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...)