I don’t know. Ethically I should tell you. I’m sorry Meredith. I really am, but…” Doctor Whiteman started looking pained.

“Don’t be,” I said cutting him off, “You’re just the messenger,” as I extended my hand to Doctor Whiteman and the doctor accepted it, giving me a firm handshake.

“Meredith I really have to…” Doctor Whiteman started to say again.

“I really don’t want to hear it. And you can document that in my patient’s history section if you like. Whatever that will do for you or me.”

“Well, good luck,” the doctor said.

“That won’t be necessary,” I said and winked at him and gave him a smile, turned and left the doctor’s office.

I Have Reached The Time And The Way (Thirty-Five Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 2000

You always learn. Always. It may not be the way that you envisioned but some way, some how yo sorry ass gonnah fuckin learn. Shiit! And the bad thing about it is, there's only two ways to do it: the hard way or the easy way. And for some, fucked up conditioning, reason we always choose the former. Don't we? I mean shit, what the fuck is wrong with our sorry asses? What's so hard with choosing the easy way? Is it not challenging enough for US? Do we get bored with the easy approach so we make the shit hard on our asses time and time again for the sake of evading the dreaded ennui? The fuck? But our asses learn even though we choose that muh fuckin hard ass way most the fuckin time. What's your fuckin point muh fuckah? You maybe askin yourself right now. Well, hell, I'll indulge you since you asked so kindly. Ain't no shame in my game or in the lack thereof.

My fuckin point is, no mattah how things make sense, or how things can facilitate another's life...by another one's advice, one has tah learn in their own time and in their own way. No gettin around it. Cause we all stupid muh fuckahs. Thinkin somehow we have all the answahs, and by doin this or doin that we can fix the shit that's goin awry with a given significant othah in a relationship. But what does yo ass find out aftah all the shit is said and done? That's right, there are no Mr. or Ms. Fix-Its. No mattah how hard you try muh fuckah that shit just ain't gonnah be fixed no mattah what yo sorry ass tries tah do. It just ain't gonnah happen. Yo ass gonnah fail at the task at hand I don't care what kind of diplomatic skills you think you possessin. Just a fuckin waste of time. But waste of time we must do because our asses have to learn...in our own way and in our own time. Sans the excellent advice yo ass done given me prior to. Fuck that shit! I had tah learn the shit my way goddamnit!

And the Beautiful thang bout that, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, I have found my own way. And it has transpired in my own time. And so it will be the same for you too! My Blessed God! A Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is!

Peace! More to come...

The Truth! The Whole Truth! And Nothing But The Truth! Really? (Male, Tribe Person) 1992

I remember when I was a child. I would do something wrong and Mommy would say,"If you tell me the truth boy, I won't punish you." I would tell her the truth and get punished anyway. Maybe not whooped, but definitely punished. It was quite puzzling to me. Why? If I did the right thing, by telling the truth, why was I punished? The concept of telling the truth puzzled me when I was a child and continues to puzzle me.

I remember when I was dating a young lady, she told me, "If you tell me about the other girl you've been seeing, and tell me the truth, we'll talk and continue to see one another." I told her the truth to the smallest detail. She dropped me like a bad habit.

I remember again the time a State Trooper pulled me over and asked, "Do you know how fast you were going?" I told him with the utmost sincerity and truthfulness, "Around 88 miles per hour." He gave me a ticket for 88 miles per hour.

There was also the time when an ex-friend asked me about how I thought his fiancee looked? I told him with the truthfulness only a friend could understand or I thought could comprehend. I said to him, "She's fuckin ugly and I think you could do much better than her. Shiiit!" He eventually married her but he hasn't spoken with me since that second.

The Truth always seems to get me into trouble. Most of the time negativeness only comes out of telling someone the truth. People don't seem to want the truth. They would prefer lies. Which would be more pacifying and a hell of a lot less trouble. Yeah, no one wants the truth.

And that's...The Truth!

Again And Again by Morgan Lambert Hopson II, 2015

While walking past your house,
I stopped in front;
Saw you come out;
You turned and waved
And smiled warmly.
You walked to your car,
Got in, and backed out of your driveway;
Pausing...
Another wave;
Another smile.
I reciprocated these actions,
As I watched you turn and
Guide your car down the street
And fade away.
Thinking of you;
Taking deep breaths;
I realized I was daydreaming;
But it was all just as real.
I took a step;
And a step usually leads to more steps;
I was walking again;
Progressing.
Now past your abode;
Left in my wake;
My steps are lighter now.
I have had another pleasant thought
Of you once more.

Incurable Disease (Twenty-Five Years Old, Tribe Person, Poetess) 2007

What Simon Says,
Isn't to eat Pez;
More likely, an over ripened
And over priced cheese,
From the mold you'll wheeze and sneeze.

Maybe, even, seize
From the toxicity
Your body resistantly
Can't handle,
From the numerous candles
You have burned to appease.

Put up, or shut up;
Panhandle to feed the pup;
Out in the freezing cold
As you shake your paper cup,
Cause of the self viability you haven't quite sold.

Behold the land of opportunity,
Is not what it's quite hyped up to be.
Smacked up, cracked up, methed up...
Maybe even a white powdered dress,
You have avowed, you have confessed,
Came floating seductively during your distress?

Whatever the case maybe;
We still struggle with poverty.

Pray Time Is Over! (Thirty-Five Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 2000

Sometimes muh fuckahs! Sometimes yo sorry ass can sit up there and wait...and wait...and wait...Yah see what I'm gettin at? Not only is yo Black ass tarryin, but yah sittin up there prayin tah boot! Now, ain't that some shit?

Prayin that tired shit, "Why can't she just love me lawd?" Or, "Why can't he just love me lawd?"

Well, I'll tell yah why? Cause the Lawd done left yo stupid ass tah yo'self cause yo ass ain't been listenin tah the Lawd, negro. Hell! No! Yo ass been listenin tah yo own damn self! And the Lawd you been prayin to been done said, "That Love shit yo sorry ass been prayin and waitin fo ain't goin tah fuckin happen muh fuckah! Been asked and answered a long fuckin time ago! Move the fuck ohn! Fuck yah, feed yah, I don't need yah! With yo non-listenin selfish, sorry, brokedown ass! You damned Heathen!"

And that, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, I'm glad tah tell yah, is a Beautiful Thang! Oh, yes it is!

Peace! More to come...

Analogous (Female, Tribe Person, Philosophy Major at Butler University) 2011

Defining oneself is easy but what one falls trap to is defining the ones who they care about utilizing the same information that one has at there given disposal of themselves. That, in and of itself, is flawed. Though one may come from the same tree which made the same fruit as another, one cannot lay claim to the variances of the given fruit: the integrity of that sole fruit, what strains were put on that given fruit, how much nutrients that fruit received while ripening, the thickness of the skin…Though from the same tree that fruit did not form in the same way or from the same place as another; hence, one fruit can have a different character after ripening has transpired. Subtle variances can cause catastrophic outcomes and notwithstanding the outside influences of another organism which may invade just one or more fruits of that same tree and cause great disturbances to the ripening process or cause that given fruit to die even before the time of it’s ripe old age.

And we are no different.

This Life Is As High As You Are Going To Get (Recovering Heroin Addict) 2002

Three pints of libation causes the satiation to be gratified.
My soul utilizing chemical means to absolve myself
From this existence, never ratified.

A hazy view of hope comes into scope;
Liquid dope infused into my left vein
Will cause a sullied stain.

The brain even feeling pain on its surface as
I try to breakthrough face first;
Into another life of purifying future thirst.

I must finally abstain while the rain pounds
Upon my body of mixed emotions.
There has never been a panacea, nor ever will.
No magic potions.
No magic pill.

Eutopia (Twenty-Six Years Old, Female, Third Generation Environmentally Induced Welfare Recipient) 1996

We Black folks that I see around here lookin ghetto as evah? Wearin the garb is our badge of honah. Proud tah be ghetto. Don't know what else to do that is bettah than bein, shiit... ghetto!

Speak correctly? Shiiiit! What cho sorry ass think ebonics is all about? Our fuckin language up in this hurr Eutopia! While yah playin. Dress appropriately given the occasion? Now, you needs tah quit it! We's got our own style goddamnit, don't yah see? We have our ghetto braids. Our ghetto pants off of our perspective asses. Our ghetto stare (just waitin fo a mah fuckah tah say somethin to us so we can pop off crazy, even if it is just sayin a greetin, we are goin tah look menacin and maybe even kick yo Black or white ass. Whatevahs clevah). Our ghetto neighborhoods (not neighborhoods at all but they do resemble somethin akin tah a barren wasteland and a war zone)with no grass tah speak of, just dirt. Our ghetto children (who have the ghetto braids too and will pop ah cap in yo sorry ass quicker than shit fo no damn reason at all). Our ghetto automobiles (rides that cost more than the property we lives on and in)...on and on it goes.

Work? The fuck you thinkin? We don't fuckin work! What's wrong with you? No one works in Eutopia. That's fo damn sho! Be for real! We have everything we want or need without workin. Who would want tah work for the "Man" ? Now, I'll be a slave in the "Man's" institutions: Stateville, Pendleton, Michighan City...But not in the outside world, where freedom is. Nah suh. This hurr is a place of freedom. Don't cha see? We worked hard fo ovah four hunahd yeeahs. We at least deserve some rest and relaxation, a lil R and R. Fuck that and the cat in the hat!

Shiit, if yah want tah look at it, on the real, we really didn't get our freedom til the 1970's. So whah? We really only been free some...thirty yeeahs and some change? If that. Yeah, we deserve a break. That's where this place spawns from, freedom. It's good tah be free let me tell yah! "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God almighty! Free at last!" Ain't that what Mart'n Luthah the King said?

All that goddamned workin we did back durin the slave times. The ghetto is our sanctuary! Don't mind the bullets and poverty none. I'm tellin yah. If there is heaven on Earth this would be the place. No one is tryin tah leave hurr. Believe me when I tell yah this. No one has tried tah leave in...oh...some thirty yeeahs tah be exact. Love this place so much. No othah place tah be. No place on Earth where you don't have tah mow yo lawn, go tah work, dress like white folks, talk like white folks...Cheapest place tah live, as long as, yah see? Yah don't start makin alot of money. But who in their right mind would want tah do that and leave Eutopia? Naw negro! Yah see anyone around hurr crazy? Ain't nobody bustin down no doors tah get away from hurr. I'm tellin yah! Everybody's tryin tah stay! People even tryin tah make the population of this place ten tah twenty fold, how they's havin babies.

Well, well! Look at that! There are some expectin Mothers there! "How yah doin Lil Mamas?" Look at'em. With their cute selves. Each one of their hands and bellies full with othah future Eutopians. I told yah chil! I told yah! No one's tryin tah leave this place. No-one! Population increasin one and a half percent on a daily basis. Yah bettah get in, while yah can fit in! I'll tell yah that.

Come on in and join us. Even if yah don't want tah stay fo a lifetime you will want tah stay awhile. Except when those bullets start flyin. But don't you worry none bout that. I'll show yah how tah avoid'em. And once you've mastered that, I'll show yah how not tah get on the gang membahs bad side, and...Oh, there are so many things tah experience, learn and to do hurr. Believe me when I tell you this.

And just you wait til you meet the people of law enforcement. Oh, sho they can be mean and kill some of us. But they don't mean no lick of harm. They are just actin crazy. Those crazy boys. Yah know, "boys will be boys!" I guess I should include the women of law enforcement, but shiit, they don't have any of the female persuasion patrollin our lil happy place. I wonder why? Anyway, come on in hurr! We'll show yah ah good time! Believe me when I tell yah this!

And the gov'ment? The gov'ment peoples will gives yah all yah need tah exist hurr, food stamps, shelter, birth control pills, condoms, health benefits...Yah know, if yah lil inclined fo a walk on the wild side...Oh, come on now! You knows what I'm talkin bout...Okay! Damn! Puff-puff-pass...Yah see! I knew yah weren't that naive. Well, on the D-L, yah know yah can turn those food stamps intah cash. Yah know what I mean? Don't be lookin all surprised like that. I'm tellin yah, who in their right mind is tryin tah leave this wonderful place? No one! That's who! This is the place tah be!

Why do yah think the gov'ment gives us all of these lux'ries? You know that's right! Payin us back fo all those yeeahs of oppression and slavery. Damn right bout that! They owe me my welfare check. All the work my ancestors did back then. I shouldn't have tah work at all, my whole lifetime, and I'm what now...twenty-six yeeahs old. I know, how time flys. It seems somehow, I am older than that. But now that I think of it...I guess I am only twenty-six. This is the way tah go though. Belive me when I tell yah this.

Oh, look at me just babblin out of control chil! Come on in! Join us! Just look at all those white folks that have the same kind of neighborhoods as we do. Now, I don't know how in the world theys gettin a sweet deal like we's gettin. They's been free as long as we were enslaved and still gettin R and R. I'm goin tah have tah speak with my congress man bout that. You's know all of us hurr could use dat money they's gettin. And it's a pretty penny, let me tell yah!

Just look at me carryin on chil. Come on in! Take a load off! How did that actor with that ugly lil man on that show go? Oh, I remember, "Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

A Christmas Donning by Morgan Lambert Hopson II, 2014

There were shining lights sparkling bright,
In the wintertime which was such an handsome sight.
All the sparkling vibrant hues
With red, white, green, yellow but mostly blue.
The snow was falling all around as I viewed
Such Beauty of the environment,
A quaint interlude.

Tis A Good Place To Rest (Male, Weary Tribe Person, Poverty Stricken) 2008

Throw me into the ground,
Without a sound,
Or a tear.
Never fear!
No more weeping
Ever more.
I am seeping
Into the place where I lie sleeping;
Whence I came from before.

From Green To Blue (Male In A Toxic Love Relationship) 2003

Oh, I have to leave you,
My fine lady in green!
Alas, my heart will pine for you hence forth,
Til death reaches thine aged chafed lips;
Arid from your lack of nectar to thine soul.
But I'll be back...
Soon I hope.
I'll always come back!
Whether I can stay with you forever?
Thine heart painfully aches
And ponders that very query;
Every second of our
Last days.

The Trust Store: Always Open For Loving Business (Thirty-Four Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 1999

Fuck men! Fuck Women! Or whateva's cleva. Pick your poison muh fucka! Pick yo motha fuckin poison! Shiiit! With yo silly ass. Oh, I'm sorry yo sorry ass feelins got so hurt! Tisk, tisk! We can't have that, can we now? Gonna close up yo, now, rundown sto cause one motha fucka stole from yo monkey ass? The fuck that shit bout? Hunh? Do you have any idea how many stores done got some of their shit stolen? Oh, you do. Well, why'd ya close up shop then? The same shit yo stupid ass was sellin, is the same tired shit they sellin too. And looky there! Those motha fuckas still sellin their tired ass shit! Still the fuck open! Gots to! If ya wants ta survive in this here life! What good is the lil trust you lost if ya keep the rest of the shit all closed up, not for the partaken for otha motha fuckas that will appreciate yo shit? Please tell a niggah! Goddamnit! Oh, the fuck was I thinkin? Yo shit too damn good and priceless fo some sorry ass ta take. Cause, believe me it was a sorry ass motha fucka that took some of yo shit! Best believe that noise! For real!

So, listen here, with yo broke ass self. Open yo sorry ass Trust Store up again. Dress yourself up like you used to. Put a smile on yo goddamn Beautiful face. And make that muh fucka who stole from you understand, "You might have stolen from my sorry ass... But I betcha Black ass this much, somebody else may take some of my shit in the future, like yo sorry ass did, but you'll never get the opportunity to take my shit again!"

And put that sign proudly on your Trust Storefront once more:

"Always Open for Loving Business"

Yah heard may?

Peace! More to come...

Fuck Bitterness! Love...Espouse It From The Mountain Tops! (Thirty-Three Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 1998

Yah see, what chew have tah remember, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, is the fact, you were with that "so-called" loser, Ho, Ho'monger, muh fuckah, bitch, bastard, sorry ass...whatevahthefuck...cause yo ass Loved and still Loves that ass! Oh, yes you do! Point blank! We need tah quit it! Cut out all that bullshit! We some grown asses. We know or knew what the fuck we got our asses into or from. Shiiiiit! While yah playin. And what you have to admit to your sorry, lyin ass, aftah all the shit is said and done, is the fact, the shit wasn't always fuckin bad! Quite the contrary! Oft times it was historic and refreshing tah my sorry, lonely, pathetic life! Fuck whatcha talkin bout! For real! Or why did yah love'em? Or, lets get the shit correct, why do you still Love'em? Don't be ashamed negro! Love is a complex, fucked up emotion no one has evah understood! But don't be ashamed for your Love of that perceived fucked up muh fuckah! Fuck that! You can't fool a recoverin foolah! Nor can yo sorry pitiful ass, lie to a recoverin liah! Stop-that-shit! Right-the-fuck-now! Goddamnit! Shutitthefuckup!

We owe it to our being to admit to one and all that, "I don't care bout the fucked up shit I told y'all or the bad shit I feel that Sweet, Fine mothah fuckah done tah me. I'm glad tah tell yah sorry muh fuckahs, I Loved and still Love that muh fuckah! I'm just mad cause I can't figure out how tah make the shit work!" Ummm! Sweet Lawd!

"But since the muh fuckah refuses tah quit fuckin muh fuckahs for fun, for free and for crack! I just had tah tell that ass, "Fuck yah! Feed yah! I don't need yah! With yo stank, Beautiful ass! And the Love I have fo you, like Mellencamp said, "You make it...hurt so good!""

Nig-gah whah? Yah heard my Black Broke ass!

Peace! More to come...

An Idle Mind Ain't No Good Thang! (Thirty-Two Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 1997

Nasty, low-down men fuckin rapin these lil girls and boys! The fuck wrong with US? Now we got women fuckin these lil boys! The fuck wrong with US? Declination is replete in this fucked up You-S-of-fuckin- A! On a fuckin regulah! The fuck...wrong with US, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs?

And yo ignant asses think this shit is gonnah get bettah? I got news fo yo muh fuckin blues with yo no count havin ass, it fuckin ain't! As a mattah of fact the shit is gonnah get hellah worse! When muh fuckahs ain't workin they start feedin their sorry ass prurient interests. And that ain't no good thang at all! Mothah fuckahs gots too much time on their fuckin hands! Too-much-fuckin-time, goddamnit! For real!

Voltaire wrote, "...labor takes care of three great evils: idleness, want and vice."

So put these asses tah work! Mothah fuckahs! Like they do in the military, 4am to 10pm. And if aftah 18 hours, yo ass ain't tired and takin yo sorry ass tah sleep, stll thinkin bout ch'o sick carnal fantasies and pleasures...then shit! Yo ass gonnah work 22 hours a day! Every fuckin day until you get that ass in check! Until yo ass starts understandin the difference between what the body wants and what the body needs with yo silly sick ass! Sleep deprivation is a mothah fuckah! The most dociling torture evah! Let me tell yo ignant ass som'ehn!

And if aftah runnin around, workin, keepin busy fo 22 hours of a 24 hour day doesn't make yo ass think nothing othah than, fuckin gettin some sleep? Then, "Houston! We've got a problem!"

Peace! More to come...

Healing Time (Female Botanist) August 25, 2020

The east winds will come from the west, carrying with it the north and south of dark grayish misery for a time. Sunshine will be lost for a long while. Oh, the seasons will never change. The temperature will be an oven, a furnace, at first; but then the burst of coolness will assure us that she will be done for a spell. Down for a count or two but not out. Fever is always mixed with the chills. Hell never lasts. She’s just telling us we have once again failed. Inhale the smell of the Mother Earth when she is telling us, guiding us with what we need to be freed. Prairie fires aspire to create another climate to regenerate; reformulate the hate. Seeds, once more, need to be replanted and taken care of and grown. Sown from Mary’s DNA without her having to stay. Thank god for that, I must say.

Applicable (Thirty-One Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 1996

Just because yah monkey ass says that yah understand some shit, don't mean yo ass would do the shit, or you wouldn't think the shit was wrong! Asshole! Shit don't get bettah by not addressin the shit! Hell no! It gets bettah by our asses understandin, we fuckin human goddamnit! And as humans, we do some fucked up shit! And I'm glad tah tell yah, I understand that shit! But that shit's fucked up! For real!

Don't cost yo ass nothin tah say that yah understand some of this bullshit that's goin on! Gratis, muh fuckah tah admit some shit! But...and yo ass knows that's a big ass "but," yah have tah address the bullshit! If anothah human does some shit? Well, hell...I can understand it. But, that's some wrong ass shit! Don't be scared that anothah sorry ass human gonnah think ill of you and judge you for understandin the fucked up shit yo sorry ass finally admittin tah understandin! Shiiiit! That mothah fuckah's the problem, not chew! They tryin tah deny what's true, our fucked up behavior and the thought processes that went along with carryin out that fucked up behavior! But shit, it's not like you gonnah do some shit, or yo ass don't think the shit is wrong!

I mean, it's like ol Bobbitt when his wife cut his dick off and threw the mothah fuckah out the vehicles window, while rollin, puttin the icin on the dick snip! Now, that shit is wrong and fucked up all day long, but I'm glad tah tell yo scared ass...I understand! Shiiit! Say whatch'o broke sorry ass wants to muh fuckah! Man or woman catch their significant othah fuckin, lickin, freakin and kissin anothah mothah fuckah...The fuck!

And don't tell me no shit like, "Oh, I would tell him/her to get out of the house immediately!" The fuck you think yo ignant ass talkin to? And if that's yo pathetic response? I'm glad tah tell yah again...I understand! And you can kiss my Black ass too!

Shiiit! Yo ass ain't evah felt that sweet stranglehold of Love then! Cause I'm glad tah bust yo bubble My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothas, you don't pick fuckin Love! No! No! No! Love picks yo Black ass! Straight up! Ain't no choice in Love! Real Love! Sweet fine ass Love! Good Lawd! And tah witness that Sweet Fine Ass Love, fuckin anothah, givin yo Sweet Fine Ass Love to anothah mothah fuckah...fuck that! Somebody bout ready tah get shot or cut, badly! Maybe even fatally, while yah playin! And the shit is wrong all day, er day! But...I understand goddamnit!

Yo ass may have tah do some time muh fuckah! Oh, yes yo Black ass just might! But I understand! Once yo ass takes it out of that Sweet Fine Ass Love's Beautiful feelin that was imprinted in your soul and give in to its bad sibling, Hate? Then, Sweet Fine Ass Love don't have nothin tah do with the shit! Hate done took the fuck ovah and, once again, Sweet Fine Ass Love's been fucked!

And I Hate tah admit it My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs...Shiiiit...I understand that shit too!

Peace! More to come...

I Do? (Frustrated, Now Out of Love, Middle-Aged, Female, Tribes Person) 2000

Love pays dick! What do you want me to tell you.? Some pointless trite expression about how love will carry you through this life; how love is what we humans need; how love is lifelong…Shit! Like I said before, on the real, love pays dick! Bupkus! Nil! Rien! Nothing! I wish it were so easy where I could look lovingly in my life partner’s eyes all day, eat, drink, be merry and have coital activity on a regular. Oh, I wish. But wishing is for fools, which I am not. I am a realist. And being as such, I understand the reality of the situation, love don’t pay the fucking bills which are perpetually accumulating. Other people have this predisposed idea that love is easy. Quite the adverse. Love is hard as hell. True love anyway. And that’s what I am trying to tell you about, true love.

True love is about acceptance, not only of the love you have for another, but also about the love of letting that one who you love to be who they are and accepting it no matter what you have to do to continue feeling that true love of that one. Even if that means letting that ass go for awhile or a lifetime so they can spread their perspective wings and fly to whomever they want to catch air with or from other than your tired ass. To hell with it! What one does should have no basis to your baseless foundation to the true love you have for one. Because the base is always settling, readjusting. Solid ground? Puh-leeze! Your love may be a rock, granite but you would be a fool to speak for another.

And I am quite sure there are smart asses sitting up there saying, “My Love pays way more than dick girl!” Okay, pussy. Pussy, dick…what-the-fuck-ever, it pays the same. Nothing! Absolutely! One shouldn’t get rewarded to what one emotes as a human being as being sentient. We have done this shit all fucked up! When I hear people before they are even getting married talking about the bullshit of getting a prenuptial agreement. Then what the fuck is your ass going to get married for? Did you really mean those vows which you recited in front of humans and God after your stupid ass signed that prenup? People voiding a future contract even before a contract has been validated with sacred vows of marriage?

What is a bitch missing?

I Am (Female, Revolutionist, Tribes Person) 2019

I am the light which shines through with its first rays of the day to cause billions to stir.

I am the voice which speaks that goes on inside your head saying throughout that same day, “There’s something wrong! Life has to be more than this.”

I am the truth which tears down the lies…

I am!

And so too are You!

Et Tu Notre American Federal Government (Twenty-Four Years Old, Revolutionist, Male, Tribes Person) 2014

USA, is just the business name for America. Put any name you want to on it, it still is America. But the name, America, got put on hold for a fuckin price, a sorry ass business venture.

Let's turn this great country of America into a thriving corporation! And we'll call it, "United States of America!" Got kind of a ring to it? Doesn't It?

Just like our Conseco Field House should be named, Indianapolis Field House. Or our Lucas Oil Stadium should be named, Indianapolis stadium. Shiit! Our old Market Square Arena should have been called...Market Square Arena! Cause it was Our shit! Not a corporation's shit?! Our shit! Goddamnit!

And with the advent of the long standing business sobriquet, "United States of America," this American must deduce...They done stole and sold Our shit! Mothah fuckahs! For real! Lets get the shit back! "By any means necessary!" I heard that! Power to the mothah fuckin people! And you know that's right!

Baggage Claim (Thirty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet (Name Revealed), Pre-Salvation) 1995

The same mothah fuckahs that tells yo sorry ass, "I don't understand," are the same mothah fuckahs that do understand, but for some fucked up conditioned mentality they refuse to acknowledge the shit. Why? Because. Because they are fuckin scared to see this fucked up life the way it is and scared to see what this life has formed them into. And they are scared to acknowledge the fucked up shit they have within their being.

Am I correct? Shiit! I don't fuckin know goddamnit! But that's the way I see the shit. I've looked long and hard into my psyche and just like everybody else, on this fucked up planet, my ass comes with a lot of fucked up baggage that has my name on it, Meredith Singleton Hopson. And on this carousel of life I gotstah claim that fuckin tired ass baggage. Take ownership of my shit! No need for unclaimed baggage. It might as well be empty, shit, as far as the ones that picks the shit up for me and carries my shit to the endless amounts of the baggage thrown on this already heap of refuse of a life. The fuck they gonnah do with it eventually? Open the shit up they'd be sayin, "The fuck was a muh fuckah carryin this shit round for?"

But, I, the owner knows; hence, the reason I have to claim the shit! So mothah fuckahs can learn, understand. Yo ass may think it's worthless baggage, but let me tell you about this lil tidbit here. Oh, and this shit here, you won't believe this...

Well, I'll be damned! Who the fuck knew? My ass certainly did! Best belee dat noise!

If yo ass is a crackhead, shiiit, be an ex-crackhead goddamnit! And don't give ah fuck bout what muh fuckahs say bout the shit, "Once a crackhead, always a crackhead!" If yah wannah embrace that truth...well...I'm glad tah tell yah that truth would and will be correct, you crackhead mothah fuckah! But if yah wannah change yo shit, can't nobody tell you what or who you are or who you'll be! No-fuckin-body! But, I just have one admonition fo yo sorry ass. If crack is one thousand times more addictive than these cigarettes that I smoke and have tried , and still tryin, to give these nasty mothah fuckahs up, all I can say is, sorry for your fuckin choice and luck! Shiiit! And yo ass may just be a crackhead for the rest of yo sorry ass crackhead havin mothah fuckin life! And that ain't no Beautiful thang at all! Fuckin Ugly! It don't fuckin mattah! That's yo fuckin shit! Pick it the fuck up! And claim your fuckin shit! That's all I'm sayin! Yah heard may?

Peace! More to come...

Keep On Dancing (Twenty-Three Years Old, Male, Tribe Person's Poem To His Female Twin Flame) 1984

You are always in my thoughts.
Oh, sometimes you get buried slightly,
In my mind which is full;
Full of life's turmoil and pain.
You are how I bring myself back
To life;
To a little happiness,
For a short while.
You are my escape from this life;
Taking away life's enduring suffering.
You are like a dancer;
Who dances in my thoughts,
Then in an instant
Goes backstage
To return
For encores;
Which I applaud and encourage
With much fervor;
And you comply
To my utter enjoyment.

The Day Doesn't Really Begin Until You Say, "Fuck It!" (Blog Author, Tribe Person, Quasi-Satirist) 2009

You know what I did this mornin, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs? I woke up! That's the first thang My Black ass did, I woke the fuck up! Shiit, if yah don't do that first action, then what's the fuckin point aftah that? So, yo sorry ass gotstah wake up.

The second thang I did was used the bathroom.

The third and fourth thang I did was made a pot of coffee and fired up a cigarette. The last two steps are the most critical aftah the first has been executed of course. The third and the fourth action allows the brain to connect with the body, have tah plug intah this bitch befo the fucked up day begins.

The fifth action that I did was I started fuckin thinkin. Now, I'm awake, relieved myself, drinkin coffee, smokin a cigarette and thinkin. Yah see, it's not the third and fourth that's the problem. Hell no! It's that damn fifth one. The bad fuckin habit, that fuckin fifth step or action. Some would argue the forth also but...whatevah! Everybody thinks. Everybody don't do the fourth action, but that's the fuckin point.

Anyway, the fifth action, along with the third and fourth, the fuckin sorry ass thoughts came about:

"How the fuck am I goin tah pay the IRS close to 4000 dollars in back taxes with my broke ass? I wonder what My Daughter's doin right now? Damn, rent's due! The car needs a heater core. The car needs an alignment bad. The car needs front and rear brakes. I need some money for gas. Do I have enough money for the week to get me back and forth from work until I get paid? Do I have any money in the bank? I wish I could afford another pack of smokes. Gottah send this weeks child support...."

It was during the fifth action, although it's a bad fuckin habit tah think (let me tell yah), that clarity began. Because along with those thoughts of imminent insolvency bombardin my thought processes, that one lil whisper, of the various thoughts racin, stayed a constant, "But you can't do a damn thang about it Meredith. You gottah just keep pushin the fuck on." And that whisper got more and more pronounced, now speaking loudly from the fore. And with the exhaling of the final drag I was workin on, the words eased out of my mouth, "Fuck it!"

The Kiss (Twenty-Three Years Old Male's Letter Experiencing The First Kiss From Female Tribe Member of The Same Age) 1985

It always starts with a kiss. A feeling unexplainable. A breeze coming from the most unexpected time to waft in ones face when it is the hottest and most uncomfortable time of year. One smiles and appreciates the lull, the reprieve if not for a second, a little while. Never sexual in nature but one of euphoric love and splendor for the love one that kissed one so lovingly, assuredly. It was as if it was in slow motion as I watched her face coming into my direction and finally her lips met mine and the heavens opened up. True bliss finally coming to visit me and engulf me, I don’t know how long the kiss lasted but for me it will always last until eternity, until I am on my deathbed, the smile will always form on my face thinking of her kiss. Her lips so succulent, tasty, full, pink and so juicy, like savoring an excellent peach, strawberry or any kind of fruit ripened to perfection, at the height of its age. Then I opened my eyes and she peered through me, perusing my soul and I saw the knowing smile that she was pleased with what she had witnessed peering into my being. And she kissed me again and I melted away onto another planet of existence. Nothing mattered, only her kiss and her presence. A wonderful drug of emotion that I was instantly addicted to. I didn’t want her lips to leave mine, her sweet breath and soft lips, parting my lips softly with her tongue and exploring as did mine.

It's Only A Matter Of Time (Twenty-Nine Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 1994

The world is fucked up! That ain't no kinda epiphany tah yah. And I sho in the fuck don't have tah say it twice fo yo Broke sorry asses tah understand. Yao Ming?

Knee deep in this shithole! And the shit is constantly risin. Pretty soon gonnah have tah tilt yo head back so yo fuckin nose won't be inhalin the shit directly intah yo lungs. Ears cloggin the fuck up with shit. But all yah doin then is buyin yo self a lil mo time until the inevitable happens...cause the shit's perpetually risin and yah have tah breath!

Eventually we all choke aftah inhalin, physically, the raw sewage into our lungs. Those same lungs fillin up with the shit. Then yo sorry ass can honestly gurgle, "I'm actually drownin in this shit!" With yo last, sorry ass, fetid breath!

Peace! More to come...

Foreigner In A Foreign Land Talkin Shit, Ain't Too Smart At All (Twenty-Nine Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 1994

AHHHH...a muh fuckah just gotstah breath goddamnit! Gotstah! Fuck you want me tah tell yo sorry ass? If yah ain't breathin, then cyanosis sets in...and adios muchachos! The fuck I'm doin? Writin Spanish? The fuck?! I have a Brothah that suggested to me, about my Daughter, "You need to start teaching her Spanish." Shiiit nig-gah! Name me one spanish speaking country that's doin the damn thang? I'm waitin...That's what I thought! Shit, be better off teaching her Chinese or Japanese some shit! Cause speakin Spanish ain't gonna get her any place, in Her future life, but bein possibly knocked up by somebody broke who speaks Spanish! The fuck I look like muh fuckah? People say shit that don't make two good fucks of sense tah my sorry broke Black ass!

Yo sorry ass talks tah muh fuckahs from different countries and shit. The first thing they start spittin is, how they love their country and how great their country is. Well, shit! My question, with yo no count hypocritical sorry ass is, "The fuck yo ass doin the fuck here mothah fuckah?" Talkin shit! I'm twenty-nine fuckin years old goddamnit! And I ain't, not one time in my Black ass 29 year life, had to bust ah move to anothah country, outside of this U-S-of-fuckin-A, tryin tah make a livin! Not once! But yo sorry no count foreign ass talkin bout how great yo, missin in action ass, country is and yo ass is whah, nineteen or whatevahthefuck age yo sorry ass is? The fuck you think you talkin to nig-gah? Shut the fuck up with that noise! For real! The proof is in the mothah-fuckin-puddin, you foreign quasi-elitist asshole!

And the query still the fuck stands, "If your country is so great, what the fuck yo Black, brown, white, Asian...whatevahthefuck, ass doin-the-fuck-here?!" The fuck! Muh fuckah! Talk tah me like I'm crazy! Puh-leeze!

And it is still...A Beautiful thang, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Oh, yes it is! Peace! More to come...

Humans 'Til The End (Thirty- Four Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 1999

Sit and spit while the cigarette is lit, burning out without being enjoyed, annoyed by its ignored thinkers; its indulgers who have not taken a drag to lag from the memory of the mammary of birth. Purse the lips to take sips from the hips and the nipple with the ripple of the sands of time. Slime building up from the E cup causing all to hiccup because of its rare cares. Swears coming from the multitude from the minority getting the majority of the nourishment meant for all, a small infinitesimal of the call to the living. Giving misgivings at an enormous rate. Relate to the state of the past. Last for a few milliseconds. Confesses to Sampson’s transgressions. Lessons never learned from the preoccupation of self. Wealth an acme to the state of the union and communion. Pray to stay and lay for another good night’s sleep and weep about the situation of these days. Pays a huge dividend for the shit to come to a halting end, for sin never to conquer, never to win.

A Good Sleep II (Blog Author, Tribe Person, Quasi-Satirist) 2007

“It’s just, like, you know, um…I was taken from this life, man. And, and, I had so much more to give it, you know what I’m sayin. I was there like,” Hendrix finally looked up and asked, “You know what I’m sayin right Psalm? And by the way! I’m diggin that name, man,” he said.

“Thank you. And, I feel yah on that on the real! That’s what I said when Tupac went out of here!” I said.

“Tupac? I’m sorry man. I’m lost? Who’s this Tupac?” Hendrix asked.

“Are we going to visit Uncle Tupac, Uncle Jimi?” Sarah asked.

“How do you know this Tupac and I don’t, Sarah?” Jimi asked.

“Cause I get around!” Sarah did her closest Tupac impersonation.

“You know you need tah quit it Sarah! No you didn’t!” I said while I thought I would loose a lung from laughing so hard. Now that was some wit that Little Lady had. Fo sho! “Sarah please tell Pac to teach you some lines from Brenda’s gotta baby or something. That line, you just shouldn’t be using,” I was still laughing because Sarah busted out, “I here Brenda’s gotta baby, but Brenda’s barely got brain, a…”

“Okay, maybe not that one either Sarah, “I cut her off still having difficulty breathing, tears rolling down my face.

“Let’s go visit Uncle Tupac, Uncle Jimi, Please!” Sarah said.

“I still don’t know who this Tupac is. And what was that she was doin, man. I mean, you know…I’m confused, who’s this cat?” Hendrix asked.

“Put it simply Jimi, after you left there were a lot more musical genres that came out, a genre called Rap or Hip-Hop spawned and they mostly rhyme the verses.” I said.

“And, um, they’re listening to that now, man?” Hendrix said sounding totally confused.

“All day er’day! While yah playin'” I explained.

“Let’s go visit Uncle Tupac, Uncle Jimi! We’re sure to find some place playing his music and he will be around one of them rapping along with his songs. Let’s go Uncle Jimi! You have to meet Uncle Tupac! You just have to! He’s so cool!”

Sarah began to lead Hendrix off and I asked, “Sarah, what were you going to ask me from the last time?”

“See, you later Uncle Psalm! I love you!” As she turned quickly to blow me a kiss. Poof! Along with Jimi.

(to be continued...)

A Good Sleep (Blog Author, Tribe Person, Quasi-Satirist) 2007

“Stop it!” I yelled out to myself. Sometimes I had to hear my thoughts in order for the thoughts to be heard somehow to my body and mind that were craving various things because of vices I had obtained. I had started to self medicate right after my Daddy died. I was the only one to call my Father that term of endearment. The only one out of fifteen children which said, Daddy unabashedly. One of two that did not go to the funeral of their Father. My other sibling was out to lunch, a casualty mentally to the United States Post Office, my Brother giving even more credence to the saying, “Going Postal.” I had my own reasons of why I did not attend my Daddy’s funeral. I was and would always be called the Baby. Here I was, hittin forty like a mug and still being called, Baby. I guessed it could be worse.

The various induced chemicals I would partake in were becoming a hindrance to my being. To my well being, and that was no good at all. I was either always feeling tired or my stomach was upset, or like now tonsils bothering the dog shit out of me. Had no health insurance whatsoever, so there was no need to go to the doctor, I had went a few times before, two times to the emergency room for palpitations and another two times to my family physician for Tachycardia. In every instance over 500 dollars, so over two thousands dollars all together. After the last time I said to myself, I would have to be damn near dying before thinking about going to another emergency room or doctor. And each time only giving me a prescription and on one occasion giving me a 500 milligram of Motrin and sending me on my broke ass way. I knew how it worked. I had spoken to some other doctors in social settings and they had asked one question, “Did you have insurance?” I had told them all, “No. What difference does that make?” The various doctors I had spoken with in some form or another just said plainly, “The Doctors want to insure payment not only to themselves but to the various medical facilities they work for so if you don’t have insurance and you are not wealthy, the doctors treating you are going to do as little as possible to get you out of their perspective facility. The medical world is not as ethical as it used to be. It’s all about the green. And most often than not, no insurance means no green is going to come their way. That’s just the way the monkey swings on the trees these days. Plain and simple.”

It was some fucked up shit, but I knew one was conditioned to work in the corporate environment, when one tries to break free they suffer a penalty, no healthcare, no good credit rating, no house, no wife, no car, no American Dream and in great peril of being homeless.
But it was getting worse by the day anyway. People were not giving a damn. My mindset started to get the same way, but I had to do a reality check. I knew sooner or later, unless I died instantly from some sudden illness I would have to go to the hospital for something with my aging mortal self. I was getting older by the minute and I had pains now boy! Didn’t know whatever happened to that young athletic man I used to see in the mirror everyday? I would smile at the older and of course now aging body of mine. I still would not change anything for the world. There was only one person that could live my life, myself. I took a lot of satisfaction from that, like everyone should, can’t no one do the damn thing like you, I would say to myself. There was and will always be only one like myself and I had been looking at that person for some 40 years now.

Forty years! It seemed all a blur to me. Sometimes I would think about things that had transpired when I was in high school and it only seemed like yesterday. Really. Now, I am getting days all mixed up, and years for god sake! A year was 365 days long and I would often forget what year I was living in. Sad awhile, I thought.

Psalm Jackson. I thought of my name often in life wondering what in the world my parents were thinking about when they had named me? But I had found out my Mommy loved her some book of Psalm! Lord have mercy on that darling piece of work my Mommy was. Even to this day, at the age of 90, still having all of her faculties, could quote a scripture in a second, and oh how much information she contained. But still, Psalm? Come on now! But, “It is finished! Amen!”

I looked up at my high ceilings in my apartment and I wished I could push them all the way to the sky, so I could look out and see the world, heavenly. A wondrous site to behold I was sure. Looking at the mothah fuckah from ground zero, now that was some definitely ugly shit. People were ugly; spirits all tore the fuck up! Taking their given vexations and angst out on everybody they came in contact with. All I could think of was, “Why don’t you just stay your Black ass at home if you are going to act ugly!” They never did. It seemed as though the more people were frustrated the more they wanted to go out in the world and share the ugliness. “Stop The World I Want To Get Off!” I forgot where that saying or lyric maybe came from but it was appropriate. I also remembered a song that had the line, “We’re on a plane to nowhere…No matter where you go, there you are…” I liked that. But it did absolutely nothing for the situation I was in and would be in until I died, depressed, hopeless, broke and just fuckin tired!

I breathed in slowly, trying to meditate. Brain was way to active for that meditation bullshit so I did what I did in these times, I found my pack of Gauloise and indulged. Just one though. I was up to about two packs when I changed from lights to a full flavor brand, Gauloise about three months ago. If anyone could smoke more than ten of the very strong French cigarettes I would have to say, it was only a matter of time before something very detrimental to their health would come about. I remembered I took the first drag off of the first one I’d ever had, and had inhaled like the Lights I was used to. Mistake! I coughed with tears coming out of my eyes. Harsh as hell. But it did do the trick. I only smoked now when my nerves got way too edgy. Needed to calm them the fuck down, and here I was trying like hell to stay away from the cannabis delecti for at least 30 days because of these sorry ass bastards wanting to drug test every poor mothah fuckah like myself just to work an eight dollar an hour job. Shit, the President doesn’t get drug tested, nor does congress or the house or supreme court justices, the fuckin cops…The fuck! Fucked up times ten!

I inhaled just slightly more than the last drag, still caught a little in the back of my throat from the harshness but I relaxed, exhaled and got a little light headed from the square. I remembered Gauloise was a little different back in the day because the manufacturer produced every cigarette with a natural cotton filter, plus it was a little wider gauge than how they produced them now, still strong as hell, but when they had the cotton filter it seemed not as bad somehow. But back then too I was smoking Marlboro Reds so what the hell!

I had to quit. Chest hurtin like a muh fucka. Tongue after scraping it with a tongue scraper, well I used a kitchen butter knife, would result in this brownish-yellowish buildup that would come off after scraping. Nas-to-the-ty! Teeth taking on a very unattractive yellowish hue. Mommy would call it, corn on the teeth, but she would say the word ‘corn’ like ‘keyarn.’ She still would say it to this day. Oh, she never avowed that to me, I never knew why she hadn’t. Mommy was almost like a child, saying truths but not meaning any harm, just saying what she observed and expressed it accordingly. No malice ever being the eventual causative effect. But even if it was, Mommy was entitled to say whatever she damn well pleased, as far as I was concerned being how long she had lived and what she had seen throughout her life. I smiled thinking of her like I did most often. The memories of Mommy and Daddy always a good feeling in my soul. I kept them close though my Daddy had passed I still felt his presence, and the golden smile he had. That one gold tooth on his upper plate twinkling as my Father would be laughing or smiling from some witticism someone or my Daddy would have said. I missed my Daddy.
A tear came down my face as I smoked and looked up at the ceiling of my small, small apartment. One o’clock in the afternoon and I was acting as if I had not a care in the world, like I really had time to be sitting, well laying on my futon and not being productive. One of the rich with my broke ass! The cigarette was almost gone so I took one good last pull and extinguished it. Turned back on my back again, exhaled and had a very good crying session.

I had awakened for no other reason because my back was killing me from the cheap Wal-Mart futon. Never again, I thought. Darkness had fallen over the sky. I had slept another day away. Nothing accomplished but another pity party with myself and the souls that visited me on a regular occurrence. They always having enough courtesy to let me sleep for at least a little while. I didn’t know why they bothered me. There were so many people out there that were way more exciting. Way more interesting. But maybe that’s why they came to visit me, I had time to listen while everyone else faced the rat-race everyday for the rest of their life. Thinking somehow their perspective jobs were secure in this insecure working environment. I was still depressed, the sleep had done nothing but to make me more aware of the ticking time that forever was a backdrop in my life. Time just moving, while I stayed stagnated. Unmotivated. “Damn that!” I said aloud looking at my pack of Gauloise, my nerves were shot, I rolled off of my futon, put on my shoes and hit the door.

I drove to a local gas station, and went in. “A pack of Camel Lights please! In the box if you have them. Thank you.” I paid and while walking to my car I started taking the cellophane rapper off the top. Got into my car, found a lighter in the glove box, and fired one of the cigarettes up. I inhaled without reservation knowing how it would taste, being much smoother than the Gauloise. Couldn’t take those muh fuckas no more today, well this evening. I took another drag, put my car in drive and went home with a slight smile on my face. It's the little things about this life, I thought to myself.

When I entered my apartment, like usual, I wanted to just start with my futon and throw most of the shit out! Just start chucking shit. Fuck it! Start the fuck anew! I had noticed throughout my life people hung on to too much shit! Accumulating things that weren’t pertinent or not needed in the grand scheme of things. Oh, I didn’t believe in people not taking care of their own stuff but people saw things as more important than human beings and I never wanted to get there. Just like my car, I only had liability on it, if something happened to the thing, broke down…whatever, I would give it to the “Cars For The Blind,” and call it a day, it was pat and turns from then on out. No problem. I remembered when I was younger, always washing and waxing my car, vacuuming it out…fuck that! The car I had now I had not washed it since it had been handed down to me some three years ago. Point ‘A’ to point ‘B,’ that’s all I needed a car for really, to get me where the fuck I was going and to get me back from where I had went. Oh, back then I was tryin to impress the ladies. Like now, the ladies paid me no attention, Eagle Talon or repossessed Eagle Talon, I drove a Chevrolet Beretta now with my broke ass.
I didn’t smile too much anymore. Oh, I smiled but it was this smile that I had been working on all my life, a friendly, no problems in the world smile. The “Hi yah doin Ladies? Yeah, yeah, I see yah with your fine ass!” kind of smile. I remembered all the time people would ask me, “Are you all right? Is something wrong?” Something was always wrong but I didn’t want to share what was going on inside of me, a depressive state for no other reason than to be depressed. I didn’t know what the fuck to tell them that would make sense so I noticed that if I gave people a teeth filled smile, the questions about my feelings ceased, so I smiled this grand beatific smile for all the world to see because they really did not want to hear my moroseness. Shit, I didn’t even want to hear it and it was going through my mind all the time. Constantly.

My lord, I thought! It was very dark in the room save for the light from the computer screen. She had scared the holy shit out of me. “What chew doin'?”

“Shit,” I hollered out and turned to see she was eye level with me while I sat, she had been looking over my shoulder. She was a cute Little Lady.

“I’m so sorry Psalm. I didn’t mean to scare you,” She had said with the cutest voice.

“No need to be sorry Little Lady. I should be used to it by now. I just didn’t expect any of you for a little while. I remember you all used to only visit at certain times but its anytime now. I should have known. And I’m sorry for cursing,” I said.

“You don’t have to be Psalm! My Daddy would cuss at me all the time. I have spoken with the others and they said you were a nice man to visit. Everyone seems to like you! So I thought I’d come and visit for awhile since I noticed no one had your ear yet,” she said, and giggled just slightly.

I smiled back. “Well as you can see, I’m not your Father and I would not cuss in front of a Little Lady like you if I’d known,” I said.

“That’s so sweet! I wish I could kiss you right on the cheek,” she let out a little shy giggle again, “So what chew doin’?”

“Just writing that’s all. Getting some things out! I have to or I will go mad if I don’t. And we wouldn’t want that would we?” I said, still smiling at the Little One.

“I can leave if you need to finish…” She said.

“No. No. Don’t do that. I can finish this anytime. And I don’t think I have been introduced to you before. What’s your name?”

“Sarah,” she said.

“Don’t tell me. Your parents were very religious too!” I said.

“How did you know that? That is very eerie how you knew that,” she said.

“Oh, Sarah, stop it! Don’t you see? I’m Psalm and your name is Sarah,” I said.

“No, I don’t get it. You see, I was only eight when I passed away. I’m still learning though but I don’t get what you are trying to say,” She said.

“You and I just have biblical names that’s all. Like in the Bible,” I said.

“I know what the Bible is silly,” she giggled again and continued to stand next to me, “Oh, I get it, like both of our names are in the bible and that is where My Mommy and Daddy got mine from. And your Mommy and Daddy got yours from!”

“Right on Little Lady! You got soul!” I said and I held up the black power sign.

“You’re funny. I wonder why I haven’t visited you before? You are very nice. And easy to talk to. I like you Psalm! I see why everybody else does,” she said.

“Well, thank you. And you are sweet yourself. Can I ask you a question?” I asked.

“Sure! I have nothing but time Psalm.” Sarah said.

“Okay, every soul that comes to visit me the first time knows my name. How’s that?” I asked.

“Oh, silly. We know it because we are still very courteous to the living. Well some of us are. You see, if I was to just say, What chew doin, without saying your name you might get intimidated. So as to be polite and so you will welcome us back again, we say your name so you may know that we are here. I told you everyone likes you. You are never going to be without company. Ever! How much everyone speaks about you,” she said.

“I don’t know if that is good or not.” I said.

“That is very good. I have found out, though, I haven’t been here long, that if you are not liked, no one visits you and you have no, I think they called them, creative thoughts. Just, ‘going with the flow’ as Uncle Jimi told me,” she said.

“Who’s Uncle Jimmy?” I asked.

“Oh, Jimi Hendrix. He told me he could play the guitar like nobody’s business in the living body. He says he misses being able to play his own music, ‘cause nobody can strum those cat hairs like I used to do!’” she paused shortly to giggle again, “He doesn’t talk to too many of us. He is still in his transitional period like they say I am,” she said.

“Jimi Hendrix! The man! He never lied to you on that one Sarah! The man could play it behind his back, with his tongue…I never saw him play it with his toes but I’m sure he could!” I said.

“You know Uncle Jimi, Psalm?” Sarah asked excitedly.

“Don’t know him. Know of him! That’s it! Yeah, he died very young, way before his prime which is scary to think about what other kind of tunes he could have spit out!” I said.

“Spit out?” she asked.

“Recorded. You know, before he died. How many other albums or songs he could have left for us to listen to,” I said.

“Oh! I understand what you are saying, but I never could listen to music, or watch television! I was even home schooled. I was only able to read and write. So we have something in common. You were also writing when I arrived,” she said.

“Yeah, a way to quell the noise going on inside my brain Little Lady,” I said.

“Noise? What kind of noise is that?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. Let’s just say it is one of my hobbies,” I said.

“He said he would find a place where we could listen to his music but we haven’t been able to find too many people playing his songs. So when we hear it echoing, we follow the echoes until we are where the music is coming from and usually when we get there, the person has started listening to something else. He is kinda of bummed-out because he said he thought his music would forever be played all over the world based on the other, inferior guitarists, as Uncle Jimi would put it. That’s why they say he is still in a transitional phase because he hasn’t let go of the other body,” she said.

“Little lady you sure don’t speak like any eight year old I’ve ever met. It seems as though you are learning a lot,” I said.

“Some things,” she said and looked down kind of shyly.

“What’s wrong Sarah? Is there anything I can do?” I asked. Now, kind of feeling sad because I could not help Sarah physically, a hug, holding her hand…something tangible to make her understand that she isn’t alone in this life. And that was the problem I could not comfort her at all except with words.

“There was another reason I came to visit you,” she said letting the sentence fade at the end.

“What Sarah. I don’t know what I can do but I’ll sure try,” I said.

Sarah looked up, eyes wide open, “No! I’ll tell you what. I’m going to go and find Uncle Jimi and talk to him about it. Then I’ll bring him back for you to meet him. Okay?” She said.

“Jimi Hendrix? You gonna bring Jimi Hendrix to my home? And you comin back with him?” I asked, still in disbelief. I didn’t know why a guy that used to be of his caliber would be visiting a ‘cat’ like me because there were all kinds of guitarists or musicians…hell, a lot of people, he could visit and talk to.

“Of course, silly. I’ll see you later when I find him. Kay?” Sarah blew me a kiss, turned and vanished.

“Mothah Fuckah! What the fuck is goin on?” I said out loud to myself, now that Sarah was out of earshot, as I continued to look in the direction where Sarah had disappeared, while I fired a Camel Light up and inhaled mightily.

It was lonely sometimes when there was a lull, maybe five sometimes twelve hours before one of them would visit. And if I were asleep most of the time when I awakened I might wake up and see a soul looking at me until I was oriented, ready to talk. But sometimes it was like most of the time I would wake up and see a congregation of souls in my apartment talking to one another until I had awakened fully and they would all greet me and let me in on what was really going on in the spirit world. And likewise I would get them up to speed on what is really going on mortally. So it was like trade-off really. Though they could experience all of this themselves it was still like they were in contact with a living that understood what life is really about.
I remembered speaking to a soul and they had informed me of what the real afterlife is about, there were two really he had informed me. “One, like I, who was killed or died in some instance or another, we are the real ‘dead’ souls. But then you have others whose souls are dead and that are now in the afterlife, but they have a chance at anytime to get back within their regular life until mortality ceases to that individuals soul’s human body. So, as you can see Psalm, you can have déjà vu. You see you can see spirits while you sleep or awake and they pass in and out of your consciousness, and the living dead souls are still walking on earth amongst all of you. Just a shell though. Nothing there, save for something that might trigger them to come back to their mortal body.” (to be continued)

Seeing Is Believing? (Loquacious , Thirty-Two Year Old, Male, Tribe Person) 1976

I often think of these people I understand as the human species: them, we, us, I. I often get a little embarrassed. Thinking about how one has the right to procreate or not. People put more time in wondering what to eat or when to get up than about considering having a child; to bring another human being into this world. The human race. Thinking we are the only species that can reason. Maybe the other animals: dogs, cats, and horses...Maybe they think they are the only species that can reason. Having a language all their own. Communicating on an entirely different level than what we can put into subjective thought. Having a mindset of the millions of Africans in their own land succumbing to slavery. Maybe a long time ago their species came to the realization not to fight against humans or any other animals that enslaves them. And we not understanding the reasoning of said animals. It is said by the scientists that the world has been here some billions and millions of years. Maybe it has. Maybe every animal on this earth at one time or another thought they were the only ones that reasons and given that reasoning one must understand another species will eventually take over what we call earth and become the only animals to perceive to be reasoning. I think one is not empathetic enough when one is an elitist and think we are on the top of the food chain.

The human species. The most laughable species on this entire earth. Thinking we have control over the other animals and elements of this environment. Understanding this world is finite and we only are fooling ourselves thinking we are rulers of this habitat. Thinking about how we are made up. I have to wonder if what the scientists call microorganisms or bacteria are rulers of this earth if one really wants to muse over the existentialistic side of life. Give into this life and world and I think we would come up with a whole new perspective of this life. One has to look at humility. Understanding one has their limits or life span one must look at the unanswered question, “Why are we here?” That trite ,undeniable, fuckin’ get on your nerves question. The question still remains the same. But, I digress, maybe it hasn’t. Maybe each and every one us have the ability to answer that question but for fear of boredom decide not to do just that. To remain silent until the final response must be asked than answered as in death. You see we must all answer that question at one point in life or in death, finally succumbing to that inescapable query. One we should have answered long ago, yet, now we must answer.

Alas, maybe that is even wrong. Maybe what we do is keep denying until the end of time, as we know it. But maybe that is kind of a play on words. A somewhat confusing statement given the fact, do we really know there is an end of time? Maybe time is relative given the individual who is looking at time. Maybe time is ongoing yet, we just keep putting limitations on this element of truth. Trying like hell a long time ago to keep on denying the question or avoiding it all together. That’s why maybe people die so young and maybe that is why people die a tragic and painful death. Maybe they realized in a certain span of time, maybe too soon, what this life is really about and with the knowledge at hand is a demonstration to all what happens to one and all who attain this knowledge.

Let’s stop right there. Lets digress just a little and maybe think to ourselves on why this little bit is able to transpire. All of this is able to take place because o f peoples selfishness. Trying to play and accomplishing the feat of creation by some symbiotic dance we call coital activity. Not being able to pull it off ourselves with some divine gift to waive perspective hand and “Poof!” Another human is born. No we have not that power. But given all that we know, (given the fact I know anything ) what one must confront given the fact of our subjective mind, which gives all of us subjective truths. But you see that is even up to argument because maybe I don’t even understand the truth, that is the truth of popular belief. Given the fact I see the truth subjectively. Maybe the truth is not subjective at all but objective. Just one-dimensional not being able to be discussed or discoursed over. Because you can plainly see if I did not see it as the latter I can not with great certainty say I am really a person or human being or I am even typing these words which I imagine someone will some day, and say, “Yes, these are words. And these are sentences. And yes, these are paragraphs. And yes, by cracky, this is an essay about reality. Or so it was perceived or not perceived by one man.” Screwy is it not?

You see reality is a cacophony of confusing ideologies and thoughts. Meshing together to make truths or in this matter perceived truths. Maybe , reality is something I imagine all the time. Making up objects, new people, places on a day to day basis. Making my intangible world tangible by shear thought or subconsciously. But if one gives into that reasoning, it would give a person pause because if that is all we are, shear thought, life as we know it ceases, and what is next? Ah, now there is a query I don’t hear too often; What’s next? To pose that question to oneself brings about thinking of the hereafter and what is next. Now we get into another question that goes along with the aforementioned query, Why are we here? So after one asks that to oneself over and over maybe in this instance they ask themselves the wrong question. Maybe the question is wrong all together. We know or at least on some conscious level we are here, given the fact you see this truth to be correct , and if we know that then why has one over and over ask “Why are we here?” We are here, so the real question that should be posed is, “What’s next?” That is the correct question to ask. The only question if one poses in an existentialist way.

What’s next? Ah do you see what power that question has. The feeling you get just by saying or posing that question even to oneself. Why are we here?, is a trite overworked dumb ass question to ask about our existence. We are here! We understand or know we are here. Or at least on the same plane metaphysically or you could not read all of this and you would not be the audience I was writing to nor would you be my truth or my reality. What next? Or maybe that is all wrong too. Because maybe after reading all that I have written about the truth we you would have to see my point , statements of truth, as being the truth, given the fact you are true to me and the fact you all are real. Confusing once one starts getting to the crust of the matter. You see we are limited in our world of truths once the boundaries of said truths have been implemented; ergo, limitations on not only what we can physically and mentally do. Lets look at that for a minute though, shall we? Take for instance maybe all of this is transpiring in our minds and we are not really doing the things that we are doing or that we do in this life we just are reaching out mentally in the universe and zappo-reenio, we create reality. People say, “Well , if I stab or shoot your ass. You will know what the truth really is!” Will I? Sure I guess on the level which we are conditioned to since birth. Sure, I have been conditioned to think or believe, if one shoots or stabs me imminent peril is cast upon my physical body and death is put into the equation. That is the mindset of us all because of the mere tunneled vision scope of the human being, “the biped.” This goes along with the earlier statement of man, as we know, is a hopeless elitist. Never thinking in another realm but on the same conscious level like their other relatives.

We are all just byproducts of some nasty genetic creation. Looking at ourselves critically, we are an ugly species, strike that, animal. Really look at the human shape and form and realize the deficiencies of the human body. Our ears, our noses, our mouths, our genitalia...One could go on and on about the human animals anatomy. Once you sit down and dissect it, one should notice how utterly ugly our bodies really are. And maybe one will start to think the other animals that share this earth with us are laughing everyday on some level about how fucked up anatomically we appear. We sit in the scorners seat and berate every animal we perceive to be ugly but we hardly ever look at ourselves and criticize ourselves about how ill shaped and ill built our bodies were made. Oh, but lets look at that too. You see to take that position is to speak about the higher power, the supreme being, the holier than holy, the boss of bosses...Allah, God...We cannot fault the human body because it was, “...created in his own image.” So as you can see given that to be the truth one would have to look at the fact God is this androgynous, amalgamate of an entity equipped with penis, testicles, breasts, derriere...on and on it goes. A mishmash of the human animal. A bisexuals dream date. Oh, don’t get all in a huff about the latter statement. Remember we are talking about truths or perceived truths. Also when it comes down to it we are speaking about opinions since perceived truths are just that, opinions. So what is fact? That is an excellent question also. We are all correct and incorrect. Right and wrong. Fucked up and not fucked up. We are the epitome of the word confusion in the flesh or in this instance, animal....


.....TO BE CONTINUED

Death Begets Life (Blog Author, Tribe Member, Quasi Satirist) August, 2020

Chasing shadows, after the dark clouds have passed. The thunderstorm that seemed to depressingly last while I tried to enjoy the meadows, through the deep dark overcast. The sun is finally breaking through, uplifting my spirits just a little. But my brittle broken soul almost shattered like fine glass, is now healing, but the feeling of loss is still the minor boss. And will always be; while I try to keep keeping on. Won’t be no fun. But life oft times has ended for one; and for another…has just begun.

A Lead State (Out of Work, Male, Ex- Million Dollar Club Real Estate Agent) 2010

Don’t stop me from seeing this life full of Beauty; society living a lie as the populous sighs; ties that bind; find the light which shines from behind haloing such an angelic culture. Black melds into the backdrop as my heart stops from the torture. Color infused and confused, a convoluted mess undressed. Confesses to the transgressed; blessed the elite to complete the round robin robbin and sobbin. Money always funny as the light shines with ill perceived ocular sunny rays; days filled with depression; confession of a failed humanity plainly seen. Dope fiends fleeing from the red light flashing erratically throughout the night. Light a fag and sag into the rags of existence; persistence to live out of habit only to give another day of preciousness. Why waste my time? I’m frustrated and don’t want to commit a crime. The clip holds sixteen rounds; I only need one… to witness the angelic sounds.

A Black Eye (Black History Major, Female University Student) 1993

Founded being grounded; amid a race disgraced. Trained ignorance which was planned to cause our circumstance. Living in Diaspora sans the flora, disconnected from our great tribe circumscribes to a lifelong failure. Unsure of the people we used to be in our long productive and prideful history.
A sad story.
A sad commentary.
Quite pitiful to our Black Ancestry.

Idle Time? Now Y'alls Stupid Asses Got Pro'lems! (Black American, Male, Stand-Up Comedian) 2011

These muh fuckahs just always thinkin they can get away with lyin. Rich men and men in general for thousands of years and more thinkin somehow, some way they have found the ultimate lie or con. Like Bania used to avow on Seinfeld, "Gold, Jerry! It's gold I tell yah!" Fools gold! Yao Ming?

Rich mothah fuckahs and this here Federal-fuckin-gov'ment been lyin their asses off and thinkin we are some stupid sorry ass bastards. What the fuck! What's a muh fuckah supposed to do when companies are tellin people by the thousands, "We're sorry, we have to let you go." And they escort your ass off the company's property, waive goodbye, "Peace My Brothah!"

And this economy is gettin better? The fuck I look like? Boo-boo-the-foo'? Shiit, they need tah quit that noise!

They thinkin we are so stupid that we are not goin, on those now off hours since yo sorry ass is unemployed, to start seein what's goin on? Shiiit, a muh fuckah gottah lottah time now to watch the news, surf the Net and talk to the other numerous unemployed folk.

Now, here's the quandary with y'alls rich and rich/political dumbasses, those same muh fuckahs yo silly asses done put into the unemployment line start gettin more armed with understandin, witnessin what the fuck has been really goin on, becomin aware of the bullshit they been missin while workin their asses off so many wasted years, you dumb sons of bad cocks!

Don't they understand that? Mothah fuckahs sittin up here with Ivy League educations and shit, and don't have any common sense whatsoevah! Tryin that juvenile psychology bullshit, "Since you did this before for free and now you want to make a living demanding pay, we will no longer provide you work." You super-silly-arrogant-sorry-inhumane-mothah-fuckahs, You! How they think so many mothah fuckahs have all this time for that, Wallstreet protests shit that's goin on all across the country? Cause, y'alls asses conditioned a slave to work like a fuckin dog until they die. And whatahsurprise! They ain't dead yet; albeit, y'alls rich motha fuckin asses wish they were...then yo sorry asses gots the nerve tah take the work from'em! Just because I gotstah pay those ignant poor mothah fuckahs now and I used tah not have to pay those sorry poor animals shit! The fuck?!

The more a slave works,albeit yo greedy ass gotstah pay'em a lil som'ehn-som'ehn now, the less idle time they have to finally read, research...find out what's been goin on the last fifteen years they've been workin sixteen hours, goin home, sleepin seven hours and it's back to the grind!

Nah! Keep the muh fuckahs workin! Then your lies stay true because who gives a fuck as long as a muh fuckah is gettin paid, stayin solvent! Don't lay muh fuckahs off or start downsizin... give incentives to companies that work the shit out of their employees. Then muh fuckahs don't have time to be informed about the lies you tellin. Doin shit half ass backwards. Just fuckin dumb!

These elite, entitled, lazy pieces of shit didn't learn shit from their ancestors, those damn worthless, shiftless, greedy, inhumane slave owners.

You work the shit out of a slave. Work a broke, poor mothah fuckah for 16-23 hours straight, on a regulah, and I guaran-fuckin-tee that muh fuckah ain't gonna think about escapin or gettin edumacated...as long as yo silly ass breaks'em off a lil som'ehn-som-ehn! Yous ain't gonnah have nos problems from d'em! Hell-to-the-nah! All that muh fuckah is gonna be thinkin 'bout, aftah all those hours of slavin, is gettin some fuckin rest and gettin some fuckin sleep. And yous have no pro'lems at-all! Believe dat son! Yah heard may?!