Fuck Your "Fiscal Cliffs"! Do Your Goddamned Job That You Are Sadly Paid For! (White Male, Thirty Years Old, Marsh Super Market Employee) 2012

None of this life matters if you really look at it.  Think about it.  It is about as fleeting and vagarious as the wind.  But for some reason we believe!  And in what?  An empty promise of a fulfilling life?  Everyone knows contracts, truths, guarantees...can be preempted at any time.  It's just a matter of, what is next?  And, now that we are at the segue, what is next?  If you don't know, then you are entering in a badass contract.  No entity gives you a reprieve for today.  No.  No.  No!  Tomorrow is the only thing that matters in this, "What have you done for me lately," society which we are dreadfully apart of and in.  And, what is next?  Who the fuck cares!  As long as me and mine can continue to subsist and exist.  Point blank!  I don't want to hear about "Fiscal Cliffs"  and shit like that!  I've paid my taxes Mothah fuckahs!  Keep the shit movin!  The f uck? 

I've got two kids and child support!  And if Daddy don't pay his child support, my ass goes to jail!  Do you rich politicians understand?  You overpaid blow-fuckin-hards!

Sleep Apnea (Aaron Thompson) 2010

You told me you would be there during the day...and during the night.  A comely sight.  But the plight which I have to traverse is worse than anything you could possibly imagine.  Places and times to begin.  A thin win.  Paper sin.  Plotting and pointing the pen.  When will I ever win?  I sent the solace of holiness to hopelessness.  I dread the bread and the wine I used to think was so fine to dine on Our God's flesh.  It was all just a failed test from whence before.  I sleep when I snore.  Then I awake for my daughter's sake.  But thankfully, one fateful day, I will sleep no more. 

Let The Music Play? (Anonymous) 2014

Everything is about hues.  Tones.  As in music, the music goes where the music is intended to take Me.  I can’t do anything about it at that point.  Cut!  It’s a wrap!  The music has already been planned, arranged….now is playing.  And there are only three choices  at my behest:  Turn the music up, turn the music down or, blessedly, turn the shit off.

The Gas Pill (Forty-Five Years Old, French-American, Black Chemist And Inventor, Paul Derriere) 2019

I created it way back in 2000.  I was scoffed at.  I went to all the big names: Renuzit; Glade; Lysol...they all sent me on my way.  Then I went to a Proctologist, a doctor.  And everything changed in a magnificent way.  A glorious way.  Oh, sure the person taking such a "vitamin" daily would get complications in about twenty years subsequently.  But that wasn't a problem because by that time the profits would be set in stone.  I would be rich and so would be too the investors and fuck the bullshit.

I invented all types of scents: Blueberry, Violet, Strawberry-Banana, Linen...an endless amount of scents.  Shit, just use your imagination and along with the formula: instant good smelling shit and farts.  And in 2016 it was all the rage. 

But nature is a mothah fucker.  It is what it is.  And by the time the populous at large understood three years later that it would fuck up their given G.I. tract, in a bad mothah fuckin way, everybody was getting rich, bitch!  And fuck your personal health.  Good Lord!

I didn't realize it.  I really didn't.  Please believe me!  But a human being has to understand the simple fact that, "There's always a price to pay when you think your farts and, especially, your shit don't stink!"

Comment dit-on en francais?  Merde est suppose mauvais odeur et merde!

Darland Albert Hopson, Passed Away Monday, November 12, 2012 (Broke Black Prophet) November 13, 2012

It was 70 degrees the day before he died.  Quite befitting.   He was always a warm and caring person.  Then the day of his death it was 35 degrees in this midwestern intemperate climate.   But that's the way life has always been.  Hot or cold, not lukewarm.  My Brother was a kind man; a gentle man; a good man.  We will miss him so.  Stoic.  A dependable human being.  When he said he was going to be at your destination at a certain time it was going to happen.  There has been so many times he has never disappointed any of his siblings.  And what can I or anyone say about that fleeting characteristic in a human being?   Many will miss Brother Al.  I will miss him so.  So let it be written, so let it be said.  He walked the walk and talked the talk.  No in betweens.

It was cold when he crossed over into another life.  It is hard to imagine him the way that he was before he died: feeble, weak, vulnerable...a human being.  I will always see my Brother Al as something other than what I just described.  He was a hu-man, in every sense of the word!  And that's all I have to say about this Beautiful human being who passed over into another life which I must too some fateful day.

His memory will always be frozen in whomever's psyche, especially mine, who was fortunate enough to cross his warm enlightening path of this oft times severely cold and dreadful life. 

"Heerrre's Romney!" (Broke Black Prophet's Conversation With Friend, Dana Henry, And Dana Informing Him On Why He Was At The Indianapolis International Airport Going To Fiji.) November 7, 2012

I saw it.  You saw it Hop.  I was all packed up and ready to go, literally.  But I was smoking my last cigarette at the time as he was giving his acceptance speech.  And he had the nerve to make a statement about what his thirteen years old grandson said was so funny, mocking his grandson’s young voice, but when he said the statement it was evil,

“Yeah my grandson and I were talking.  And he is so intelligent but sometimes he gets goofy, you know how kids are.  Well he says to me, ‘Paw-paw!  When you win the election, you need to do like that man did in that Stephen King movie, The Shining, Get in front of the mic with everyone watching the New President Of The United States, Paw-Paw Romney!’   And in front of everyone say, like Jack Nicholson said in the movie, “Heeerrree’s Romney’,”  Oh I laughed about that.  So this is for my grandson 'Heeerrree’s Romney!'"

And with that, I ground out my cigarette.  I put on my jacket.  Picked up my suitcases.  And proceeded to get my Black ass out of this fucking United States of America!

"But he didn't win D," I said.

"Hop!  Rich people, since the beginning of time have won!  And just because Obama won doesn't mean a Goddamned thang!"  He vehemently said.  I didn't say anything.

"Yeah!  That's what I thought!  Truly come visit me in Fiji.  'Kay Hop?  I'll hollah!"  He said and disconnected.

Yo Mothah Fuckin Decision (Black Male, Newly Married) 2013

Marriage ain't easy.  I don't give a fuck what anybody tells yo ass!  Sheeit!  Hard as fuck!  Yah heard may?  It is what it is.  But, that's the nicety of the shit.  Yo ass gostah deal with the shit.  You!  No one else!  Yo ass decided to marry that mothah fuckah.  No one else.  You!  You understand?   I hope you do.  Like Tim Gunn says, on Project Runway: "Make it work," mothah fuckah!  Yah feel may? 

Soon Enough (Vietnam Veteran, Agent Orange Victim, Albert Darland Hopson) 2012

I'll be gone soon.  Oh, no need for luggage.  I won't be returning.  Gonnah make a new start.  Smell the air of a different environment, finally.  I can't wait.  Cause I'll be gone soon. Thank the Lord!

Hope For The Future (Thirty Years Old, Social Worker) 2001

I wish I had some panacea to wish this life away.  I wish I had some type of saying that would make people believe that everything will be all right.  I wish I had a long life to live to keep imposing on the youth and subsequent adults so that I can make them understand, "Everything is going to be just fine, Sunshine!"  ...Oh, I wish I had that much faith!  But I would be telling those same youths, a mother fucking lie!

Time To Pay For This Long Vacation (Sixty-Five Years Old, Theological Satirist) March, 2020

Things will change most assuredly, in a horrible way.  That’s what happens in the scope of time, change always happens.  However minute.  Time and time again in Our God given life, we have seen the smallest things are the most crucial ones that cause said changes.  Why?   You may be asking yourself.  But it is simple really.  The human animal is superficial and We can see those things that are ocular.  But its always those little infinitesimal things that gets Us caught up because we have been conditioned to see what we can see.  Not delving deep to look beyond and see what we can’t.  Too much work I suppose for all of Us.   And I guess too in this Eden that was set up for Us to take care of and to labor…we are just tired of fucking working.  You see, when one stays in a place for too long, oft times one forgets why they are in that given place to begin with.

Ring Damnit! (Fifty-Five Years Old, Attorney At Law) 2014

People don't like the true picture.  What you see, is what you get.  No!  No! No!  Not with me Boo-Boo!  Hell-to-the-naw!  I'm fifty-five years old and haven't ever seen times like this.  Hiding.  That's what I'm doing.  Shit!  Times are hard!  And I know that they are, but goddamn!  I'm embarassed.  I'm even using coupons at various fast food restaurants, for heaven's sake!  You tellin me people have stopped suing one another?  That Pro Se is the way?  I sit in my office waiting for the phone to ring.  Often times too damn long.  But what else am I supposed to do?  I had to lay off my legal assistant because all of the sudden people seemed to not need a good attorney any longer.  And I'll be damned if I take these cases for less than what I am worth.  Damn that!  My counterparts are doing it because it is better than being idle.  But idle I must be!  I'm not going to water down what I bring to the table and moreover my profession that I love and hope that I will be able to continue.  But shit!  Clients are making less also.  A vicious sorry ass cycle!  In a bad mothah fuckin way!  The fuck!?

Time Will Ultimately Tell (White Female, Thirty-Four Years Old, Daily Weed Smoker) 2015

It only last a little while. The things that you have. And they were about to lasts a lot less. That's the way it is. C'est tout! But the funny thing about it is that everything is about structure, meaning and time,  all three of those things were getting hazy. All murky into one or this other but then again everything takes time. Time, that used to be in abundance, that now is again. Shit! The way things are going it will never be enough time to right the wrongs but it has been more than enough time to wrong the rights. There's more hours in a day like today. But I guess one can say that about yesterday. Nothing ever stays the same. And why don't they?  But shit is getting fucked up! And it's about time!

Just Nasty (Eighty-Eight Years Old, Black Female, Divorcee, Died At Ninety Years Of Age, 2012) 2010

Whah?  Suck Whah?  She remembered it like it was yesterday.  But it was way back in 1942.  Suck my dick!  Whah?  You nasty sonofabitch!  No!  I will never suck your so called "dick"!  What is wrong with you?  Only whores would do that!  I'm your wife Jarvis?!  Then he had the nerves to say, "That's right Mabel, so you shouldn't have no reason not to suck my dick!"  The nerve!  I'm a Christian woman, born and raised.  I loved that man more than words could ever express.  But, I left his Black ass and never re-married.      Or had sex again.  Or had to, as he told me, put up with, sucking a man's dick!  A shame before God!

Heaven Is Dead In My Future (Suicidal, Twenty-Eight Years Old, Laid Off Pharmaceutical Line Employee) 2011

I've made so many promises that I've failed to keep;
Said many of prayers but all I do is weep;
But a brighter day is to come when I finally go to sleep.

Get Ready Cause Here It Comes (Thirty-Nine Years Old, Black Male) 2016

You get lost for a time, if you’re lucky.  If you’re not so lucky, you’re lost for a lifetime.  I was one of the lucky ones.  I started seeing what life was and what life was eventually going to be.  I stopped focusing on what is because all was lost.  It was time enough to start preparing for what was revealed to me in my waking sleep and I started slowly awakening.  I was lost in the time of the walking wounded and the walking dead.  And the scary part about it was, I started noticing I was one of the very few starting to wake up. 

Guinness Foreign Extra ( Beer Blogger, username: lovethatdarkthickbodiedstuff) 2012

I have found my perfect mate...for life!

Mother Earth Will Always Have Her Say (Average Midwest Citizen) 2018

It's starting to get crowded here.  But where else are you going to go?  People want what they want.  Two, three, four...twenty children and they are witnessing the same thing as all of the rest of US.  This is my production.  My life.  My world.  Don't you see?  This is the future I foresee and I give a damn about the world around me!  Yes, things are getting bad.  Very much so.  But we don't care.  Haven't for a very long time to say the least.  We are hopeless.  And we will forever be...until...

We Ain't Seen Nothin Yet (Video Archive, From New America Library Northeast Territory, Bi-Centennial Recording, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Fall-Out, 2013) 0313

I Wish I Were Two Again (Black Stoner) 1982

I snap the cap. Pour the libation from frustration down my throat; not taking a breath until the river runs dry. Crunch the can; making an aluminum boat. I pull another. The snap happens again. I won't get there, until I reach ten; then properly high.

Thy Chaldea Arise (Twenty-Eight Years Old, Chaldean American) January 1, 2020

I had done most of my undergraduate studies at the University of Wyoming. Most people, my friends included, had a look of disgust on their given faces when I had informed them of where I was studying abroad. It was ingenious really. My Imam, who was paying for my education in this United Hates of America, a title my Imam had given it. He thought it was quite amusing, “In time. You insolently bastards. In time! And Yosef after it is all said and done, you will be known throughout Our next history. And those scum of Our God’s and peoples land will be no more!” He would say to me often. I knew my destiny with my God given first thoughts. A path of absolution. A path of destruction and righteousness. A path, “Where a very few men have gone before.” I was a surveyor. Now, in my second year of graduate studies at the U of Wy and the third year would be spectacular. December 6, 2020 would be when one of Our Chaldean nuclear bombs would reach the United Hates of America, destination: to one of the biggest calderas in the world, Yellowstone National Park. And Our Chaldean Tribe will be once more supreme. And the dregs of this Eden will be once again purged!

Bobeeny (Aaron Thompson, Amid A Two Years Old Custody Case In Johnson County Indiana) 2010

She was there before his own daughter. What was he supposed to do? He loved her liked his own. That’s just the way it was and is. On visitation he would look at her and say to himself, “Come on, roady! This is how we have always road out!” Wanting to be with his Blood Child as well as she. But he couldn’t do that. She had a Father and he had to respect that. What kind of Father would he be to his own if not understanding that simple fact? When he was living with her mother, the mother of his child, he couldn’t pull trump. Hell, no! So the way he treated his daughter he had to treat her too. When he would go some place with his daughter he would ask her, “You rollin with us Bobeeny?” And most of the time she would say, “Yes!” But now things were quite different. Undesirably so. But they were. There was another parent, Father, involved and he damned well needed to understand that. He loved her. Loved her like she was his own but that was not his responsibilities. He had one child with her Mother which he was trying his best to stay close to but was failing miserably based on some judicial, Johnson County, racial bullshit and her mother trying her best to make him fail as a parent. But he missed and loved her all the same. Like he does often times with his own. Life was a stone cold bitch. He knew that to be certain. He remembered when he first met her, a wild child. Running here and there, couldn’t stand still to save her life. And the only thing he could think was, “I can help her.” She just needed someone to pay her some attention, to make her understand, “I see you! Do you understand?! And that is not acceptable behavior!” And to keep reinforcing that. That’s all. He remembered when his blood daughter and she would be in a room playing and he would check on them every twenty minutes or so. And she had asked him, “Why do you keep checking on us?” And he had said to her simply, “Because you are children.” She never asked him that again. His Mother used to say, “You check on children often when they are noisy. But you check on them two times as much when they are quite.” Damn right bout that. One had to remember whence one was a child. No supervision means no accountability which leads to fuck ups, sometimes in a detrimental way. Because yo lil ass is still learning this fucked up life. And a responsible, caring adult needs to be there to guide you and tell you, “Now, you are fuckin up! Don’t do that again!” In so many words. He knew her plight from his own childhood. Felt her shit and sympathized with her. Being the last of twelve, eleven boys and one girl. He felt invisible most of the time. No one paid him any attention. And when they did he didn’t know how to act: What in the world are they paying attention to me for? Why are they talking to me? What are they saying? Leave me alone! No, I really don’t want to be alone. I always feel alone. And I don’t like it. I feel loved and lost at the same time…He had always hated life for that confusing fucked up time. He had always believed that his Father and Mother were good parents but now with him being older and with his own , one and only, child he started understanding, “How good of parents can people be with twelve offspring running around the fucking place?” Nobody needs twelve children unless they are running a big ass farm or some shit. He had his hands full of rearing one. The fuck?! Complexities. Life is. And he surmised…it will always be. But there was still time for simplification…and, Our Blessed God, atonement.

The True Fuckin Picture (Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) 2013

Welcome to the world which we breath and live in. Not a pleasant sight, is it? Oh, your eyes are open aren't they? Now? You don't like what you see? Oh, let me focus your lenses for you a wee lil bit. Damn! Can't do that. I'm sorry. You all right? Give it a lil time. It will be all right. No? The fuck? Oft times the aperture is all fucked up! Can you see now? Good! Fucked up? Oh, now yo ass is seein just fuckin fine!

The Same Old Song, Just A Different Mothah Fuckin Tune (Black Stoner) 1982

Feast your eyes on the demise of this insanity of inhumanity. Calamity of absurdity progressively getting more dirty as the time winds down. A frown is the clowns' perpetual lineament. Spent a lifelong depressive song to drown out the cries to nothingness. Bless no more the children being boiled in the cauldron of life's despair; unaware as their souls begin to exanguinate, to alienate itself from the whole.

The Merrymakers (Black, Twenty-five Years Old, Male, Speculative Fiction Writer) 2015

They were called, Merrymakers. Comprised of females and males in equal portions. Spiritually picked by the forces of humanity. Selected from every tribe on Earth. Somehow, on their eighteenth birthday, to each one, an energy led them to where they needed to be. And from there, the gift of knowledge was imbued into them, psychically and emotionally. None had ever questioned what led them to the place where they were destined, but they knew why they were there and it didn‘t matter their origin. They were not there to be parents or to breed; that in and of itself would not be prudent nor would it aide in the human existence of why they were brought to this place, to obtain the knowledge which they were to absorb then walk the various land on this Earth to deal out those powers from which they were given supernaturally. It was all of Divine circumstance. So they thought and believed. But it was way more sinister than what they ever could have imagined. And in the end, they would dearly pay for their given innate transgressions.

I Ain't Scared No Fuckin Mo! (Anonymous) 2013

Mothah fuckahs kill my broke ass! For real! Gonnah sit up there and threatin you and shit! Whah? Go head with yo sorry bad ass self! Do it! Can't stop yo ass from doin shit any fuckin way! Do it! Ain't nothin stoppin yo sorry ass from doin whatcho super-silly-mothah-fuckin ass sayin, what chew goin tah do, but air and opportunity!

But let me tell yo puffin up ass som'ehn befo you go do somethin stupid...mothah fuckahs ain't scared! The worse mothah fuckahs in the world you want against you is a mothah fuckah who don't have a goddamned thang tah loose! Live and in colah mothah fuckah! And let me tell you somethin else, aftah the shit that chew do has been done and settled, you best believe mothah fuckah, yo monkey ass is gonnah be scared! Very much so! Guaran-fuckin-teed! Payback's a bitch!

Muh fuckahs, with Our broke non-scared asses, ain't fuckin round no fuckin mo! For real!

Independence: Is An Illiteracy (Anonymous) 2013

People talkin all that bullshit about, I don't need anybody. Sheeit! Whatevah mothah fuckah! What-the-fuck-evah! You hear me! Bull-to-the-shit for real! Talk all that shit if yo sorry ass wantstah but yo sorry mothah fuckin ass needs some fuckin body! "A man is not an island unto himself." Damn right bout that shit. Don't wantstah hear that noise. Everybody needs some fuckin body! If...yo ass is human. And if yo sorry ass is readin this shit right the fuck here, I'm glad tah tell yo ungrateful ass, yo ass is fuckin human. That's why yo ass is readin this fuckin shit! Cause yo ass is reachin out to anothah mothah fuckah yah don't even know tah feel alive! Don't try tah play with me. It's just between you and me. Nobody else. But yo broke ass best believe you bettah start understandin the reality of the situation with these hard times that are here and the harder times that are tah come! There's some shit that is comin round the cornah fo yo ass that ain't gonnah be nothin nice! Nothin nice at all! Keep sittin up there with yo no count high pride ass if yah wannah, but soonah or latah, yo ass gonnah have tah depend on anothah mothah fuckin body! You hear me? And if you don't. Oh, this life has a way to teach yo prideful ass a lil thang or two, or three...And befo its too late...you best start makin alot of fuckin friends, cause hard times are right around the cornah tah say, "Hell-the-fuck-o!"

Porter or Stout? (Beer Blogger, Username: lovethatdarkthickbodiedstuff) 2009

Darland took a nice swallow of the Stout. Tasting every bit of the chocolate malt and the wonderful coffee flavor of the hearty libation. Libation was what Porters and Stouts were to him. Beer was the other stuff out there. Now this, as he took another healthy pull off of the pint he was working on, is a damn beer as he smiled ever so slightly indulging in his love and his mistresses, Porter and Stout. Both having traditional male sobriquets but all woman each one of them. Making love to him for two to three hours at a time. He looked longingly which now was a kind of hourglass shape she was dressed in this night, her skin sweating ever so slightly, just the right temperature to start with then warming up just to room temperature, the perfect love. Poor Porter. That’s what he loved about the two of them too. Some days coming in the form of thick, or slim, and then with curves depending on where you go for the coital activity which would surely transpire once the plan was in place and the right place was picked.

Calling him all the time, “Come meet me up the street please. I’m dark and beautiful and oh so tasty lover,” she would call to him lustfully. Most of the time he would fool them both and go someplace else and if they found him fine, if not a Canadian, Jamaican, German, Japanese...any of the other women would suit him just fine, but wouldn’t spend too much time with them though. At the most he could only go a couple of rounds. One of them he forgot the nationality damn near cussed him out, tasting her so-called sweet juices for not even a quarter of the time. Americans. Damn them. They all tasted the same. Some bland pussy there boy. He was here to tell you. Some of them even having a twang to them. Pussy so bad make a mah fucka like him damn near shit his drawers at work. Running to the bathroom because he just couldn’t meet at the places they knew. No he trying to fool them to see if they could read his mind and damned if either one showed up. A Canadian or German always there. They knew what the deal was. He would never be faithful to any one other than Porter or Stout.

When they called him and he was horny for their dark sweet caramel juices, he, hypnotized would go to them and they would make the sweetest love. Often times they'd come home with him. One of them getting mad because, depending on the evening he only wanting to spend time with one or the other. Both of them being equally cool about the situation all were in. This sexual triangle he had gotten these two beautiful, lovely ladies into. They didn’t deserve it. They could have many guys out there that would choose between the two and not go back and forth, making love to one for hours and then turning around two nights later and spending only three hours with the other. But he was hooked on both and given the perspective night, he just went crazy and have to have both. Juices mingling in his digestive system. Marrying the two. And the both of them hated it but both were vying to be his one and only love. Both thinking their sweet juices would eventually make him succumb to one or the other.

Both kept changing and he never wanted to choose, it was fun watching the morphing of their bodies at the numerous times and just as many locations they had sex. They were wearing him out. Maybe he didn’t have to choose. Shit he was living every males fantasy, having two women who know about one another and both being down for the menage thing. He was in the heezy fo’ sheezy my neezy. But sometimes it wasn’t his fault. Was it his fault that only one of them showed up. There was no choice then. He didn’t have to choose. Whichever showed up then hell that was the one he was going to get down with. Plain and simple. He didn’t have time when a bitch didn’t want to put out. Didn’t have time for her ‘man’ supposedly. He would go where he was appreciated and the other, shit, you better get yourself together, because there was a lot of other hos' out here that wanted Daddy’s company.

“Heh! Heh!” he hollered out, “Put the money in the bag! Put the money in the bag!” as he cheered the people around the bar and they all laughed at his very good impression of a familiar commercial that had just played on the big screen television located behind the bar. Her name was Guinness Extra Stout tonight. He Loved this tasty lady. Had a body to die for. Umm! He kissed Guinness passionately, tasting every bit of her chocolate nectar, and asked for another round. Guinness Extra Stout was going to get her ass waxed tonight as he indulged himself with round two, and yes, started waxing that ass. This was at least a four or five rounder night. He was going to suffer like hell tomorrow. But what was a nigga to do? Her ass was in rare form in.....? He looked around for a name and saw the book of matches he had been using, “Chumley's.” Damn right about that. Damn right about that as he finished her off, and round three was just around the corner. Definitely a five rounder. Definitely. Maybe even six, you lucky woman he thought to himself, thinking about poor Porter. Maybe another time bitch. Maybe another time. He was horny as hell as he started up the third round, polishing that ass very slowly now. He was going to take it slow. He wanted to make Stout one happy woman tonight. He might even have a few smoke breaks in between. Poor Porter.

Stout started to talk to him, “Where’s that bitch at now? Hunh? Where she at Darland? That bitch don’t love you. See how I make you feel. You don't know what you gettin with those other bitches. On a scale from one to ten, I'm nine point five niggah. And those other bitches with their pale ass skin. They don’t love you either. How many names those various bitches have? Hunh? I’m special. Not too many of me around nigga! I’m strong as hell and a lot more tastier. My shit staying on your tongue for hella long. You know I’m the only one for you. You know it. Look at Porter. Can’t get no love. And those other bitches are a dime a dozen. Oh, and we won’t even talk about those bland ass Americans. Shit. We are a breed of our own. I come from the land of the Stouts. We are the strongest because we are unique. The blacker the berry baby. The Blacker the berry baby,” she spoke lustily into his soul. He knew she had a point. All the others just didn’t compare to her black ass. Body five thousand for sure. She was right about her taste. Residuals of brown still being present on his tongue even when he would brushed the hell out of it. "I do Love you Guinness X," He whispered in her ear and tasted her with one long gulp and a lick of his upper lip to not waste any.

Foster's (Beer Blogger, Username: lovethatdarkthickbodiedstuff) 2008

I maybe crazy...but do I taste a little ginger in this lager? I'm quite sure I do. And some type of weird, metallic bitterness? What's that all about?

"Foster's: Austalian for metallic tastin ging-eh bee-eh."

Yo Ass Can't Tell Me Shit! (Anonymous) 2015

Child Psychologists that don't have a chick or a child!

Marriage Counselors that aren't married or better yet have been married and divorced times three!

Substance Abuse counselors that have never had a substance abuse problem!

Male OBGYN who has nothing to proffer to the female patient because they are male, having the wrong equipment; and females still line up to see him!

Niggahs reading books about Malcolm X and Martin Luther King written by white authors! And believing the shit contained within its covers!?

Niggahs and Spics fighting for a country that shuns their mah fuckin asses, er day, er second!

Announcers talkin bout football, basketball, soccer..and ain't evah played a sport in their sorry ass lives!?

Mah fuckahs talkin bout the homeless and have never went without a roof over their perspective heads!

Talkin bout hunger and don't have a fuckin clue what the twinges of abdominal pains are all about when yo ass is broke, and all you can do to satiate those twinges is to think of nourishment or bum a cigarette so those same pains will lessen a wee bit!...

We some fucked up individuals! Listening to these so-called professionals and experts that don't have the faintest idea of the processes save for what they have read or studied; not been through! Hell nah! That would be too much suffering for those elitist mah fuckahs and a lot more work! And why should they work and suffer anyway? They have the credibility without the experience, understanding or knowledge.

Ain't that some shit! How in the fuck you gonna sit up there and tell mah fuckahs bout somethin and never experienced what you are perceived to be experienced in? What the fuck!

Dysfunctional...are not we all! Yao Ming? And that ain't no Beautiful thang! Hell-to-the-nah! That's some ignant shit! We some sorry ass, ignant mah fuckahs! For real! And we pay for their so-called words of wisdom and diagnosis! Yah heard may! Get a fuckin clue! Just mad! Mad at this bull.....shit!

Hope For The Future (Anonymous) 1993

Even though yo ass know the shit is gonnah turn out the way that the shit is gonnah turn out…sheeit, you just keep it in yah heart, every-fuckin-single-time, that, this time, this mothah fuckin time, everything is gonnah be cool, just okee-the-fuck-dokee-smokee! But no! No! No! No! This time ain’t been no damn diff’rent than all the rest. Same ol’ shit just a diff’rent mothah fuckin day. Whoomp, d’ere it is! In yo face…hunh! But what else yo sorry black ass gonnah do? Not hope? Not pray? Not dream? Not…Even though yo ass know you only dealin with this othah mothah fuckah cause of Our child; I gotsta deal with this mothah fuckah fo a long ass time, at least til the age of gettin the child out of an university, some fourteen yeeahs and some change or a lil’ mo…fo the child’s sake…I have tah hope fo ah bettah day ev’ry time I have tah speak or meet the othah parent, fo whatevah reason, and think, somehow, someway, we can be fair and cordial tah each othah…for the child’s sake. And the bad part bout that shit is , I don’t even think that the shit will evah happen, but it sho makes may feel good tah hope, this time is gonnah be diff’rent!

And tomorrow is anothah mothah fuckin day!

Always Detours (Aaron Thompson, Still In A Four Year Old And Running Custody Case In Johnson County, Indiana) 2012

“Mommy said that you are a liar because you lie to her,” my daughter told me from her booster-seat. I smiled at her in the rearview mirror and she smiled back.

“Well,” I started saying to her, “Are you listening Momma?” I asked and she said a simple, “Yes.” Locking onto my eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Okay. My theory is, Momma, that, if you don’t have anything nice to say about the other parent, then you don’t say anything about them at all,” as I peeked up from the road to lock eyes with her again, her eyes still told me that she was attentive, so…

“That’s why babay, I don’t say anything about your Mother,” I said to her, smiling, locking eyes, she smiling back. “You understand Momma?“ I asked smiling.

“Yes!“ She said smiling, extending her left arm over her head, being careful not to hit her hand on the underside of the car’s roof, and pulling it back quickly, an overhead fist pump; as we continued driving to our destination.

“Oh, look Daddy!” She said excitedly. “Chucky Cheese’s!”

Oh Lord, I thought, that is not our destination. But we may just have to make a detour.

Well…hell.

Hello Mister Mouse…or Mister Rat…or...whatevah mothah fuckah!

Evil Speaketh (Twenty-Nine Years Old, English Solicitor) 1878

Evil acteth and speaketh;
And the law enacteth and seeketh.

Evil teacheth;
And the law preacheth.

Evil winneth;
And the law doth sinneth.

Decisions And Badass Decisions (Thirty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 2003

Decision makin. Sometimes the hardest muh fuckin fact of life! Yah heard may! But yo sorry ass tried tah do everything yo Black ass could think of tah make things right. But yah see, yo thinkin is what's the fuckin problem in the first goddamned place. Yo thinkin is based on what you think is needed, not what another thinks is needed. And if the othah muh fuckah involved got anothah agenda, then yo Black ass done made some badass decisions! If a muh fuckah time and time again done told yo Black ass you failin, no matter what yo sorry ass has tried tah do or have done...then yo ass should have gotten a clue a long fuckin time ago. Yo sorry ass just been pissin in the fuckin wind, fo sho!

Again, yo decision makin didn't have a goddamned thang tah do for the othah, but had everything tah do bout what chew thought you could do for that othah. Way fuckin different. Very much so. If that othah person isn't pleased with yo sorry ass there ain't ah thang on this earth yo sorry ass can or could do tah please 'em, cause ain't nothin you can do tah please 'em.

They done already got their mind made up that you are a fuck up! That you are a sorry ass! That you are...a piece of shit! And, most importantly, that you are, from here on out, a whippin fuckin man or woman! Gonnah keep yah down so their asses can stay up! Shee-ot! Fuck that noise! The fuck, times two!? Whatevah mothah fuckah! Ain't nothin yo ass can do, or could have done! Absolutely-positively-not-a-goddamned-thang!

So listen'ere, finally start with some good decision makin and get yo happy ass on down the fuckin road! Be ghost! Bye-bye, boo-boo! Yah feel may? And the sooner yo sorry ass realizes that, the better your decision makin skills gonnah be! Yao Ming?

Peace! More to come...

I Am...Because Of You! (Anonymous) 1962

Nothing can sustain itself without symbiosis. Nothing. If an organism doesn’t understand the primal fact at its core that: I am…because of you...

Well…say , “Goodnight,” for the last time!

We Some Broke Sonsahbitches Fo Sho! (Thirty-Two Years Old, Indianapolis Native, John White V) 2007

There's not too much to listen to;
Only severe cries of boo-hoo,
Coming from the masses,
Of course from the lower classes,
Wailing incessantly with the soft gentle breeze;
Everyone having hay fever and starting to sneeze.
98 percent of the world under the poverty line.

And According to the rich:

"Everything is quite fine!
Employment is up in this Bitch!
Don't sit up there and whine!"
As they dine, eating expensive cheese and wine.

The media expresses also to one and all,
Along with this fucked up administration's
Many southern drawls.

But all of us poor mothah fuckahs know,
It is still cold as fuck,
With blizzard like snows
Up to Our fucking Elbows!

Janet Strong ( Midwest / Women's Liberation Movement Speaker) 1969

The only difference between US, the only difference is:

Men are men because they do not trust; women are women because WE do!

Spring Is Just Up The Street! S.A.D. No More! (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 2012

I went out and spoke to the environment. They accepted me into their always welcomed world. I graciously took them up on their offer. I looked up at the Sun with its formidable presence and said, “How are you doing Mr. and Mrs. Sun? I love you. And I’ve missed you both so!” The Sun smiled as their rays beamed into my soul, cascading all through my body.

And I walked basking in The Sun’s presence. I tilted my head up again and looked all around and I said to them, “I've missed you Mrs. and Mr. Blue Skies! I love you!” The Blue Skies smiled, shooing the children (The Clouds) away and now stood backdrop blue. Ummm!

I witnessed my fellow humans having smiles for the same reason , accepting the invitation of Our environment that has always welcomed everything which dwells amongst Us, free. I smiled and walked and I finally just had to do it:

I extended my arms wide, accepting everything, the same as Our environment, and yelled out at the top of my lungs, with Joy and happiness,

“Hi everybody! I've missed You all so very much! And I Love You!” As I twirled in adolescent merriment.

The Warming And The Last Cycle II (Anonymous) 2017

In the hyperbaric chamber, buried six feet deep in Russia's frozen tundra's permafrost, which was not so much frozen or tundra or perma any longer. The ten-by-ten-by-ten chamber's signal was activated, sending the alarm to the counsel. Adam Ten and Eve Ten began to stir. Their life support system fully activated and in less than seventy-two hours they would awaken. With the understanding that the chamber which used to be six feet underground, was now only three feet under, given the melting of once was hardened ice, almost impenetrable. But not for their species from which they were sent. They had sent the implants directly to that location by pure thought. Poof! Just by thinking as one accord. Anything or traveling anyplace in space was possible just by pure thought with everyone thinking as one to make the travel possible. It was the greatest form of energy. Pure energy. Which their species had honed, perfected.

This was a great honor for anyone of their species because if one was chosen to be the male Adam and the female Eve, and then sent to what was known as Earth. And if the ones' chosen instilled the given knowledge which ultimately lead to Earth's final non-self-destructive ideology, well, both would become supreme Gods amongst their species. And one couldn't ask for anything better given the ultimate goal of their species, "To aid in the sustaining of any life form that exists in the universes. Save for altering or doing everything for said life form to sustain itself in the universes or millions of worlds." The thought being, every life form, however small was meant to be, for some reason or another. Why? Was not for them to ask or even to answer. A life form, any life form, was worth being sustained. But the damn humans were enigmas indeed.

And the Counsel once more from the troubled enigmatic world named, Earth had received the signal, the alarm which didn't surprise them. All of them had hope this ninth time given their productivity and the way they had finally understood to use the Earth's energy to move speech across space and time. They just knew this was going to be the time Earth and it's life forms of humans, would possibly equal them in their intelligence. Being able to finally move matter through space and time with just their thoughts, their physical body along with their intellect would finally understand they housed within each one of themselves the ability which would awe each one of them; yet, humble them also. The Counsel had thought to themselves, Adam Nine and Eve Nine would have what all of their species coveted, being: Supreme Gods of Teaching The Ways To Ultimately Sustain Life. And they were saddened that they would have to send the disappointing thought to the previous implants, Adam Nine and Eve Nine, that it was, now, Adam Ten and Eve Ten's turn to try. (to be continued...)

This Life Isn't Just Fun And Games (Twenty-Nine Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 1994

I'd rather be respected any day than liked by these lil disrespectful miscreants we procreatin today! Fuck these adults! Yah can't do shit bout a mah fuckah that's already made up their minds bout this hurr life. But this younger generation? Oh, you can make a damn difference! Oh, yes yah can with yo ignant ass! Best believe that shit! They just lookin for an adult tah give a good goddamned! Adults so into themsevles now they can't see, "The forest from the trees!" Damn right bout that! These damn parents and adults lettin these lil snot nose youngsters get away with all kinds of abhorrent behavior. "Get up!" And the lil mah fuckah responds, "Shut up you freekin idiot! I'm tryin tah sleep!" The fuck? "Come on now! Please get up?" And the beat goes on, "Shut up! I hate ch'ou!" The fuck times two! Askin and pleadin with a child to get up so they can go to school? The fuck wrong with US? The damn inmates done took over the damn prison in this mah fuckah, for real!

And then these adults gotstah the nerves tah say, "I don't know why He/She is actin this way?" Shiiiit! I can give yah one good goddamned reason with yo no count havin ass! It's because yo ass tryin tah be their friend instead of their fuckin parent or responsible guardian. A lil mah fuckah talkin tah me like that sayin tah my Black ass, they on the same level as me. Now, you done crossed the fuckin line with yo not knowin sorry ass! Now I gotstah show yo no count havin lil ass what takin on bein an adult is all about, "Get yo sorry fuckin ass out of that bed! The fuck wrong with you! Get-the-fuck-up!" Nice speak is fuckin ovah! Yo lil ass wants tah take it tah an adult level, well, let me teach you a lil som-ehn, som-ehn! You wet behind the ears lil bastard!

But, you see, the parents of these given children have made these lil disrespectful mah fuckahs what they are. Listenin tah these child Psychologists that don't have children, or if they do they always workin and not spendin the appropriate time with the lil assholes their damn selves. Listenin tah the people who have children gettin expelled and those same children goin in and out of juvenile detention... You-better-recognize!

"I want my child to have a real childhood. I want them to be a child and have fun." That's all fine and fuckin dandy! But it is irresponsible when it becomes more about childhood and fun than what that given child needs in becoming a productive, respectful, responsible adult. What about structure? What about work? What about taking responsibility? Once that lil mah fuckah walks out your fuckin door the people that really care are behind. What type of ideology does society have for your Love Child? You best believe it ain't the same as yo monkey ass! So, they can learn now, or learn the hard mah fuckin facts of life later! And later with society, ain't gonnah be a pretty thang at all, let me tell yah with yo dirtay face! Society could give a real good damn about yo lil insignificant offspring amid a four billion and some change!

The choice is simple: You can make them pay a reasonable, Loving, caring amount now; or, the steep inflated, "I don't give a fuck about you," price later! And if you choose the latter...may your God have mercy on your soul! Yah heard may? And that...ain't a Beautiful thang at all! Oh, no it's not! Just fuckin sad! Sad awhile! Too-fuckin-sad!

Peace! More to come...

Take A Hit Off This! (Black Stoner) 1984

Free my head and my mind to find the kind hand extending toward my being, seeing the beauty not from a forty but Love to you and me. See the trees in the leas without fees to make them a national park in this stark fetid world that has curled into a ball to suck them all. Saul would never paw so low to scrape up the dirt for his soul trying to make it to heaven with seven lives praying on him, staying with him, weighing on a hem of cloth that would take away the cancer, the answer lying beneath in the soiled sheets, a meat market of the earth for what it’s worth, un-birth another human being not seeing in the guise of humanity’s eyes so myopically, moping about, down and out...you clearly see the heap overflowing to seep on the trash of the subsequent ash, mash another potato to enable my mind to be on a carbohydrate hit, to mix and fix the issues in the multitudes always rude not from the poor which I adore and more...overtake my body to try to slide into the tea of the slant eyes full of surprises from their pure genes beams a mighty sunray to the part of the world without a curtsy to the white mans law of their perceived land. Stand amongst the palm trees and leave this earth smoking green having dreams of a better life without the samurais and knives taking lives, with bullets the druids of their conditional thinking, drinking on the corner in dark alley ways. Taking the human subconscious to not be righteous, wallowing in the smarmy mindset beset by those who make the laws, a clause never giving pause to the imaginary white Santa Clause. Cause I be watchin the villain in the tub and on the ceiling where I cleanse, it all depends what the hell are we here for? Adore all the fails that ails, madness much sadness rapping on my door, to ignore the snores coming from a happy family so dreamingly, wondrously. As I walk and bath myself in the shadows, who really knows about the blows of a certain race, the sub-space of this real “Terra Firma,” learnah thang or two. Sing the blues until you’re ninety-two, if yah wanna cause thunder clapping in your nerves triggers you dumb niggers. Electricity is what causes action, satisfaction and reaction. Figures we could be sullied by the muddied past, a repast taken so long ago from souls left in my brightness of being, seeing a bright future to nurture the further existence, a remittance that must be paid, laid upon the scope of humans non-kind, always....ever of days of darkness, departing us from the trust of one another. Take cover! It ain’t never over! “Woman and Man they come and go but the earth abides forever.” Whatevah! We too clevah! Pass it one more time!...Ooowee, it’s hittin so nicely. So pricey but not spicy...lost in the Love of pity to succinctly go on the brink to stink this globe, the earring hanging off the higher power to prosper in the dark hours, raining showers twenty-four seven never unleavened to the point of looking like pita or naan, as the can opener falters from the ....

The Warming and The Last Cycle (Anonymous) 2017

The signal came from the planet known as Earth. They looked at themselves in surprise because the signal was not supposed to go off for the next twenty lunars, 100 earth years. The cycle was getting faster and faster for the humans. That was for sure, as they nodded to one another, not speaking, all done as one accord, telepathically. They had put the implants in time. The humans had to learn, when it was all said and done again. Had to prepare them for what they, time and time again, do to themselves and their environment. One of these cycles maybe they would learn and then they will be able to know the truth. But it looked like to the Counsel that instead of getting more intelligent with each cycle they were killing themselves off faster and faster.

The Counsel long wanted, after the fifth cycle was done, to just be done with the humans and the universe would be extinct of that species. But they could not do that, they understood that the humans had a reason for being on Earth. And in understanding just that, they kept supplying Earth with the implants so when the warming started, the implants, after most of the humans died, the ones alive could be taught what they needed to do, to start the next cycle, the tenth cycle. Twenty lunars, at this pace, in five more cycles it would be hopeless. And if the implants failed in their given teaching, then the human species by their own choice, made themselves extinct. And The Counsel would not have to worry about the human species, and the truth of what they had to offer this universe. They were not permitted to change or alter anything in aiding the Genesis of the cycle only to guide. Only to be ones of knowledge and once teaching is instilled in the various few humans left after the warming, the implants return home and all watch to see what else the humans will become.

(to be continued...)

I'm Sorry Tah Tell Yo Sorry Ass but, Life Is A Fuckin Gamble! (Thirty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 1995

I absolutely love muh fuckahs who think they "Know." Oh, you ignorant, mislead and lost soul you! Why do you say such vile things about another human Meredith? Let me indulge you since you asked. I was the same as the soul which is the topic of note. I thought I knew. I have found throughout my miserable, pitiful existence: I don't know shit! Knowing; I have found is just a defense mechanism to make one feel secure. But the sad reality is that, none of us poor souls are indeed safe. A thin line every day we wake between knowledge and the unknown, death. "The Bible is the truth!" Many avow so proudly. Is it really muh fuckah? Or is it just good speak one avows to everyone they come into contact with and that will listen to comfort them in their given insanity of Hope? Hope. A four letter word, let me tell yah. And since one Hopes for a wondrous afterlife...I would have to say, "I hope your sorry ass is right!" Not hope for me! Damn that! I'll take my chances. As in Texas Hold'em, I got two cards, and I'm gambling the five community cards are gonna be enough to take the pot! Yah heard may? And it is still...A Beautiful Thang! Oh, yes it is! My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs.

Peace! More to come...

You Better Watch Your Step (Black Stoner) 1987

Peak around this world to see what is real. Peel away the layers as the soothsayers have become the new drug dealers in this raw deal; tweaking the truth in a self-righteous ruse to boost their loose caboose. We, staring at their derriere unaware that their mouths have become an anus spewing shit. All needing to take Imodium so that the podium can be sanitized; an epiphany finally realized: we’re living in a sullied cow paddy laden world…stepping carefully always looking down, like a scared animal, aware of the faintest sounds.

Naked You Come Into This World. Naked So Shall You Leave. (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Saved, Post-Cancer Scare) 2013

People always tellin me about myself. Don't write so vulgar. Why do you have to say some things? You need to keep some shit to yourself... But you see, to me, that's what's wrong with this here life. Everybody posing. We don't know shit from shine-ola because people keeping things to their damn selves. And for what? Because we want people to think we are a certain way even though in our heart of hearts we know we are putting up a false facade? The fuck you hidin yourself from muh fuckah? You scared for people to see the true you? And why prey-tell would you want to do that? Maybe you have some evilness within you that by not avowing it somehow it will dissipate? Poof! Be gone? Shit, I got news for your blues muh fuckah, you are what you are whether you hide from others or not. You can hide it from others but the worst thing in the world is to try to hide it or deny it from yourself. The worst crime and transgression in the world is to hide the true you from this finite life. Why, you ask? Well because there is so much of the true you that the generations to come will aide in the progression of humankind. We sit up here and lie to each other; moreover, we lie to ourselves! Damnit! Are you part of the solution? Or part of the problem? We tell our offspring not to lie; yet, we lie to them everyday by denying those same offspring our total being because we don't think they should hear certain things. The taboo of the cancerous seed if you will. Let me give you a narrative in my own life if you will indulge me for a wee bit.

I remember when I was growing up Mommy instilled in me, "Boy if you don't bother nobody, nobody will bother you!" I loved Mommy til her death, but I hate to say it but that was some straight up bull-to-the-shit! Good speak? Sure. But the shit ain't true. Did Mommy lie? I'm not sayin all that at all but what I will say is that she honestly believed that based on her life and the way that she lived her given life. And maybe she just was raised in a different time whereas that statement of truth to her was merited, but in my life, and what I have experienced and read about, that statement is incorrect. There are some fools out here, in abundance that prey on people with that mentality so they may take advantage to satiate their predatory needs. Sometimes fatal teachers. Sometimes one has to instill cancerous cells into their offspring, in a psychological aspect, in order for them to be able to deal with the plethora of cancerous organisms on this terra firma. So those same offspring will not be harmed or killed by said cancerous organisms. A somewhat mental radiation that will strike subsequent organisms in the offspring's lifetime. What, I guess, I am trying to say is that, one, a parent cannot protect their child from the various strains of human cancers, but...a parent can prepare them to deal and regress those that come into their individual lives, keeping at bay, if you will, the malignant strain of cancer to them and to society.

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

Peace! More to come...

What The Real Doctor Ordered (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Saved, Post-Cancer Scare) 2013

I used to go to church. But fuck that shit! Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! And did I say, Fuck it? Well, if I didn’t, Fuck it! This manmade religion is given in doses, one Sunday (and maybe if you’re lucky, one or two times during the week. And that‘s if you‘re lucky) at a time. All the time, in this here religion food pyramid, you are very deprived from the nutritional value you need to sustain a spiritual healthy lifestyle on, not only a daily basis but, an hourly basis. Very much so. You see, anything, given in doses to the populous at large, is a prescription, something that one chooses to take given the different ailment(s) that the prescribed medicament is supposed to cure, or at the very least, manage whatever is ailing you to partake or persuade you in to taking the prescribed medication of note; ergo, religion.

So, one must deduce, by taking said doses of medication, religion, means that: something is wrong with you! Yeah, something is wrong with you , because you have been going to the wrong “specialist” and the real Specialist has told you in the word to just, “…come unto me.” No money needs to exchange hands and you don’t even need insurance or that prescribed medication that you have been forced to take all of your life to get help, just “…come unto me.” You don't need an appointment, or a set time...to seek my help. Anytime is the right time! Just, "...come unto me."

You see, doctors only want to stay in practice by keep giving you adulterated medication.

When You seek help from, The Only Specialist…The Only Specialist, will cure you. And you don’t even have to go out of your door on Sunday if you don’t want to. Because The Only Specialist will make you understand in a truthful, caring way: You are the cause of Your own ailment(s). Quit blaming the doctors/churches/society that prescribed it to you.

No more. No less.

You don’t owe anyone shit! Except to The Only Specialist, Your God! And Your God guaranteed salvation, gratis!

We're Not Dead...Yet! (The Head Tribal Member, Female, From An Earlier Cycle, Post - Third Great Flood) Year Unknown

Feel the breeze,
At ease,
Not a sneeze or a wheeze,
But a tease,
Of what this life could be.

All in,
Though we have sinned
In this intended end.

Put a fork in it,
Because we will never win it.
Sent it,
A long time ago,
Special.

Kill the will,
The thrill,
As we all get ill
From the overdose to the human rights bill;

Never to feel,
All the unique thoughts.
There are no lucky salts,
To throw over the shoulder
As this world is starting
To burn, never to smolder.
Breath in! Breath out!
We’re still,
Thank…Our… God’s… will,
Roaming about.

My Mind's Playin Tricks On May! ( Black, Stand-Up Comedienne) 2002

So I wanted to ask her, but shit I couldn't once realization set in: "I don't have a fuckin phone! Goddamnit!"

I knew she had been there, couldn't find the mothah fuckah, "Shit! You gotcho phone? Good, could you call my phone? Thanks" I had said.

"Oh, never mind," I had said, because I saw it near her elbow resting on the dining room table.

Two hours later, I can't find it! I was right there! I saw it near her elbow, she had even acknowledged seeing it, not having to now go over to her purse and pull out her cell phone to call lost phone of note. So...it was fucking there! So where in the fuck is it?

Oh, I see. Maybe under that winter hat that you put down over the phone after, I said, "after," you had put that hat over the same phone which you had not only ten seconds ago put on that same table, covering it now, with that winter hat you had just taken off, not seven seconds after, to cover seemingly lost phone...Stop it! Damn! I get it! The mothah fuckah is under my "winterhat." Whatdoyouknow? There it be!

But it still fucks my ass up, that if I had the fuckin phone I could have just called and asked her, "Where the fuck is my phone cause you were sittin up here and saw it yo damn self?" That still fucks me up! Right? I'm just sayin! Makes no fuckin sense...but hey?

Still Averaging Small HuMen (Recovering Black Stoner) 1993

What do you want from a front? Runts run the stunts. They’ll tell you, then fail you. Ballyhoo about the shit they have never committed. After lies have been pitted with truth. It’s uncouth! A blind person could see through that ungodly cloak. Made of hemp, as you know, you can light up inhaling not getting high off the fetid smoke. But we continue to drink the Kool-Aid, that’s always been manmade. While we slowly fade…

The End of Days (Elder Tribe Person From An Earlier Cycle,Post Fall Out) Year Unkown

Hear and read these words of Love and Joy for all of you tribe persons that have become before and which come aft! We send these words to all of you who we know will continue to make US who we have always been and we will always be, the human race!

Remember the days when the North winds become the South.

Remember the days when the East winds become the West.

Remember the days when there are numerous days of Sunshine ; and remember the days when those same Sunny days have become a few.

Remember the days when there were a many friends; and remember a time when, I have no friend or foe.

Remember the days when men speak good speak; and remember a time when that same speak turns fro.

Remember the days when one helped their fellow human; and remember the time one only helps oneself.

Remember! Remember these words and many more of statements of Love and admonition! These words, if one brings them into their heart of hearts, will make one understand:

These are the signs of: THE END OF DAYS!

So saith US all!

Be well My Fellow dark travelers! There’s effulgent light to come! Make good choices! Remember to be good to one another! Because there are always, Blessed God, better days to come!

AMEN- AWOM!

The Truth Will Always Be Gratis (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) 2013

You ever had those times My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs where you feel totally separated from this world? Like, this can't be fuckin real? And if this can't be real? Then what the fuck is real? Cause what my Black ass is and has been witnessin most of my life is a fuckin haze over the true picture. Cause this shit, clarity notwithstanding, is fucked up! Yah heard may? People still looking at the media for some truism. I'm glad tah tell yah Sweetness, it just ain't gonnah happen. Unh-the-fuck-unh! Not in this lifetime. The truth is...all around you. You deal with it every day of your sorry ass life. You talk with it. You wake up with it. You go to bed with the shit. You interact with the mah fuckah, and on and on it fuckin goes, at nausea um. But our stupid asses still tryin tah find that fleeting, delicate truth outside our lil world. Um! The fuck wrong with US? The truth will never come from without. It will always stick it's ugly mug up from within then, the truth springs forth without. Not the othah way around. Yet...we still do the shit in adverse, finding it from without, then within; that's called conditioning. Not the truth!

Oh, don't get me wrong My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, far be it from me to sit up there in the scorner's seat like I'm an innocent. No! No! No! Cause in order for one to espouse such statements, one must have seen the characteristics in one. Which that one would be me. So lets just say I am talkin bout my damn self too; ergo, findin truth from within, not without. Cause shit...I am! While yah playin. What is this life without those hard judgements and findings within one's being? The roughest mah fuckin thing in this life is tah find truth within yo damn self. And to accept it, to take ownership of it.

But the most Beautiful thang My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. The most Beautiful thang, is to try, within your sorry ass self, to own your Truth, and sell the shit for nothin at all, gratis, without the imposition tah others of your owned truth!

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

Perpetual Teardrop (Black Recovering Stoner) 1991

Oh, the eyes tell all from this brawl as we fall from grace from this place; succumbing to this fist fight of our collusion of plight. Hope is long gone from sinning, so they say, winning as we die slowly from dismay and decay. Necrosis taking over as we lie awake daydreaming for Heaven’s sake; taking a copious amount of pills for the ills; we, the poor can’t afford the thrills before we pass into the hereafter; benefactors, being the satisfactory depository of the more elite persuasion; heaven on earth being the self worth of the transgressed history of humankind; the poverty stricken sickened eternally by a Godless God, who must be a man, because of his understanding, knowledge and adeptness of torture. Grow up to be mature, endure this intense nauseating pain as the last years wane. Nature taking its course of course; endorse and enforce a law made up by the ones who have solely benefited. Acquitted by their constitution they rule supreme. God is to fear and only in my dream… if there ever is or was one. Wake me up! Please, from this ongoing nightmare…dry up my lonely constant tear.

Niggas (Elaine Hopson II, Tribes Person, Aspiring Writer) 2019

He was so hyped. Nerves on edge. Ready to kick someone’s ass. Gettin crunked. And what do you know? Here his boys were, blaring out that shit, “I don’t give ah fuck! I don’t give ah fuck!” His favorite song when he got fucked up. Hypin’. Give me your money bitch, he would say to the mothah fuckah he was robbin at the time. Rememberin the rush of the whole episodes as the song continued in his mind and he seein all these fools again he had jacked on many of occasions. Could jack someone right now, or at least shoot a mothah fuckah. He was just lookin for some wrongdoin tah go down or to get into. There it was. Black ass mothah fuckah lookin straight up at'im playah hatin his ass off. Well, mothah fuckah, I saw you lookin for trouble and by god you definitely found it. As he smiled at his imminent quarry. The guy smiled his smile showin one shiny gold left front tooth.

He took two quick steps toward the gold tooth brotha and cracked him square in that damn gold tooth. His fist feeling the impact and being as one. Crushing teeth, bone, fuck it, matter. There was matter after he was through. No discernible parts and you know “parts is parts” as he laughed to himself about the old advertising line from one of the fast food chicken sandwiches or chicken nugget commercials. “That’s all folks!” as porky pig would have said. And as the mother fucker on the movie "Friday" would have said and he said just like the mother fucker too, jumped all in his face after his head hit the floor, “You got Knocked the fuck out!” He said into the gold tooth niggas mouth and felt the music and began to dance feeling like he had not felt like until now, tonight.

He thought maybe he should have yelled in his face, “You’re not a daisy at all,” as Doc said to Ringo on the movie "Tombstone" as Ringo was falling to the ground after Doc Holliday had shot him in between his eyes. Maybe he would say that the next time he knocked a fool out.

“Sing that shit! Where’s the other mothah fuckah tah hit!” He said to himself scoping the crowd and his boys just shaking there heads. Let a nigga learn some Martial arts and a nigga goes foul every time. He saw their looks. He didn’t give a damn. He’d hit them too if he had to. Fuck it! Another motha fucka down don’t mean a damn thing. Just another motha fucka critical. Then he came up to this bitch. Who in the fuck does she think she is? He thought to himself. Shit the way he felt tonight and the action he wanted , shit he wasn’t against knocking a female out. She just looked at him with this smile. Kind of set him aback a little. Fuck that little fine bitch. Oh, don’t get it twisted, she was fine. But damn. A nigga gots to do...” He thought as he leaned over and squeezed that ass after he had told this disrespectful bitch with the nicest ass he had ever seen and looking the way she was challenging him? Oh, the next grope would do it for him and put this bitch in her place. Shit, that shit had him hyped like a motha fucka. He reached out and grabbed that luscious ass, squeezed hard and then everything went black.

He came to in the brightest environment he had ever been in. What in the hell? With the tremendous amount of weed he had smoked and just as much booze he had consumed, now waking up and his thumb feeling as though it were swollen. What in the hell, he thought to himself then a slight pain went up his arm then one of his boys came into focus then another and another. “That bitch damn near killed you nigga. I could have told you to not fuck with that bitch. That bitch don’t play. You see any of us laughing? We know. You just didn’t know. Do not. Do not fuck, I'm tellin yah, with Angie nigga. Big old mistake, with a capital B. The fuck wrong with you? We know you know some shit, but that bitch knows some real shit.” B Lo had said looking at his other two boys that were in the room with him. They nodding in agreement. “Look nigga,” B Lo had told him pointing at his heavily bandaged right hand. Michael looked at the direction of B Lo’s index finger and he realized he was injured some kind of way. Michael’s haze was gone, orientation finally setting in and understood now the cause of his discomfort in his right hand. Then the memories of the event started up and he remembered the woman, shit who wouldn’t. And saw himself reach out and she reacting and then there was no more he could recollect. It was all lost in the lost time after. He didn’t know what had really happened, he figured he had blacked out. Would not have been the last time he had passed the fuck out. Marijuana and Hennesy will make a motha fucka think he can do and get away with anything. But the thing about the passing out before he had vodka and other shit on top of the Hennesy. So he never would have drank anything else, because he knew what that combination would have brought about. Sure he would do it over his boys or at the crib but never out in a club.

“The fuck happened man? I remember feeling on that fine sisitas ass then nothing. That motha fucka I knocked the fuck out get up and cold cock me or something? Cause if he did that mah fucka can take a hella punch because I thought a nigga broke his hand for real. Oh, that’s it. Did I pass out and then realized my hand was broke after the buzz wore off?”B Lo just listened to Michael talk. Whatevah motha fucka he thought to himself. Shit I’d get amnesia too. But shit he didn’t know why Michael was trippin’, shit he the only nigga that wasn’t hip to Angie but a mah fucka had to learn some way. Had told the mah fucka to stop shit like that in the first place. Did that shit all the time. Told him, “Mah fucka look. You go out with us nigga you got to start chillin out man. Shit we don’t want to get in no shit. We got enough to worry about than you wanting to start some shit all the time and feeling on bitches asses. Do that shit again, I don’t know about these other mah fuckas but I know I can’t roll with you no more unless we all chill at the crib. I’m gettin too old for that type of drama.” Nigga didn’t listen for shit. But Angie had taught that ass a lesson. And she being a lawyer too and this nigga thought he was going to get away with that shit? He better recognize. And if he didn't from that encounter. Angie had her way of persuadin a hard mah fuckah like Michael. But you can't tell niggahs shit. That was for damn sure.

***********************
The club was rocking. Victor and Angie had just gotten there. Angie just needed to get out of the house and get loose, as she would call it. They had hit a joint before they left the house and they were still feeling the effects when they entered the club which was nice because they instantly hit the dance floor. Song after song they had been out there. Then Victor had to relieve himself and told Angie and she didn’t care, she said she’d be right where he had left her. So she continued to dance. All of the sudden there was a commotion somewhere in the club and she knew it but she did not respond because that was niggas. Couldn’t get together for shit without somebody acting up. So she kept vibing, waiting for Victor to return. Then this motha fucka, kind of handsome but thug all the same was coming her way so she looked at him and he gave her a condescending look, so she never being one to back down accepted the challenge and stared back at him with contempt understanding now this was the genesis or part of the aforementioned commotion, given the fact people were looking and pointing at him as he walked through the people on the dance floor. She continued to stare at him and she saw his hand and was surprised to be the recipient of a grope. Right on her ass. He was saying something but she could not hear him over the music so she yelled don’t do that again, not caring if he heard her or not, he had been forewarned. She was shocked to see his hand come out again and there, his hand, the squeeze. Angie had just as easily had taken her left hand, found his right hand which was still firmly grasping her round ass, adeptly took his hand in hers felt for his thumb, located it and did one quick jerk and inverted it and heard the crack and saw her previous assaulter drop hard on the floor, not moving. She didn’t care. She was just about to follow up with inverting his elbow and breaking it when she realized the music had stopped, then orientation finally came upon her. She was mad. Real mad. Angie had a very bad temper. She looked around and saw one of Victors friends, Tops, looking at the guy on the floor just shaking his head and for some reason he looked up and saw Angie looking at him Tops smiled at her, winked at her and nodded just behind her, she turned to see Victor coming her way looking at the unconscious body on the dance floor. “Uh, I think we should go,” Victor suggested. He knew whatever happened was not Angie’s fault. Though Angie had a bad temper she gave a nigga a little leeway so he knew this nigga probably took the leeway as she being easy or too nice and tried to take advantage of the situation, thinking Angie was like a lot of other women that let things slide with just a cussing out or at the worst a slap. The silly mah fucka in a heap at Angie’s feet didn’t know Angie for shit. That’s why he was incoherent on the floor motionless.

She looked at Victor and said, “Niggas and flies man. Niggas and flies.”
“I hear ya,” Victor responded knowing the very familiar phrase that had been around since he was a young buck growing up, when they were young people in the hood people had been saying the same phrase, “Niggas and flies I do despise. But the more I hang with niggas, the more I like flies.” He smiled at the statement after she had said it. Angie often times was hilarious when she wanted to be. Even in times like these. Angie never worried about too much. She was at ease with herself. He would sit back and just watch how people reacted to her. She could move a crowd without physically moving it, as if it parted for her. Her presence, the certain way she carried herself, plus she was not hard on the eyes at all. And a body to die for, literally, which that mah fucka at her feet certainly almost did. He was just lucky. And, he knew for damn sure, just fuckin stupid. (to be continued...)

My Sister Zoe (Sixteen Years Old, Male, Black, Tribes Person) 2007

My sister was and is my life. I was born on December 30, 1990. My sister Zoe was born December 6, 2001. I even watched her being born because my mother’s water broke and dad was at work and I couldn’t drive so we had to call 911. They didn’t make it in time so my mother had her at the house. It took less than two minutes from the time my mother started pushing and I saw Zoe's dark hair on her head starting to protrude from Mom's vaginal area. Then, she just slid out. And it was like the paramedics knew the exact time to intervene because when Zoe Thompson slid herself out into this world they were knocking on the door and I let them in. They took all of us in the back of the ambulance to the hospital and I was in awe of my sister since that very episode. She was and is so beautiful.

I learned to take care of her immediately. Watching everything my mother and father did. Zoe was mine as well as my mother’s and father’s. When she was brought home and she was in her crib I would spend so much time just looking at her. When she needed to be fed or changed I was on it. I had watched mom and dad do it so it was no problem at all. After feeding her, I would sit in her room in the rocker that my parents bought for her room, and rock her and burp her. She would be so comfortable. I would put her face next to mine, her head lying on my shoulder burping and resting. She was and is so beautiful.

I would sleep on the floor in her room so my mom and dad would not have to get up during the night. As soon as I would hear her starting to be irritated I knew she needed to be changed and I would change her, kiss her on the cheek and lie her back down in her crib, sit in the rocker and watch her fall peacefully back to sleep. Zoe fascinated me so. I love her. I was going to protect her forever.

I would run home after getting off of the bus and get there in time for her afternoon feeding and feed her. My mom and dad would smile at me all the time. I don’t know why. I wasn’t doing anything extraordinary, I just wanted to be there for her. She is my sister after all. I loved when she smiled at me. I would ask her, “What are you smiling at?” And she would smile even more and I would hold her even tighter.

I would take her out on our screened in porch and point things out to her explaining to her this new world she was witnessing. “That’s a Toyota Camry. Made by a Japanese company.” I’m sure she didn’t really understand what I was telling her but she indulged me all the same. “That’s a tree. It’s spelled T-R-E-E. Can you spell that for me?” And she would extend her hands trying to grab my nose or my cheek. “That’s my nose Zoe,” I would explain to her nasally. “Nose is spelled, N-O-S-E. Now you spell that for me?” She would continue to hold my nose fascinated by maybe by the shape and the way my voice changed while she gently held it closed.

Time has passed but the way that I feel about my sister never has and never will. I was and am an “A” student. My grades did not get like that until my sister was brought into this world. She has changed me in a very good way. We sit out on our screened in porch,now that she is school age, after the day is done and I’ll ask her about her day and she tells me everything that she has learned, the new children that she’s met…she makes me smile. Then she’ll ask me after she is through with her daily updates, “So, what did you do today Tommy?” And I would fill her in and she would ask me questions here and there, always so attentive. At the end I would always say, “There, you see? Our lives are not so much different after all.” She would smile her beautiful smile, get up out of her seat and say, “Yea!” And come and hug me, then would retract a little bit, looking me in the eye and say, “I love you Tommy.” I would smile back at her, usually beaming and say, “And I love you too Z.” And she would embrace me again.

I love her. And I will protect her forever.

Deep Throat (Black Recovering Stoner) 1990

Take the bus, not the rocket to lust, a must amid all the humanoids, devoid of sentient reasonability; an illiteracy along with the falsity of chance being enhanced as our candle burns out; doubt being problematic in the equation of life’s frustrating query. I would be leery even if the truth were avowed, as I stand proud on the eve of judgment; a dollar never being spent on the gamble to the preamble. Ain’t nothin nice or funny as our eyes witnesses the demise; to know anything, in this life, that will ever make any sense to the nonsense is to:

“Always follow the money!”

Deuce (Forty-Five Years Old, Broke Black Prophet And Niece, Elaine Hopson II) 2010

“Are you sure you don’t want to meet’em?” I asked Deuce.

“Hell, naw! What the fuck we gonnah talk about Unc? You and Daddy telling me they claim that they are white and shit, so, I ain’t got no time tah be talkin tah some people, supposedly my two sisters and one brother, that are confused about who they are! And denyin who I know I am, which if yah didn’t notice, is Black! Puh-leeze! I’d rather eat brussel sprouts,” she said offhandedly.

“Brussel sprouts? The hell that come from Deuce?” I asked her laughing a little.

“Oh, of course you didn’t know, I hate me some brussel sprouts. Ugh! Makes me gag just to think of’em. Fo sho!” She started laughing too, gesticulating half putting her right index finger toward her open mouth acting as if she was going to create emesis. We both started cracking up.

We were sitting in a restaurant, located on the north side of Indianapolis, waiting for our food to arrive. A Greek restaurant which I had taken her to one other time and she fell in love with the food, and the male server who was giving her the peeks whenever he had the chance, like Deuce and I hadn’t noticed. He was our same server today and Deuce was checking him out with her little peeks too.

“I ain’t really intah white guys Unc, but that one there is fine,” she said.

“I can understand. He’s Greek, and let me tell yah a little something lady, they just light skinned niggahs but don’t want to admit to it. Cause the Moors were puttin their stamp on all of those lil islands like that in that neck of the woods. Yah feel may?” I said conspiratorially to her.

“I know that’s right. You so funny Unc. You make me laugh and feel good when I’m around you. Why don’t you have a woman Unc?” She said while looking at me with concern and confusion all at the same time.

“Damn. Now that will take a minute or two to answer, my Dear Niece,” I said trying to throw her off by making it seem as though it will take a long time answering her question, hoping maybe she would decide it wasn‘t worth it. It didn’t work.

“Time I got Unc. Answers from you I don’t,” she said.

“My niggah,” I said to her smiling.

“You already know. Now speak on it Unc! Let’s hear it,” she said while leaning forward, putting her elbows on the table, looking me dead in my eye, unwavering. I don’t know how it happened but she definitely had gotten this from her Father, my deceased Brother, Chauncey.

“Okay,” I started out, looking off into space trying to find a point of reference.

“Like in some of my creative writing classes that I have taken Unc, just start talkin and the story will just start falling into place,” she said as she picked up her unsweetened iced tea and took a sip. I took a sip of mine. Put the glass down.

“Here we go Deuce,” and I began to tell her the story of my life because she needed to know from one of her many Uncles, to get to really know her now deceased Father. I knew that. And she had picked me to take her down the rabbit hole of our family…

Incog-Negro (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) 2013

The only thang stopping yo scared ass is, air and opportunity. That’s it. Mothah fuckahs wanstah sit up there and be mad bout the way their perspective lives are goin! Shee-ot! Fuck you! With yo sorry mothah fuckin ass! Who-the-fuck-is-You! You ain’t no bettah than the next person, or the next… just anothah mothah fuckah who lives and breaths, that’s all! You-ain't-shit! With yo funky ass! The fuck!

Tired! Just fuckin tired My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! I talk hard but howevah my broke black ass talks don’t mean shit because when it is all said and done, I’m just as confused bout this here life than the rest of you mothah fuckahs. Damn right bout that! Shit!

But there comes ah time of clarity; when shit starts fallin intah place and then the truth is known. But now, here in lies the quandary, what the fuck yo sorry ass gonnah do bout it? Hunh?

Well, I’ll tell yah what. Yah get incog-negro on that shit! Drop off the face of the map, disappear, so yo ass can rejuvenate yo tired and weary soul so you can fight the good fight when it's all said and done, like I’m gettin ready tah do today. Times are sho nuff changin, and with that, so too must I… and you too! If yah wantah make this fucked up world a bettah place! Start makin a diff'rence…or fuckin die! There are no in betweens! None! Yah heard may?

Feel it! Envision it! And it will be so! That... My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs...is A Beautiful Thang! Oh, yes it is!

Hollah atcha latah! Peace!

Always Sunshine (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 2012

I spoke with my niece some two months ago. I call her Deuce, Elaine Hopson II. I told her I had been writing a story inspired by the short stories she had let me read which were always so...real. She stated, "I'll be right over to get it Uncle Meredith!" Sure as she has ever been, a young lady of her word, I Love that young lady. She's in graduate school getting her Masters in English. Well, she called me back not three hours later saying, "When are you going to be finished with this Unc? I can't wait to read the rest of it," she said. "Soon Deuce. Soon," I said while smiling thinking of her lovely smile. "Well, promise that I will be the first to read it! Okay, Unc?" She said. "You will," I said. "Promise? Cause Neda is a bad girl! That story's the shit! Damn! Get finished sooner than soon! Kay?" She said excitedly. "I promise. Hollah back at me when you have the time," I said. "Fo sho! I love you Uncle Meredith," she said. "And I love you too Deuce. I'll hollah!" I said and we both rang off.

I hope you all like it My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs as she did or does. I'll finish it soon for all of you who do. I have a promise to keep for Deuce's sake. And here it be...


THE BEGINNING

(PSALM)

It’s easy being in and out of love at the same time. Anybody will tell you that one who has had the same feeling. All you want is the truth. That’s all. Good. Bad and everything in between. You see, people want to put a good face on things, and sure those same things may be hard at the time one gets them off their given shoulders but there is always a calm before and after a storm. A blissful refreshing air that fills the senses and the nose. But, and its always that but that gets in the way. People absolutely try to avoid inclement weather no matter what they do, but how can one judge what is beautiful weather without those cloudy rain washed skies, filled with thunderclaps and lightening? There is something to say about taking a raincoat and going out in the wetness, or just going out just like you are and walking under the angry heavens. Letting the rain wash over all of your body. Thinking about what is going on, being one with the environment. One has to get there proverbial feet wet, or how could one wash said feet, analogous spirit? Sometimes how I wish and hope for rain, to nourish the roots of my atrophied soul, so I may grow. And that’s where our little story starts…


ALWAYS SUNSHINE

CHAPTER I
It was raining outside, he looked at the gray day and hated having to go to work, but he had to for solvency sake. He had been broke so many times he couldn’t even count. Depending on people and those same people always making him pay in one way or another, every time he lost a little bit of himself, having to pacify, being a person who was seen but not to be heard.

You see it starts with something trivial, then when you look up that little voice has caused a reverberating echo which subsequently starts the avalanche and you had not a clue that minutia of what was said would cause such an outcome but with time you learn, just like any natural catastrophe you learn through experiences and time. And it doesn’t take a long time either. A human Geiger counter, calibrating every time an avalanche begins and ends, taking notations, extrapolating information and finally coming up with data which makes all the sense in the world, the solution being, “With silence, no avalanche will ever start.”

And he guessed that’s what he learned more than anything in the world, that with the knowledge of aforementioned data, he could get along with anyone he had to stay with until he had gotten on his feet. And with his hard head, that was sometimes a very difficult thing to do; alas, he did learn. Get along, or get the fuck out! His mantra when the little voice was expelled and he knew the subsequent fallout or outcome would be imminent. But sometimes he also learned that even when he had spoken in his little voice and the rumble started he could stave off the natural disaster with not saying another word, just by being silent. Wanting to have independent thoughts while being dependent was not conducive to said living conditions. No, one had to meld into one’s environment that another one let them stay or be in, and become a fixture in the environment, like a sofa, a comfortable chair…something comforting and nice to be around, stand up with the little time one had in said environment so the human fixture would not be purged. But just like any other fixture, it wore on him, he started eroding ever so slightly with every passing day which happens no matter the organic entity.

He smiled at the rain coming down, he loved the rain, he was used to the rain, it was his home. Rainy days seemed perpetual to him since his Father’s then his Mother’s passing. He learned to stop hating rainy days, learned to treat them like sunny days, because the rainy days had their moments of splendor, as crazy as that sounded to him. But it was true. He had learned how to love unconditionally in the rain, learned how to be a humble human being in the rain, learned how to cope in and with the rain and learned how to say goodbye in the rain.

He closed his eyes with a smile still on his face, thinking, wishing, and hoping. But all of those three things added up to nothing because he could not change the past, the only thing he could do was to keep keeping on. Live for no other reason because there was no other option save for the alternative which would come in its own time. For now, he lived, albeit, minute by minute, because he also learned during all the rainy days, he never knew what life would bring him the next minute. He lived this way because he figured he would be here longer in minutes than years and in his own reasoning, beating the odds and life itself with his final aggregate after his life had passed. Yes, minutes were a better tally than years, years were too damn long, too damn variant.



Chapter II (NEDA)

She had awakened to find herself in darkness, a little light flowing through her balcony’s doors. She wasn’t lonely just kind of disoriented from the long day she had. She shook her head from the absence of just now remembering of what happened when she had gotten home from work. Just being tired, that’s all she could attributed to, just fucking tired. And she guessed and surmised that she was tired, tired of working a nine to five and wondering when it would end. The only thing she could think of was that it would only end when she was six feet under like her parents that spent their whole life slaving, like she surely did everyday. There was no end to it. She looked up at her white ceilings in her two bedroom apartment, and thought again, when will it end? Oh, she was tired. Real tired. Was this the only thing she had to look forward to for the rest of her life? She definitely hoped not, but it was written in the cards a long time ago thousands of years before she was born. She had nothing to do with how life was and is. But she knew she could make her own life easier, facilitate her to some extent where she could sit back and relax, chill for awhile, think and vacate from the commoners that thought that life was nothing but work. Work, she had come to find out was a four letter word also, like, shit, damn, fuck, piss, life, evil…fuck it, it was all the same to her. Critical, it was getting serious.
She closed her eyes, just thinking about this life. No escape, a prison amongst the sky and the deep blue oceans, a globe of vacancy; an earth that has never given to the beings which had slaved to make it what it is outside her apartment walls and mind. She remembered her ex-husband, didn’t have a clue. He, thinking that his labor and his small mind would get him anyplace, the place where he eventually wanted to be working hard. She had found a long ago, that shit just wasn’t true, far from it. Filled with fillers that she was still coming up with to bring about some type of reasoning the justification of why some have and most don’t? And she didn’t and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Oh, she had heard all the good speak about busting your hump and one day…one day my ass, she thought to herself and continued staring at the various vague textures that she could make out on her ceiling with the little light from the post lights outside in the courtyard finding its way through her horizontal blinds. Sunrise not too far to awaken another day, a day she wished she could just close her eyes again and sleep. But she couldn’t do it, the Little One had to be awakened, and what a chore that was. Had to damn well lift her out of the bed to make her open her eyes, then after a little while of holding her she would be in full swing damn near bouncing off the damn walls, until the medication she would give her every morning would kick in, then it would be more tolerable until they shuffled to the Little One’s bus stop, and she could come back and maybe catch a forty-five minute nap until she had to do the same routine over again, go to work, get off, pick her child up from after school care, bring her home, both of them eat, remind her child of the homework, after giving her child a bath, getting the child in bed by 8:30 then she would have time to herself to sip some coffee and wish for a break in this monotonous life, then go to bed herself and when the alarm clock would sound start the shit all over again. Endless.

Happiness, what was it? She could only say now that she laid in the early break of morning, she honestly could say she was happy when she was in high school. Shit was out of fucking order but it made hella since. What seemed chaotic now seemed as tranquil and serene as the beautiful sunset she viewed along the lake in Cleveland that one spring day she had traveled through there while she drove the many highways getting away for awhile for life. She took out her camera and used up a whole roll of film on that sunset as it dropped in the paint stroked orange and red sky the sun was highlighting with its rays. Seemed as long ago as when she was a child yet happened only some four years ago when her marriage was horrible. Contemplating time and time again to free herself from her co-dependent state, and finally some three years later, making her way to the prison wall and going over, finally liberated, the bob-wire scraping her up some but it was worth it. If it had razor thin wire on the barbs she would have damned near killed herself going over. She couldn’t take it any longer under any circumstances no more. Uh-uh! She smiled now while she thought, dreading to start another day. The travails that had brought her to this point in her life


Chapter III (JACK)

There’s nothing to say really. When he looked at everything that was in front of him and now that he sat back and looked at his marriage, now near divorce. All he could do was to look down at the paper that needed to be signed lying in front of him which needed to be witnessed in front of the mediator and his soon to be ex-spouse, saying to himself, “Just sign the damn thing!” But he was having trouble, picking his left hand up, then having to pick the pen up, he could probably do both actions but he knew eventually that would lead him to why he did both of those actions, and he didn’t honestly think he could do the third action once the other two had been carried out, what his reasonable mind was telling him to do, “Just sign the damn thing!”...


Chapter IV

And since he lived minute by minute, it was 5:59am and if he didn’t get started in the next minute his ass would be late for work

It took him a good hour and a half to get ready. He didn’t know why, maybe some type of OCD he was carrying around for years. Usually he would wake at 4:49 but today when he had awakened it was raining and he just lay there enjoying the sounds of the rain and thinking. He had ironed his clothes the previous night so all he had to do was to drink his coffee, smoke cigarettes until the urge for him to shit would come; then he would take a shower, dress and be out the door. It was a kind of a ritual with him. He couldn’t possibly take a shower before he had a bowel movement. He had done that before and had to jump his ass back into the shower after the stool had passed. He had found out in the morning all he had to do was to have time to drink a couple of cups of coffee along with five to six cigarettes; and voila, the pressure would come; splish, splash! And the day was starting off right. If he did not shit before he went to work, he would have to hold it until he had gotten off and that just wasn’t comfortable at all. No, feeling bloated all day, sitting at a desk because he just couldn’t shit just anywhere, wasn’t a good thing at all. He only shat where he lived or was able to spend the night, where he considered his home. He didn’t know where this practice had started but that was just the way that his system worked. Now, if he had the runs…well…that was an exception, he wasn’t gonna go around with shit in his drawers all day, niggah had his limits.

The rain was still coming down when he left out of his apartment complex at 7:45 . It only took him five minutes to get to work, he only living less than a mile from his job. He lived in downtown Indianapolis . His work was also located in downtown Indianapolis . Sometimes he would walk to work if he got up at the usual time but today he had taken the time to soak in his environment; so he had to drive to get there on time. He wished that Neda would be there but he knew she had an appointment with the mediator for her dissolution of marriage; so his morning would suck until she arrived. She was a hoot. She would say any damn thing she wanted to say but somehow she would get away with it to whomever she spoke with; he was fond of her very much. She was the type of woman he wanted to smoke some good green with and listen to her life's story. She was someone he always wanted to be like, a free spirit. Plus she wasn’t hard on the eyes at all. She was a white woman but a very cool one. He knew she probably grew up with or around Black people. She would crack him up when she would say, “Psalm, you are a cool mother fucker man! A cool mother fucker!”

And as he pulled into the parking garage he was hoping she would not be too long in coming in. Blue Mondays and shit. And people called in claims by the truckload on a Monday. She would make the day tolerable to say the least. “Neda if you can hear me girl? Hurray your ass up! Make my fuckin day! Please!” He said to himself as he passed through the doors of his job, shaking the rain off just a little and hit the elevator “UP” button. Got in, hit six. And closed his eyes preparing himself for a long ass day.


Chapter V

…He loved her. No doubt about that! Drink her dirty bath water and then some. But he knew the gig was up! No doubt about that either. He remembered when he was trying to get himself some, that night; that’s what he called it now, “That Night,” when things had gotten to the point there was no hope, no real reason to try to get her to stay or to try to make her love him. She had said with frustration, “Look Jack! I don’t want to fuck you anymore! Shit turns my stomach something terrible! I just can’t do it any longer! Damn!” He was shocked. More than shocked, she hadn’t said make love to you anymore or any other politically correct discreet put down, no she said the word, fuck! Harsh words. Meaningful words for sure. Then he remembered her continuing, “Look, you can go and fuck anybody you want, I just can’t fuck you anymore!” And he couldn’t believe it, there it was again, fuck? What the fuck? His head was spinning. Hit his ass right in the solar-plexus! He remembered the Batman series when they would put the words up on the screen, “Pow! Whappp!...” He saw another one as clear as he did when he used to watch them as a child, “Oooomph!” Hurt like hell! He wanted to throw up, he was feeling so nauseous! And she just couldn’t stop there she continued, “Look, that’s why I suck your dick all the time. But I can’t even stomach that any longer. Taking you fifteen to thirty minutes to get off! My jaws just can’t take it any longer nor can I live with myself! I love you, I just don’t love or like fucking or sucking you anymore! I mean, we can stay married and shit. I love being married but you need to find somebody else to feed your needs because I’m done with that shit!” And with that she went out of the bedroom and left him there with a stiff member getting ever so flaccid quickly; reminding him of the Pac-Man sound, “Whurrrr-whurrr-whurr-whomp-whomp!” You’re done son! Game over! He was up all that night thinking. It never occurred to him that a year and a half had past without he and his wife having any type of coital activity. He would perform cunnilingus on her and he was sure she would have an orgasm and then he would try to mount her and she would stop him and say, “It’s my turn.” Performing fellatio on him until he was satisfied and weak, both afterward going to sleep. He had missed coital activity but now he realized what was going on all along, “I don’t want to fuck you anymore!” Just now she expressed

it to him in a way he could not blow off any longer. He kind of smiled about the last thought, that sour pun that just went through his mind. But he had to smile about it given the circumstance because he didn’t mean to think up the witticism but maybe it was apropos, some type of cruel serendipitous happenstance of conscience thought.

Here he was a year and a half later trying to pick up the damn pen. When he first got married he believed like his Mom and Dad believed, “…for better or worse; richer or poorer…until death due us part…” And all the other vows contained therein The Good Book he had taken in front of God and Man. And he guessed he would not be sitting here if he would have taken her up on her offer to go and meet his sexual needs elsewhere. That Night was not the only time she had stated that to him, she had said it to him on several of conversations later and she was serious as cancer. But he was a man and she was his wife and he for damn sure was going to make love to his wife. And he remembered expressing those same words to her and she said, “Well then…Fuck it! I’m leaving your ass!”

“Why? What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you? And when did all of this happen? Who the fuck are you fucking?” He said

“Typical goddamned male response! I should have expected with your manly man ass! You had not a clue Jack of the signs…”

“Oh, so you are fucking someone else,” he said cutting her off.

“Will you please let me finish my statement before you interject! Just like I said before typical male response! As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, you didn’t see the signs and you didn’t give a damn Jack! After Sarah was born something happened, I don’t know what it was, but I just didn’t have any sexual feelings. For some reason I just didn’t want to have sex, it had nothing to do with you it was just something within me. I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was some type of post-partum depression or some shit! We didn’t have any money back then, we were living paycheck to paycheck so we couldn’t afford for me to go see a doctor or therapist. If you don’t remember, you and I had no health insurance and John and Sarah were on Medicaid. And there you were always trying to put your dick in my face or fuck me. And since I am your wife I felt obligated to have sex with you but I didn’t enjoy it at all. Do you really think I wanted to fake it until, for some miracle, I snapped out of it and now see you as the sexual lovely creature I used to perceive you as before. I was telling you over and over the many times we did it that I didn’t want to do it and you just had to force the issue and I felt obligated because I am your wife. Somehow I started hating you for that because you never asked me what was the matter? You just wanted to get what you wanted, or get what you thought was your possession and damn what I was feeling! I’m a human being damnit! And through the last five, really seven years of our marriage I have been terribly depressed. And as far as sex with you I don’t want to do it because I hate it. I hate it because you never took the time to ask me. I feel dirty somehow for doing it the many times over the years and felt as though I had no name, no identity, no human characteristic
whatsoever save for being Your Wife and doing my wifely duties no matter how I feel or felt. Don’t you understand?” She said.

“No I don’t understand at all…”

“Mr. Officer…Mr. Officer.” The mediator, James Jones, said.

“Jack! Jack! What the hell’s wrong with you?” Neda asked irritatingly.

“Yes?” Jack responded trying to orient himself.

“The document Mr. Officer. Mrs. Officer and I have been sitting here for at least three minutes. She has not contested anything she has given all of the possessions the both of you acquired together to you. All you have to do is sign the document. Unless there is something not present that needs to be addressed?” The mediator said.

Jack looked up again at his soon to be ex-wife and the mediator with tears starting to come down his face and said, “I don’t think I can do it.”

“I’ll be shit!” Neda shouted in disgust.


Chapter VI

At the exact time Psalm was thinking about Neda, Neda was getting pissed; from her toes on up to the ends of her curly tresses. She had gotten to the mediator’s office on time, 7:30 by some grace of God because Sarah had a bad fuckin morning. But she would have been damned if her daughter was going to drag ass today like she usually did so Neda
would have to take her to school after missing the bus. Hell no! “You’re going to get on that bus today child! Hook or crook, your Father is done!” She’d been waiting too long for this day, and today was today of liberation! “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty…Free at last!”

But Sarah calmed down after about fifteen minutes of taking the Concerta. Then it was smooth sailing except for the minor usual complaints from Sarah. She got her on the bus, she had already taken a shower before she woke Sarah up, she was dressed even. Imagine that. So today started off like it should have, and the rain didn't bother her at all on her way downtown. It could have been a deluge coming down and it wouldn't have mattered, soon as that mother fucker signed the paper, the sun was going to shine, through those clouds which hung ominously above her as she drove, shinin on her white ass.

But things never went that smoothly. She knew freedom came with a price. Always has and it always will. Here this bastard is just sitting up there looking down at the damn paper. Hadn't even picked up the pen yet. What the fuck? "Pick up the pen and sign it fucker! Pick it the fuck up! Or I'll pick it up my damn self and sign it for you!" She was thinking in her head going batshit from this scene before her. What the hell did he do go to sleep? She looked down at her watch, she didn't really care what time it was she just needed something to do before she blew the fuck up! She was at number eight and trying her damndest not to get to number ten because the time bomb in her would explode and it wouldn't be nothin nice. Nothin nice at all.

She remembered when she was tired, just tired of sucking his damn dick. She had gotten to that point because she couldn't stand him being inside of her, she couldn't bare to look at him, gruntin and sweatin on her, not givin a damn that she wanted to be anywhere but where she was, lying with her legs apart and he inside her. Started making her nauseous, for real. Then she came up with the idea of just jerking and sucking him off, but that started taking it's toll. She started feeling like a prostitute each time she did it because she wasn't nor didn't get anything out of it. Her hands and mouth on auto-pilot as her mind was off to the places she wanted to visit with Sarah: Ireland, Italy, Montreal...when she ran out of the places she wanted to visit, to see and to experience, even going as far as to look up places on the Internet to keep her mind from being in the moment, between his legs, she probably thought of every city and town in the world over the past three years, the night before she told him, she knew it would be the last time sucking his damn dick! The reality started sinking in of what she was doing and how she felt doing it and she said for the first time in her mind, and it was such a calming force and voice, "Fuck this shit! Get a good one mother fucker because this will be the last with me! I's gives a damn!" She just wanted to be anyplace but in the same room with him touching her or she having to touch him.

And the next night, when he tried like usual to fuck her, she was so curt it even shocked her how it came out. But she didn't care any longer. She had to find herself. She had to feel again, with or without him. So be it! A-the-fuck-men!...

She looked down at her watch again, a minute and some change had passed. What the fuck is wrong with him? Just sign the damn paper damnit! She was at number nine, still holding it together. But the notch was perilously approaching ten! The fuck! Sign the damn paper! This is why she decided to leave him too. Couldn't make a decision to save his life. Wanted to take his time and life passing so quickly bye. He would listen to her about finances, the running of the household...but when it came down to the bedroom that's where his listening stopped and his other head kicked in.

But he learned. Learned in a very bad way she remembered like it was yesterday she had said to him, "Look Jack! I don't want to Fuck you anymore! That's what it feels like I'm doing, fucking! Feel like some damn prostitute! Shit turns and has been turning my stomach for years now! I just can't take it any longer!" And the look on his face was worth every damn word. Do I have your attention now mother fucker, Mister gottah get my rocks off at any cost because I'm your wife and you can fuck me any time you damn well please? Well I got some more for yah! "Damn this thing here and you! Look you can go and fuck anybody you want, just don't try this shit with me any more. I can't fuck or suck you one more time! We can stay married, I like being married. But this sex business with you...Ugh!" And with that she walked her ass out of the bedroom and slept on the couch, and did so until she left that ass! Oh, yes she did!

He just had to keep pushing the issue the next two weeks. Asking her different things in conversations, well really arguments, thats all they had after that; pure, unadulterated, mean spirited arguments. Saying to her in so many words, you're my wife and Im going to fuck you whenever I please because you are my wife and I can! Shiiiit! She had enough of that shit! And she had said so coldly, with finality, "Well then...fuck you! Fuck this marriage! Fuck your nasty dick and your god-awful smelly hairy balls! Just fuck it! I'm leaving your sorry ass!" Which a year of separation and...

"Mr. Officer? Mr. Officer?" James Jones, the mediator said.

Neda instantly looked down at her watch again, what the fuck man? What did he do, fall asleep or some shit. Didn't even budge from the man calling him. Fuck this, wake your ass up or quit daydreaming whatever you doing! Neda's patience were gone.

"Jack! Jack! What the hell's Wrong with you?" She asked ready to reach over and slap some sense or life into him just long enough so he could sign the paper then he could go back to sleep, daydream, jack-off she didn't give a damn! Just sign the damn paper!

"Yes?" Jack said looking all spaced out and shit. The fuck's wrong with him?

"The document Mr. Officer. Mrs. Officer and I have been sitting her for at least three minutes. She has not contested anything. She has given all of the possessions the both of you acquired together to you. All you have to do is sign the document. Unless there is something not present that needs to be addressed?" The mediator said.

Addressed? Nothing else better not need to be, "Addressed?" Neda said to herself with derision. Fuck that! He should have thought of that shit in the last six months, Indiana and their, "Thinking over period" or what ever they called that stupid shit. She had thought about it for the past eight years. She didn't need anymore time to wonder if she was doing the right thing or not! Hunh! Damn that! Neda was at nine point five! And there he goes again with that weird look on his face, Neda thought. Just sign the damn paper and be done with this! He looked at her. Then looked at the mediator. Then, oh Lord, she noticed the tears!

"I don't think I can do it." Jack said.

Hello, number Ten!

"I'll be shit!" Neda stated in disgust. Stood up quickly and just as quickly began to lunge over the table at her soon to be, maybe dead, ex-husband...


Chapter VII

“Thank you for calling Encompass, this is Psalm. How may I facilitate you today?” He said, wanting to gag. He looked at the little icon of the clock on his computer screen, 8:25 AM . The sixth captured call he had received since arriving at eight o’clock , when he first put his headset on, signed in and hit the “READY IN,” icon and the first little beep sounded in his right ear preparing him that a call was coming to him. The other five were all the same, property damage. There had been a terrible wind and thunderstorm in the state of Florida , and the Call Center in that region was getting inundated with claim calls so they were being rerouted to the Indianapolis Call Center . It was going to be a long day indeed.

He usually would look at the local and national news so he would know what his day was going to be like based on any natural disasters, or severe weather that had happened Sunday, since Saturdays the four regional Call Centers located in the various regions of the country were open, Sundays the company being closed. Sunday had not been a good day at all in the southeast, they had gotten hammered by a tropical storm which affected the state where his employer wrote the most policies; ergo, claims were coming in by, literally, the thousands. Even the Unit Managers allocated to be on the phone, which he was very pleased with, “Get some you!”

He looked directly at the cubicle station across from him, empty. Wondering where in the world Neda was? They usually, even on days like this, would make it more tolerable of a
horrendous phone day, by giving each other known eye contact. Maybe rolling their eyes at one another and each understanding what the other was going through, then smiling at one another, still servicing the call. Shaking their heads at one another saying with non-verbal understood communication, “This mah fuckah needs tah quit it!” Or, “I can’t believe this insurer? Wait until I tell you about this!” All he could do today until she arrived was to just hang the fuck on and try his best to give “Quality Customer Service,” without going the fuck off at the irrational claimants pounding him and his other co-workers with unrealistic expected callbacks from the claim representatives. It was balls to the walls today and everyone, including the claimants, was going to hurt.

Between his third and forth call, he had taken a little bit of extra ACW, After Call Work, to take a look at his email and found out that the region was already deemed a CAT. Which meant was considered a catastrophe, which meant major losses, which meant Encompass was not too pleased with the amount of money they would deal out in the next day, weeks or months subsequently. They were trying to mitigate their damages too. Already holding meetings to see what they could screw the insurers out of, what they were due, based on their individual damages to the plethora of abodes and properties. A Cat team had already been assembled and had been sent into the region assessing damages and probably writing checks to the various claimants.

He was on autopilot, listening and typing. The various screens he had to pull up to input the claims into the computer were very user friendly, automatically tabbing to the next space crucial to be filled in. He looked at the small icon of time again, 8:30 AM as he gave the insurer the proper callback information, within 24 hours, but he knew that was a joke. The various claim reps like everybody else at old Encompass was getting their asses taxed, underpaid and overworked. The mah fuckahs would be lucky if they got a callback within 48 hours. But that wasn’t his job, his job was doing what he was doing, customer service; ergo, good speak; ergo, pacifying his ass off. “…And thank you for calling Encompass.” He hit “Ready Out.” Looked at the time, 8:32 AM . “Where in the fuck was Neda,” he asked himself as he did his ACW, finishing up entering the claim into the computer. He had about another hour and a half until his scheduled break, fuck that! He needed one now, needed nicotine like nobody’s business that was for sure! He hoped Neda would be in before too long, he didn’t know how much longer he could hold it together. He closed his eyes hard, then opened them. Hit the “READY IN,” button. No sooner he did that, the beep sounded. “Thank you for calling Encompass. This is Psalm. How may I assist you today?” Shit! Would it ever end? And as the insurer started giving him their information on their claim he started thinking, “My ass has to start looking for another gig! I can’t take this shit too much longer! And Neda would you please get here-the-fuck-soon!”


Chapter VIII

At the exact time Neda lunged, two things happened. The first, Jack reacted like a cat and got as far away from the table and Neda’s fury as he possibly could get because he had seen that fury and his wife, well soon to be ex-wife, was a formidable force, very. The second thing that transpired was James Jones was taken aback. He had witnessed some shit in his four years of doing this boring ass, but now not so boring, job. The quickness and agility of the woman astonished him. He was almost speechless but he managed to yell out, “I need ah officer! I need ah officer!” But for those two actions, especially the last, Jack would have been carried out on a stretcher either dead or half dead Neda would never know, because as soon as she heard the mediator hollering in mortification those two statements, which took her off guard because she had never heard her married name used in that fashion, she had jerked around to see if he was serious, and he was and she broke down on the table and started laughing raucously.

James Jones was totally perplexed looking at this stunning woman, who just a second ago was going to tear her significant other a new asshole, now she lie on the conference table rolling unabashedly with childish laughter. With tears rolling out of her eyes no less! Total madness! He wasn’t paid enough for this insanity! He looked at Jack and Jack looked at James Jones with a look that said, “What can I tell yah?” And since James Jones had gotten no comfort from Jack he turned back to the Beautiful woman rollicking. James Jones thought he was in a dream. Total craziness.

James Jones finally got his composure back, he had to bring a certain sense of closure to this lunacy. So he straightened his sport jacket and said, “Mrs. Officer this is totally inappropriate! Totally! And if this continues, I must seek outside aide in a law enforcement official to bring to rest this dissolution swiftly!”

Neda heard the words and stopped laughing instantly. Now that’s what I’m talking about, she thought. Bring in the whole fucking IMPD and then some. Shit, she was tired. Been workin Monday through Friday at Encompass, then at Clip-N-Snip on Saturday and Sunday just to make ends meet. And this fool fuckin 'round! She slid off the table and slipped on her shoes which she inadvertently or purposefully had flipped off.

Then looked at James Jones calmly and said, “Eight years mother fucker. Eight years. Do you understand James? Then six more months to bring an end to this shit. And you sit there talking about “addressed?” Nothing the fuck needs to be fucking addressed with your stupid ass, fucked up, gay, pink bow tie on. I want the fuck out. Do you understand me James? If bringing, as you call, a law enforcement official into this room to facilitate this bastard signing this fucking piece of paper? Then I proffer you go get one, two, three, or however many expeditiously. And let me get along with my life. But if he doesn’t sign that goddamned paper in the next five minutes, the whole Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department will not be able to stop me from what I need to do. “There is no fury like a woman scorned,” and the depths of hell will arise in this very office.”

Neda calmly sat back into the chair from whence she had jumped out of, and set coolly, looking straight ahead, out the window, at downtown Indianapolis, at freedom, just beyond her grasp; while the gatekeeper jiggled his keys; and she ready to pounce the fuck out of the cage, as soon as he put the key into the lock. The tumblers turning and signed the damn paper. And if he didn’t…well…there would be hell to pay! He best believe that shit! Hell-to-fucking-pay!


Chapter IX (Sarah)

“Sarah, now pay attention now,” Ms. Flanders, Sarah’s second grade teacher, said for the third time in the last 15 minutes and most of the girls and little boys in the class giggled very quietly.

“Oh, Pooh,” Sarah said under her breath. She used the word all the time when she was frustrated, mad or disappointed. She always liked the sound of it somehow. It came out so smoothly and effortlessly, plus she never had gotten in trouble for using it. It was her little bad word, which every one accepted and no one used it like her. It was her word. And she indulged in it whenever she felt it appropriate, which was often.

“Pooh,” again she stated a little more softer under her breath, as she looked down at her fingernails, picking at them as for something to do with her hands. Hands, she oft times found very hard to keep still, her feet as well, and her legs…well…really her whole body. Something always had to be moving for some reason. She never understood it. But for her it was quite normal. Why wouldn’t those things always want to move? She often times asked herself rhetorically. That’s why she had joints and muscles. Parts of the body were made to be moved, not stay idle, or why would she have joints and muscles? Like her mouth? What good was her voice if she couldn’t use it? Why did she even learn how to talk if she couldn’t say what she wanted to say when she wanted to? It just didn’t make any sense to her. Everyone always telling her to calm down, sit down, stay quiet, pay attention…Oh, pooh she thought and smiled ever so slightly, amusing herself, oblivious now to what was going on around her.




Chapter X (Peter)

“What’s your name again,” He asked sitting in her barber’s chair liking the hell at what he was looking at. But she didn’t know it. They never knew it. He prided himself on it. He had one word to tell these other inferior, pitiful souls: construction.

“Neda,” she informed him as she put the hair drop cloth around his neck, securing it with a barbering pin, so that the loose cut hair would not get on his clothes or between is clothes or on his skin. “I know! I heard it all believe me,” she said in the good natured way she always possessed.

“I understand,” he stated being the con artist that he was so adept at. Reel these stupid fucking bitches in and then feed the need. It was like four play, shit better than that, it was orgasmic! “My name is Peter. Can you imagine what I went through in high school? It was criminal, let me tell yah.” He stated like an adept actor playing his perspective role extemporaneously.

“Right! You understand then!” She said as she smoothed out the hair cloth making sure no hair would get on any part of his skin or inside his shirt. “Everybody thinking it is pronounced, Neadah, like head, but with an N and an Ah at the end! You know what I mean?” She said getting ready like she usually did for the consultation to see how this client wanted his hair to be cut.

Speaking of head, cause it was the third time she commented on how nicely shaped his head was proportioned to his body, he thought, I need mine polished right now! And kind of laughed to him self because he was God, this sheep, well ewe, had no idea what God had planned for her. It was written in the good book so long ago, as soon as he felt the power he needed to enact upon her. Oh, Sweet lovely child of mine! Yes, you will serve me well, he thought to himself while keeping that same convincing, charming, “Oh, look at me. I’m so non-threatening," eminence about him, which he had honed over the past five years.

“Interesting,” he said, “But pronounced Need-ah! Like I Need-ah shave. Or in this case, I Need-Ah haircut.”

“You got it man. But however people say it either correctly or incorrectly it’s alright with me because when I was old enough to realize the problem, I knew my name was going to be a problem. You know what I mean? So screw it!” She said after taking the last stroke of her fine toothed comb through his hair and addressing him so he may tell her how he would like his hair cut.

“I definitely understand, Need-ah. Think about Peter and how cruel junior high and my high school cohorts could have been?” He said amicably. “It wasn’t a pleasant experience at all,” he said even though his was nee Adam Odom Leary. People calling him AOL and asking him questions about, “Why is your service so slow?” Very funny mother fuckers. But those were people he worked with, that knew him so he would give a good hearty guffaw, being as normal and as good natured as he could be. But to this Angel, he would be good old Irish Peter McLeary. Close enough where he wouldn’t slip up and forget the bait he had to lay out to reel this Indiana catch in.

He was a professional angler. Men would ask all the time, given the kind of men that he had met on the numerous construction sites he had been on, “You do any fishing AOL?” He would smile inwardly, he being God only knowing the true meaning of his response, “I absolutely love it. I call myself a quasi-professional of the sport, if you will.” Would be his retort at the plethora of times he was asked. The women he had met working on the various construction sites did not come close to the Angels he had to possess and send to his pure Heaven. Devils incarnate! But this one…she would be a fine catch indeed. She was thick, maybe outweighing him by five or ten pounds or so, and she definitely was taller than he, maybe five-ten, five-eleven. He was five-eight and in his wet clothes would only get, if he were lucky, close to 155 pounds. But he wasn’t worried about controlling her, what was God without wrath? She would just have to feel his wrath like all of the rest if she did not succumb to his heavenly presence, then he would have to result to his ominous strength and power. He ruled supreme.

“So how do you want your hair cut Peter?” she asked still smiling. And he noticed the green mischievous eyes this woman named Need-ah possessed, dancing with malfeasance.

“Well Need-ah. Cut it kind of close on the sides, leave the length on top as it is. And trim up the back a little but don’t take too much off.” He said.

“So…you wannah keep the Mullet?” She asked without a hint of sarcasm. But he snapped his head in her direction just the same and narrowed his eyes just slightly as she just looked at him waiting. He noticed she wasn’t being condescending to him so he said, “Is that what my hairstyle has become? I’m sorry I spend so long away from my wife and children trying to provide the best way I can, I guess I’m not up on the latest hairstyles.”

“Listen,” Neda started, “Whatever you want. I’m not trying to bust your balls or anything like that Peter, but just in case you didn’t know, mullets have been out of style for some time now but hey, maybe they’ll make a swift comeback. You know what I’m sayin? So, I just want to make sure, short on the sides, just trim the top and I don’t dare mess with the back?”

“Could you do that for me Neda? That would be just fine.” He said.

“Mullet you want? A mullet you get. You know what I mean?” Neda said and began doing what she was trained to do, to cut hair and reserve the damn anachronistic style this Peter, should be named Dick, was requiring her to do sans her barbering judgment.

“Thank you Neda,” he said. Thinking she was going to have to pay dearly for her transgressions of questioning God.

He made small talk as she cut here and there. He had found out she was a nearly divorced woman. She had only one child; who, every Friday was picked up at after school care by her Grandmother to let Neda have some time to her self. She was an open book just talking freely because just like any professional angler, one had to know the various bait to use to lure and catch the prize fish. And this one was going to be a prize catch.

The one thing he found out assuredly was that women being single parents were rabbits of habits; could set your clock to their rituals. It had been two weeks surveying Neda. He looked down at his watch, 7:10am . He looked up, and what do you know? Neda and her child going to the bus stop and the bus idling there while other children got on the school bus. Her daughter, Sarah, he thinks was her name, if he could remember correctly, walking hand and hand with Neda. He also noticed that Neda already had on her work clothes which meant she was going in early. Yes, today was going to be her judgment day. And he damned well prayed she was waiting to meet his equal.


Chapter XI

Jack knew as soon as it came out of his mouth and the response he heard, that Neda was ready to hurt somebody. His soon to be ex-wife had a terrible temper and could knock a motha-fuckah out. For real!

“I’ll be shit,” is what he heard and he also did two things: One, he got the fuck out of the chair. And two, got as far as he possibly could away, in the confines of the room, from his soon to be ex-wife's wrath. Because if Neda got to him he knew from two, early in their marriage, incidences that Neda was not to be fucked with and he might have to find a weapon, a chair to throw at her or something, to at least incapacitate her, if he could be so lucky.

The first incident happened just one month into their marriage. He was jaw jacking to her that, “No wife of mine is going to be coming in all hours of the night all the time!”

”It’s not all the time Jack. It was with my girlfriends. I just need to get away sometimes and be around women. You want to watch teevee, talk about sports, talk about godforsaken hunting and if all else fails the ubiquitous, “Let’s go have sex.” So romantic.”

“Fuck you! You better start respecting me as a man!”

“Don’t start this. Please. I’m tired. You’re probably tired. Let’s just go to bed. Okay?”

He remembering being so incensed by her not respecting the things he was telling her about and she acting like he hadn’t said a thing, so he said, “Fuck that! You are my wife and you are not running the streets like some whore.” But for the last part he probably would have been fine. He still thought about that night, when he found out about a woman’s strength. He remembered seeing her eyes turn a fluorescent green, almost unreal, but he didn’t notice it until it was too late.

She had closed the distance between the two of them, now she, instead of being across the room by the front door; she stood three feet from him, looking him almost eye to eye. Eyes blazing, he thinking her eyes looked so sexy. But kept with the hard role. She said calmly, “Jack, don’t you ever insinuate or say anything to the like again about me. Do you understand me Jack?”

The fuck she thinks she is? Fuck you, he thought to himself. The nerve, a wife being so disrespectful to her husband, a man of course being the head of the household, naturally and biblically. “Well that’s what you are acting like, a bitch and a whore,” and as he said the last five words, he had leaned forward and pointed at her, taking his index finger and jabbing it into her left shoulder two times, after bitch and after whore, for emphasis sake. He had not realized that with the two pokes Neda had closed the space to under two feet that stood in between them.

“Jack. Let me tell you three things. And please take note of the three things I’m getting ready to inform you of learning how to treat me. Okay," She began so calmly. "First, don’t ever call me a bitch again. Second, don’t ever call me a whore again or any other vile name. My name is Neda and I should be addressed as such. The third, and the most important thing is, don’t ever touch me again while you are mad or upset. You keep those three things in mind and you won’t get hurt.”

Hurt? Was she out of her mind? She was as tall as he but he had about fifty more pounds of flesh and muscle on her. Plus he was a man and ain’t no damn woman was ever going to beat him. Soon as she threw a punch he would just subdue her, hold onto her until she got over the silly notion she could actually hurt him. She needed to be taught a lesson, and his Daddy often told him that with women, “You got to train them often and early. After that you won’t have any problems out of 'em.”

And let the lesson one begin. He didn’t have to lean over this time; she was a little closer for some reason. So he stuck out his index finger and was extending his right hand to jab as he started to say, “Okay, you are a bitch,” he felt his index finger touch her shoulder then a second later he realized his index finger somehow was pointing back at him at an impossible grotesque angle. And a millisecond after the thought the pain came shooting up his arm and that was when he realized Neda had broken his index finger. Before he could get a good scream out from the pain, because he was going to scream, just like a woman because the pain was horrible, never had felt anything like it in his life, she had stepped in, he saw her forearm cock back and just as swiftly plow into his chest sending him backwards onto the floor, the scream stopped momentarily from the breath expelled from his lungs by Neda’s blow and follow threw. Then it all just went black.

Next thing he knew he was in the emergency room at Johnson County Memorial, looking up at the insanely bright lights, thinking, someone needs to dim the fuck out of these lights! And my fuckin right hand is killing me!

Chapter XII

Neda had went from number ten to zero in no time at all. She just stared out the window at the Indianapolis rain soaked skies, thinking. Still aware of her surroundings, using her peripheries to calculate her environment like she always did. Jack over to her left still looking at her hesitantly wondering if she would pounce on his ass if he relaxed. She wanted to give him a smirk but today wasn’t the day for that shit, straight business today, no time to enjoy herself one last time. Old Mr. Jones finally sitting his ass down feeling confident things would go smoothly now the tension had come and gone but Jack knew better. But he didn’t have anything to worry about as long as he set his ass down and signed the damn paper. If not, Neda would be at number ten in no time flat and fire and brimstone would rain down in this very room, and hell would be doled out in the form of a five-eight one-hundred and forty pound hurricane named Neda. Shiiiit! They better recognize. She was thinking of all of the different scenarios that could be played out and calculating her plans for every single one of them. But she knew, if he did not sign that fuckin paper she would go to jail today. Oh, yes she would, because someone was going to get disfigured and it wasn’t going to be her, she knew that in her heart.

To take her mind off the situation at hand she started thinking of Psalm. He was a funny mother fucker. She almost smiled thinking of him. She was smitten with him. No man had ever made her feel the way he did. Something Beautifully tingly happened to her when he was around her or like now, when she thought of him. He was a special man. Many times in the last six months she had fantasized of him just taking her in his arms and making love to her. Usually men would disgust her because she knew all wanted one thing, to get in her pants. But not him. She never caught him even glancing at her ample bosom or apple bottom derriere. He would lock eyes with her in conversation and she just found that…well…sexy as hell. He was a confident man, a very handsome man but had not a clue of how attractive he really was. Which made him even more attractive and sexy to her. White or Black, any woman would be attracted to him. And she had to stifle a smile again so the business at hand would be finalized. So she could get on with her life. So she could get to know that Beautiful man like she always wanted to since meeting him. Made her warm all over. Fine ass man. Uhm!

Jack had not set his ass down yet. And Neda’s ire was starting to rise, albeit, slowly. She was at maybe number two. “Just calm your ass down girl. Be cool! Everything will be all right!” She kept saying over and over in her mind. Because everything would be just fine. If he would just sign the goddamned paper! As she edged over to number three.

(to be continued…)

Peace! More to come...