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...
Friday, February 24, 2012
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.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
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...)
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...)
Sunday, February 19, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
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!”
“Always follow the money!”
Friday, February 17, 2012
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…
“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…
Thursday, February 16, 2012
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!
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!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
I Am A Gentle Breeze (Fifteen Years Old, High School Student's English Creative Writing Story) 1981
Don’t you miss me? Didn’t you miss me? How I touch you so softly, like butterfly wings on your skin, I send a fresh sense of air and cool you just enough, to even make your body scream out in the universe the sensations I give to them. I am a gentle breeze, feel me move. Soaring ever so high. Letting myself take control and dip and dive to depths unknown. Sometimes I wonder why I can not go into the water and feel its solids? Only being able to touch the surface but that is like all other entities I come about. Sometimes I wish. I wish I could go through any matter staying there for awhile and letting myself understand what it is like to be that entity. That state of being. I am a gentle breeze, feel me move. I have feelings just like any other entity. I often feel under appreciated except in the summer in Florida or some other humid state, I come past and I see the smiles of all the humans I brush and breath life into. But they never utter a word of thank you to me. I have feelings too. I am a sentient being also. DO all of you think that just because you are human and you rationalize that you are the only feeling entity on this earth? It is because you all are elitist? Thinking that only entities that have your language should be addressed or on the same level as the oh so superior human. Oh how I could tell all of you stories of where I have been, the other entities I speak to. All I’ve ever wanted was one of you all to address me and appreciate me in your language to say as I go bye and fill you with soft, warm emotional feelings and in an instant so many memories rush through your mind the instant I brush bye you, Thinking you are on an exotic island and looking at the clear blue sky or Seeing a person of the opposite sex the most beautiful person you have ever met and seeing them in that vision slowly jogging toward you and you know and you wait and just watch this most beautiful person you could possibly imagine , flashes, endless of flashes go through your mind in seconds, and you say not a , Have a good day. I am just saying all of us, if you humans would start just thanking us audibly you would see how many of us are sentient beings. We stay quiet around all of you because of your arrogance, only finding yourselves and your language and interactions amongst one another palatable. We all speak as we go past one another. I am a gentle breeze, feel me move. Address me as in passing and maybe you will learn my language and other entities. We have always been and always will. Maybe we can speak to one another and find a solution to your imminent problem. I am a gentle breeze. Feel me? Feel me!
I have brothers and sisters too. You didn’t know that did you? Of course you didn’t you have never stopped to speak with me, to address me, or any of my siblings. We all do what we do, some of my brothers: Tornado and Hurricane they are messes. So mischievous but they are really kind at heart. Then there are some of my sisters: Gale and Wind…I love going out on adventures with my sisters, we have so much fun. Tornado and Hurricane go out by themselves, we’re not into that kind of misbehaving. Mother, Mother Nature that is, oft times because of them keeps all of US inside, where we can’t go out and play, not being able to play with all of you. Mother grounds us for awhile because of the things Tornado, Hurricane and some of my other brothers do. Just have to have more attention than any of the rest of us. But that’s some of our nature I guess. And everyone has one, nature that is.
I have brothers and sisters too. You didn’t know that did you? Of course you didn’t you have never stopped to speak with me, to address me, or any of my siblings. We all do what we do, some of my brothers: Tornado and Hurricane they are messes. So mischievous but they are really kind at heart. Then there are some of my sisters: Gale and Wind…I love going out on adventures with my sisters, we have so much fun. Tornado and Hurricane go out by themselves, we’re not into that kind of misbehaving. Mother, Mother Nature that is, oft times because of them keeps all of US inside, where we can’t go out and play, not being able to play with all of you. Mother grounds us for awhile because of the things Tornado, Hurricane and some of my other brothers do. Just have to have more attention than any of the rest of us. But that’s some of our nature I guess. And everyone has one, nature that is.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Happy Valentine's Day Lovely Lady! (Anonymous) 2012
You see me naked without dress.
I love you because I feel ashamed about the vices I succumb to.
I love you because you do not judge me of those said vices.
I love you because you let me be me.
I love you because I see myself when you let me be me.
I love you because you are You.
I love you because you are beautiful in every way.
I love you because we are souls that are one and the same; lost in this world but found by some unfathomable entity that makes our love so profound.
You are the light in this vast darkness;
Hope in this world of hopelessness;
Order in this world of disorder;
A foundation to this building that has long since been unstable;
Life in this world of the dead;
A refreshing smile in this alien place of frowns;
You are everything in this world that is and what this world could and should be…
And on this Valentine’s day of 2012, I Love You even more, my Beatific Beauty!
I...Love...You!
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I love you because I feel ashamed about the vices I succumb to.
I love you because you do not judge me of those said vices.
I love you because you let me be me.
I love you because I see myself when you let me be me.
I love you because you are You.
I love you because you are beautiful in every way.
I love you because we are souls that are one and the same; lost in this world but found by some unfathomable entity that makes our love so profound.
You are the light in this vast darkness;
Hope in this world of hopelessness;
Order in this world of disorder;
A foundation to this building that has long since been unstable;
Life in this world of the dead;
A refreshing smile in this alien place of frowns;
You are everything in this world that is and what this world could and should be…
And on this Valentine’s day of 2012, I Love You even more, my Beatific Beauty!
I...Love...You!
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Saturday, February 11, 2012
It's Still Time (Broke Black Prophet) 2012
Don't know why I feel compelled tah share this with you all My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. But get in, where you fit in. Got some numbers fo yah:
2, 15, 22, 42, 48 PB 6
Feel it! Will it! And it will be so! See yah all in N'Awlins in about a month!
Peace! More to come...
2, 15, 22, 42, 48 PB 6
Feel it! Will it! And it will be so! See yah all in N'Awlins in about a month!
Peace! More to come...
Friday, February 10, 2012
Respect Doesn't Come From Your Looks, From Your Dick Or From Your Pussy! Goddamnit! (Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) 2008
Mah fuckahs always talkin shit. I hear women talkin bout how many men come onto their sorry asses and shit. I'm thinkin, I could go out right now buy some shit tah look like a woman and within an hour of goin out this fuckin door tah this apartment there will be at least two mah fuckahs tryin tah come on tah me. Sad awhile. But for some reason women are impressed with themselves by this traditional behavior of men. Or you have in the adverse, men goin around comin ontah women and they feelin all good about themselves by women either takin them home or givin them a number or takin their drink...I don't really give a fuck. Whatevah mah fuckah. Yah see how fucked up the cycle is? But yo sorry ass has tah break that mah fuckin cycle. Yah got tah not Love yo damn self, but yah have tah be at the very least comfortable within the skin that yo sorry ass is in. Cause, believe me Sweetness, that shit ain't gonnah change, with that mah fuckah fo life Son! Belee dat kid!
Because if yah really look at it, in your core being, exterior ain't shit! Shiiit! Look at ugly mah fuckin Donald Trump or Eddie Murphy. Oh, there're the doubters out there right now sayin, but they got money. That don't have shit tah do with the point I'm makin. They made the money because they were respected in their craft or profession. Let's take for instance on the women side of things, Madonna, lets face it, is whooped! With a capital "W!" I don't give a goddamned whether yo sorry ass is a Madonna fanatic or not, the woman is busted. Or Gweneth Pawltrue, or howevah yah spell her damn name, I don't care how the media has hyped that woman up, all I see is an ugly woman. Damn that! Digressing, all four of them have a big ass flaw, they are severely unattractive but they are respected. And they're not respected by how good they can fuck. They are respected in their given talents. Maybe fuckin is one of them, but I don't hear the shit on TMZ or no shit.
People always talkin like looks are so important. Looks don't mean a damn thang if yo sorry ass ain't respected. You might be a drop dead gorgeous mah fuckin fly ass woman, but if yah givin it up tah every goddamn body, respect gets thrown out the fuckin window and all yo ass becomes is a fuckin Ho! Because respect comes with a certain sense of standards, one of them being, restraint. Controllin yo shit. Or if you are a man, (and I ain't even goin tah say handsome cause I don't know why in the fuck women fuckin most of these overweight, ugly, misogynistic, arrogant assholes? Cause I don't give a fuck how much money Oprah got, there is no way my dick could get on hard for that ugly woman! Unh-the-fuck-unh! But back to my point.), fuckin every damn woman yah damn well please, respect gets thrown out the fuckin window, and all yo sorry ass will be known as is a fuckin Ho!
And why does this happen My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs? Because whether you be male or female that shit shows signs of weakness; ergo, a flaw in the perception of respect an individual has for the one that used to be respected, unless yo sorry ass just wantstah be known as a great Ho or a great Whoremonger. But I'm glad tah tell yah, yo ass has one hundred million or more of competitors. So go knock yo sorry, no count havin ass out! For real! Shiit! Dogs can fuck! Monkeys can fuck! So can the rest of the animal kingdom!
Now, mah fuckah thinkin, why the fuck you stuck on sex? If a mah fuckah wants tah have multiple partners I don't see the problem? And here in lies the problem with yo stupid no count havin ass! Since gestating in yo Momma's Holiest of Holies and springing forth intah this world, the only thang yo mothah fuckin ass will evah own is your body, yo sacred temple. And tah let mah fuckahs stick in or stick on the only shit you will evah own, is disrepspectful and quite negligent to the only priceless thang yo ass will evah own in yo short good fo nothin life, your Holy Temple of your body! The fuck wrong with you? The fuck wrong with US? In my forty-three year sorry ass life I have known eleven women. Of course the word 'known' is used in the Biblical sense as a euphemism for, having sex with anothah. Don't know why I used the term but I did. So, there...on the othah hand I guess I do know why I used it because it is prudish and I am not a prude by any means so I used it as a means of incongruity from the written prose prior to. But anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted, eleven women. Might sound like a lot for some, but not shit tah most. But it is what it is. But again, the last sixteen years I have only known two. And I don't really give ah good goddamn whethah you believe that shit or not. Yah heard may? Again, it is what it is?
And why did I tell you all this My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs? Cause, it's ol' school which should be new school too and year round school. What-the-fuck-evah yah want tah call it mah fuckah! How yo sorry ass treats yo body is in direct correlation of the respect you have for yourself and the respect others have for you. I may not like myself a whole hellofalot of the time and I might be a broke Black ass mah fuckah. But I sho the fuck respect myself goddamnit and I don't need or want to find that respect in various vaginal areas! And that makes all the difference in the world. Best belee dat shit! And it is...A Beautiful Thang! Oh, yes it is!
Peace! More to come...
Because if yah really look at it, in your core being, exterior ain't shit! Shiiit! Look at ugly mah fuckin Donald Trump or Eddie Murphy. Oh, there're the doubters out there right now sayin, but they got money. That don't have shit tah do with the point I'm makin. They made the money because they were respected in their craft or profession. Let's take for instance on the women side of things, Madonna, lets face it, is whooped! With a capital "W!" I don't give a goddamned whether yo sorry ass is a Madonna fanatic or not, the woman is busted. Or Gweneth Pawltrue, or howevah yah spell her damn name, I don't care how the media has hyped that woman up, all I see is an ugly woman. Damn that! Digressing, all four of them have a big ass flaw, they are severely unattractive but they are respected. And they're not respected by how good they can fuck. They are respected in their given talents. Maybe fuckin is one of them, but I don't hear the shit on TMZ or no shit.
People always talkin like looks are so important. Looks don't mean a damn thang if yo sorry ass ain't respected. You might be a drop dead gorgeous mah fuckin fly ass woman, but if yah givin it up tah every goddamn body, respect gets thrown out the fuckin window and all yo ass becomes is a fuckin Ho! Because respect comes with a certain sense of standards, one of them being, restraint. Controllin yo shit. Or if you are a man, (and I ain't even goin tah say handsome cause I don't know why in the fuck women fuckin most of these overweight, ugly, misogynistic, arrogant assholes? Cause I don't give a fuck how much money Oprah got, there is no way my dick could get on hard for that ugly woman! Unh-the-fuck-unh! But back to my point.), fuckin every damn woman yah damn well please, respect gets thrown out the fuckin window, and all yo sorry ass will be known as is a fuckin Ho!
And why does this happen My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs? Because whether you be male or female that shit shows signs of weakness; ergo, a flaw in the perception of respect an individual has for the one that used to be respected, unless yo sorry ass just wantstah be known as a great Ho or a great Whoremonger. But I'm glad tah tell yah, yo ass has one hundred million or more of competitors. So go knock yo sorry, no count havin ass out! For real! Shiit! Dogs can fuck! Monkeys can fuck! So can the rest of the animal kingdom!
Now, mah fuckah thinkin, why the fuck you stuck on sex? If a mah fuckah wants tah have multiple partners I don't see the problem? And here in lies the problem with yo stupid no count havin ass! Since gestating in yo Momma's Holiest of Holies and springing forth intah this world, the only thang yo mothah fuckin ass will evah own is your body, yo sacred temple. And tah let mah fuckahs stick in or stick on the only shit you will evah own, is disrepspectful and quite negligent to the only priceless thang yo ass will evah own in yo short good fo nothin life, your Holy Temple of your body! The fuck wrong with you? The fuck wrong with US? In my forty-three year sorry ass life I have known eleven women. Of course the word 'known' is used in the Biblical sense as a euphemism for, having sex with anothah. Don't know why I used the term but I did. So, there...on the othah hand I guess I do know why I used it because it is prudish and I am not a prude by any means so I used it as a means of incongruity from the written prose prior to. But anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted, eleven women. Might sound like a lot for some, but not shit tah most. But it is what it is. But again, the last sixteen years I have only known two. And I don't really give ah good goddamn whethah you believe that shit or not. Yah heard may? Again, it is what it is?
And why did I tell you all this My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs? Cause, it's ol' school which should be new school too and year round school. What-the-fuck-evah yah want tah call it mah fuckah! How yo sorry ass treats yo body is in direct correlation of the respect you have for yourself and the respect others have for you. I may not like myself a whole hellofalot of the time and I might be a broke Black ass mah fuckah. But I sho the fuck respect myself goddamnit and I don't need or want to find that respect in various vaginal areas! And that makes all the difference in the world. Best belee dat shit! And it is...A Beautiful Thang! Oh, yes it is!
Peace! More to come...
The Pawnshop Blues Of A Crack-Head (Thirty-Two Years Old, Hawaiian, Recovering Crack Addict) 2014
He had pawned enough mother fucker... tah understand, with his crackhead havin ass, not tah say, "How much would yah give me for this?" Fuck, no! No! No! No! It's always, " How much would you loan me for this?" Now, that's whatcha broke crackhead ass asks! "Give me?" Tear yo ass up! Statement of desperation. And fuck that, though yo sorry ass needs a hit like nobody's b'ness! Gottah be a smart crackhead if yah wannah keep crackin the right way. Whatevah the fuck that shit is?
"Loan me?" Now that's ah real b'ness person. Want ch'o shit back goddamnit! "Give me?" Now my ass knows, as a pawnbroker, yo sorry ass don't want ch'o shit back. Yo ass desperate. And desperate makes my ass some money. Nevah see yo sorry ass again...At least, not fo the bullshit yah tryin tah pawn me. Shiiiit...
"Loan me?" Now that's ah real b'ness person. Want ch'o shit back goddamnit! "Give me?" Now my ass knows, as a pawnbroker, yo sorry ass don't want ch'o shit back. Yo ass desperate. And desperate makes my ass some money. Nevah see yo sorry ass again...At least, not fo the bullshit yah tryin tah pawn me. Shiiiit...
Thursday, February 9, 2012
At The Daycare (Thirty-Two Years Old, Male, Black, Stand-Up Comedian) 2010
So you gottah lil Sweet muh fuckah playin and shit with her friends. Then all bets are off when she sees Daddy. Drops all the damn blocks she was hordin from the othah lil muh fuckahs. Fuck it! Damn! Take the shit! My Daddy's here with y'alls sorry asses! All happy and shit cause Daddy done picked my Black ass up. And before, six o'clock on the nose, Momma's usual pick up time, with her no job havin ass. I'm just sayin. Feelin all good! Yeah, Daddy let me give you a hug and some sugah. This be My Daddy! Wantin tah stick yo tongue out at the othah lil muh fuckahs! You poor lil sorry bastards and bitches! But you don't dare do that, cause yo ass is gonnah be back here with these sorry muh fuckahs, I loathfully call "my friends," tomorrow mornin. Shee-iit, can't rub that shit in! Oh, no! So you just smile, wave and respectfully say, "Goodbye everybody!"
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Musing Valentine's Day (Twenty-One Years Old, Married, Male, Caucasian) 1981
Flowers Per dozen are tripled.
Your pocket this day is very crippled.
A man-made day like the rest,
Every year I seem to flunk the test.
Cupid's arrow and stuff like that,
I could really hit Cupid with a bat.
Every year you seem to buy more,
Wandering around broke in the store.
Yes, the plastic will see much action
This Winter's day of passion.
Buy! Buy! Is the only reason;
For Many of days in every season.
You give and smile like you are thrilled,
And what you are really thinking about is getting billed.
Your loved one that is so happy about the gift you gave,
You're wondering how many bucks you could have saved
If you could have just given a traditional card,
As they look at the five by eight and think,
"You can take this and shove this up your ass, real hard."
Even though you have been taught it's the thought,
Your love is now based on the price of the gift you've bought.
So you have to give an expensive gift, then wine and dine,
Because that is when you really shine!
Just remember that this is just one day out of many,
That you will spend your every penny,
So, as the days of the year accumulate,
Your available credit will dissipate;
But don't forget it's all for love,
That is why you are in debt way above,
You sit around thinking what to do?
Put the relationship on hold until the days are through?
No! Now, that would be too easy and a whole lot cheaper.
Is it really cheaper to keep her?
I'm convinced days like this and so many more,
Were made up by the retail and floral stores.
Your pocket this day is very crippled.
A man-made day like the rest,
Every year I seem to flunk the test.
Cupid's arrow and stuff like that,
I could really hit Cupid with a bat.
Every year you seem to buy more,
Wandering around broke in the store.
Yes, the plastic will see much action
This Winter's day of passion.
Buy! Buy! Is the only reason;
For Many of days in every season.
You give and smile like you are thrilled,
And what you are really thinking about is getting billed.
Your loved one that is so happy about the gift you gave,
You're wondering how many bucks you could have saved
If you could have just given a traditional card,
As they look at the five by eight and think,
"You can take this and shove this up your ass, real hard."
Even though you have been taught it's the thought,
Your love is now based on the price of the gift you've bought.
So you have to give an expensive gift, then wine and dine,
Because that is when you really shine!
Just remember that this is just one day out of many,
That you will spend your every penny,
So, as the days of the year accumulate,
Your available credit will dissipate;
But don't forget it's all for love,
That is why you are in debt way above,
You sit around thinking what to do?
Put the relationship on hold until the days are through?
No! Now, that would be too easy and a whole lot cheaper.
Is it really cheaper to keep her?
I'm convinced days like this and so many more,
Were made up by the retail and floral stores.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Liquid Life (Thirty-Seven Years Old, Elaine Hopson II, Tribe Person, Aspiring Writer, A Story Based On Her Father's Life, Veteran Of Foreign War, Chauncey D. Hopson She Contacted And Had A Beautiful Relationship With Before His Passing In 2007) 2017
“Lets get busy!” He said out loud to himself as he popped the cap of his favorite, Tanqueray gin. He took a swig right out of the bottle to take away the anxiety and the anticipation. Took a good swig and swallowed hard feeling the burn and tasting the bitterness of the alcohol. He felt better now, relaxed. He took the Martini and Rossi sweet vermouth out of the sack that was bagged separately at the liquor store located not two blocks away. He poured a generous amount of the gin in a glass that he eyed about half way up the eight ounce glass. Then he eyeballed the vermouth that would continue to three-quarters up the glass, which would make the perfect martini. Shaken, stirred, to hell with all of that he just used his index finger swirled the mixture lightly and, boom, look who stepped into the room! He smiled at the glass. It was the only joy he got out of life anymore. He could have gotten some cheaper gin but he remembered his uncle telling him, “If you’re going to drink young blood, damnit, drink the best.” His uncle was right about the drinking. He had found out over the many times he had indulged in libation throughout his life that if he purchased some of the more inferior liquors that were out there, his high was always compromised. And don’t even mention the next morning. My God, he thought to himself. The hangovers that came the next morning from the cheap stuff. So if he could not buy the best, he would suffer. Shaking like it was cold even though it would be eighty or so degrees outside; or sweating though the temperature was way below freezing. The things a vice does to the human body. But he didn’t care. It was his panacea.
He went to the window and perched himself into his favorite seat. Situated a little from the window so no one who might look up could see him peering out. Oh, he wasn’t the nosy type, he just loved to see life passing by or seeing life instead of watching television or looking at his four walls. He was a young man considering. Now forty-two but still looked as though he could pass easily for thirty. He had seen various people who he knew had indulged in alcohol as much as he that was the same age as he but looked ten to twenty years older. Alcohol had yet to catch up to him like that. Maybe that was another advantage of buying and drinking the best. Now he didn’t get ignorant with that philosophy. He had his limits as far as how much he would spend on everything including alcohol. Alcohol to him was like his medicine he prescribed to himself daily when he had enough money and would discontinue use if there were other pressing things he had to purchase or bill he had to pay. He often wondered if so called middle America would call someone like him an alcoholic? Oh sure, he would drink as long as he could afford it but could just as easily pass the liquor store up if his money was funny. Sure he would have some withdrawals but they would only last for a little over forty-eight hours and after that he was fine. Until he would start up again. Then the cycle would begin.
He watched and sipped as life was happening outside his window. Cars passing here and there. People going in and out of the businesses across the street, people going to work...He watched all of this as he let the liquor do its job, putting him in a tolerable state. That’s what he liked more than anything about the self prescribed medication, he could tolerate everything that had been and maybe still was troubling him. He understood how the Native Americans gave away this and that for the rum that they had traded for land that had become very lucrative. He had often wished he could have had a drink with his Father. To sit and drink and talk about life or anything else. He had found how interesting and intriguing conversation was when he was drinking. The things he would remember and the thoughts he had about subjects he had no real comment about until he got his drink on. Got a little hazy. Drinking he realized was like anything else, if you manage it right you could sustain a certain level of existence. And it was way cheaper than paying a therapist and maybe subsequent medication, Xanax; Prozac, Zoloft...Plus he could purchase it over the counter. He held up the glass as far as a cheers to the voice of reason in his mind. And ended the cheers with the traditional sip but he took a full mouthful, let it linger in his mouth, letting his tastes buds enjoy all of the familiar clean, alcohol, refreshing remnants of solids that had been turned into liquid Valium. But legal. Finally he swallowed and slightly distorted his face from the overwhelming reaction the various composition of the gin and vermouth had on the whole drinking and ingesting process. He thought now he should have purchased some olives. They would have been well received at this point of the first drink. All that salty, sourness from the olives and sweetness, dryness and bitterness from the liquor would have tasted good. Pouring some of the olive juice brine, making the drink hella dirty. Damn, that sure sounded good to him, but fuck it! Drinking it clean was quite copacetic. He would damn sure get the olives the next time though. That was for damn sure, some big fat meaty Queen Anne kind, shit, breakfast in a glass! Oh, he so enjoyed it so. Oh, yes he did! No breakfast and being only 10am, olives were sounding damn good.
When he had the money to buy liquor he rarely ate anything. Having liquid meals all day long. At forty-two he was still physically fit. Getting down on his apartment floor anytime he felt like it and doing sets of pushups and crunches until his abdominal area and arms cried out in pain. Once he was medicated he would do some in about, oh, another glass and a half. Making his body anesthetized to the pain so he could push it a little farther than when he was without the alcohol in his system.
A roller blader came flying down on the street, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world, no shirt on, tattered khaki shorts, long curls flying back with the wind. He knew the mah fuckah couldn’t be going to work, not looking like that, maybe he was just out enjoying himself but it was a hell of a time, still with a little leftover rush hour traffic from this morning flying passed the blader. But the blader was oblivious, caught up in his own world. He smiled at that. “Keep on Truckin young blood. Keep on truckin,” he said softly to himself, took another sip, reached into his left pant pocket and retrieved the fresh pack of Marlboro Menthol Milds he had just purchased. He put his drink on the window sill, made sure it was secure and wouldn’t fall off. Opened the pack. Reached into his right pant pocket and got out his zippo, the lighter making the metallic sound as he opened it, struck it, the lighter instantly fired up, he lit his cigarette, flipped the lighter closed, put it on the windowsill while he inhaled hard, picked up his drink. Exhaled, smiled and took another long pull of the martini and slowly melted into his seat, getting even more comfortable. Watching...thinking.
He sipped on the drink and kept looking out his window or windows. He had floor to ceiling windows. He, getting lucky before the boom came and rich mothah fuckahs coming to buy up condos in the warehouses downtown they were transforming, he had been in his apartment which they now called condominiums for seven years. Well, he guessed he shouldn’t see it as an apartment now, it was his home. The whole half of the fourth floor, 2500 square feet. The owner, a Vietnam Veteran, had approached him, just under a eight years ago, and told him he would give him a steal and let him have, what the Vet called now, a Condo, for 125,000 dollars. For some reason he did it. Plopped down and drained his whole savings, only having 10,000 left, after it was all said and done, in his bank account. He had to do it that way, the Vet had told him he needed the capital to fix up the floors below him, he having the pick of the litter, the top floor with the view of downtown Indianapolis and having the nicety of being the only other tenant besides the one who moved across the hall to have access to the roof. That was the proposal, he giving the Vet cash on the barrel so the Vet could make money off of his investment, which the Vet stated, “I wouldn’t hose another Brother. You know that. In six months, your condo will be worth four to five times what you are paying me for it. Believe me.” And the mothah fuckah was a man of his word, estimated value of his spacious yet very sparsely decorated condo the last time he checked, a cool half a mill.
He had been in the Army and had played the role after the Gulf War of having mental illness, Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Well, he guessed he wasn’t playing a role, the shit was alive and well and living in his mind. Oh, he had seen some shit as a sergeant over there. Shit that only the military knew about and the public was oblivious to, and it would probably stay that way forever if not a very long time. Civilians thinking war was about killing the enemy, another service member fighting for their perspective country. Civilians had not a clue of the plethora of atrocities, innocent children, women and men that were killed with the bombs and so-called friendly fire coming from the rifles and other artillery he had carried along with his other brothers in arms to free those same dead bodies lying like rag dolls on the ground, or blown to bits, chunks and chunks of human flesh lying here and there, sometimes everywhere he and his platoon would take a step, they would be stepping on an ear or a minute part of a finger... This was one of the many reasons he drank when he did, to take away the dreaming factor, having dreamless and fitful sleep. And when he did dream, nightmares weren’t even close to what he had. Horrible human atrocities he had witnessed. Gratefully waking up in a sheen of sweat, heart pounding hard, breathing labored horribly.
He shook his head and a tear started running down his right cheek, he wiped it away instantly and took a long pull off the martini, draining the glass, wincing from the overpowering taste, traveling down his throat. He pulled another cigarette out and fired it up with the same Zippo, placing the empty glass finally next to his chair on the floor. Inhaled deeply on the smoke and let the exhaled smoke slowly leave his mouth and nose. He would get up soon to make another, but for now he wanted the liquor to do its work so he would not get into that thinking mode, musing about what he had envisioned and he so wished he never had. He remembered his Father’s saying which was something he had heard time and time again throughout his life from various other people, but his Father meant it in a whole another meaning, a knowledge of something he never conveyed to him, “Ignorance is bliss. Boy, stay blissful if you can.” He knew what his Father had been trying to make him understand, “Life has some things for your ass, you wished you would have never experienced or had knowledge of.” He couldn’t get rid of the visions that popped into his mind at anytime which would make him immobile, panic stricken. He remembered his time at Navistar, on the line and a vision would pass in his mind for no reason whatsoever, and he would be the soul problem of why the line came to a standstill. Supervisors replacing him and he wondering what the fuck? Shaking and shit. Bad times. Very bad times. He took another long pull off the smoke and extinguished the remnants. Got up and went to his kitchen to make himself another stiff one. It was time for his next dose of medication, his sedative.
He walked over the open floor. He had to admit he loved the, well, okay, condo. He had to get used to that word, but somehow it was strange still to him because that’s the way he saw the space, after six years seeing it as an apartment, but a big fuckin apartment. He remembered meeting the Vietnam Vet at the Veterans hospital on one of his monthly psyche appointments back then. Now he only had to go and get evaluated yearly, and collect his monthly allotment, or crazy check which totaled 3900 and some change. The Vet having issues too, he had learned while talking to him, the Vietnam Vet being a regional manager now with one of the top insurance companies in the US. But unlike him, the Vet had his shit together.
He went to the window and perched himself into his favorite seat. Situated a little from the window so no one who might look up could see him peering out. Oh, he wasn’t the nosy type, he just loved to see life passing by or seeing life instead of watching television or looking at his four walls. He was a young man considering. Now forty-two but still looked as though he could pass easily for thirty. He had seen various people who he knew had indulged in alcohol as much as he that was the same age as he but looked ten to twenty years older. Alcohol had yet to catch up to him like that. Maybe that was another advantage of buying and drinking the best. Now he didn’t get ignorant with that philosophy. He had his limits as far as how much he would spend on everything including alcohol. Alcohol to him was like his medicine he prescribed to himself daily when he had enough money and would discontinue use if there were other pressing things he had to purchase or bill he had to pay. He often wondered if so called middle America would call someone like him an alcoholic? Oh sure, he would drink as long as he could afford it but could just as easily pass the liquor store up if his money was funny. Sure he would have some withdrawals but they would only last for a little over forty-eight hours and after that he was fine. Until he would start up again. Then the cycle would begin.
He watched and sipped as life was happening outside his window. Cars passing here and there. People going in and out of the businesses across the street, people going to work...He watched all of this as he let the liquor do its job, putting him in a tolerable state. That’s what he liked more than anything about the self prescribed medication, he could tolerate everything that had been and maybe still was troubling him. He understood how the Native Americans gave away this and that for the rum that they had traded for land that had become very lucrative. He had often wished he could have had a drink with his Father. To sit and drink and talk about life or anything else. He had found how interesting and intriguing conversation was when he was drinking. The things he would remember and the thoughts he had about subjects he had no real comment about until he got his drink on. Got a little hazy. Drinking he realized was like anything else, if you manage it right you could sustain a certain level of existence. And it was way cheaper than paying a therapist and maybe subsequent medication, Xanax; Prozac, Zoloft...Plus he could purchase it over the counter. He held up the glass as far as a cheers to the voice of reason in his mind. And ended the cheers with the traditional sip but he took a full mouthful, let it linger in his mouth, letting his tastes buds enjoy all of the familiar clean, alcohol, refreshing remnants of solids that had been turned into liquid Valium. But legal. Finally he swallowed and slightly distorted his face from the overwhelming reaction the various composition of the gin and vermouth had on the whole drinking and ingesting process. He thought now he should have purchased some olives. They would have been well received at this point of the first drink. All that salty, sourness from the olives and sweetness, dryness and bitterness from the liquor would have tasted good. Pouring some of the olive juice brine, making the drink hella dirty. Damn, that sure sounded good to him, but fuck it! Drinking it clean was quite copacetic. He would damn sure get the olives the next time though. That was for damn sure, some big fat meaty Queen Anne kind, shit, breakfast in a glass! Oh, he so enjoyed it so. Oh, yes he did! No breakfast and being only 10am, olives were sounding damn good.
When he had the money to buy liquor he rarely ate anything. Having liquid meals all day long. At forty-two he was still physically fit. Getting down on his apartment floor anytime he felt like it and doing sets of pushups and crunches until his abdominal area and arms cried out in pain. Once he was medicated he would do some in about, oh, another glass and a half. Making his body anesthetized to the pain so he could push it a little farther than when he was without the alcohol in his system.
A roller blader came flying down on the street, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world, no shirt on, tattered khaki shorts, long curls flying back with the wind. He knew the mah fuckah couldn’t be going to work, not looking like that, maybe he was just out enjoying himself but it was a hell of a time, still with a little leftover rush hour traffic from this morning flying passed the blader. But the blader was oblivious, caught up in his own world. He smiled at that. “Keep on Truckin young blood. Keep on truckin,” he said softly to himself, took another sip, reached into his left pant pocket and retrieved the fresh pack of Marlboro Menthol Milds he had just purchased. He put his drink on the window sill, made sure it was secure and wouldn’t fall off. Opened the pack. Reached into his right pant pocket and got out his zippo, the lighter making the metallic sound as he opened it, struck it, the lighter instantly fired up, he lit his cigarette, flipped the lighter closed, put it on the windowsill while he inhaled hard, picked up his drink. Exhaled, smiled and took another long pull of the martini and slowly melted into his seat, getting even more comfortable. Watching...thinking.
He sipped on the drink and kept looking out his window or windows. He had floor to ceiling windows. He, getting lucky before the boom came and rich mothah fuckahs coming to buy up condos in the warehouses downtown they were transforming, he had been in his apartment which they now called condominiums for seven years. Well, he guessed he shouldn’t see it as an apartment now, it was his home. The whole half of the fourth floor, 2500 square feet. The owner, a Vietnam Veteran, had approached him, just under a eight years ago, and told him he would give him a steal and let him have, what the Vet called now, a Condo, for 125,000 dollars. For some reason he did it. Plopped down and drained his whole savings, only having 10,000 left, after it was all said and done, in his bank account. He had to do it that way, the Vet had told him he needed the capital to fix up the floors below him, he having the pick of the litter, the top floor with the view of downtown Indianapolis and having the nicety of being the only other tenant besides the one who moved across the hall to have access to the roof. That was the proposal, he giving the Vet cash on the barrel so the Vet could make money off of his investment, which the Vet stated, “I wouldn’t hose another Brother. You know that. In six months, your condo will be worth four to five times what you are paying me for it. Believe me.” And the mothah fuckah was a man of his word, estimated value of his spacious yet very sparsely decorated condo the last time he checked, a cool half a mill.
He had been in the Army and had played the role after the Gulf War of having mental illness, Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Well, he guessed he wasn’t playing a role, the shit was alive and well and living in his mind. Oh, he had seen some shit as a sergeant over there. Shit that only the military knew about and the public was oblivious to, and it would probably stay that way forever if not a very long time. Civilians thinking war was about killing the enemy, another service member fighting for their perspective country. Civilians had not a clue of the plethora of atrocities, innocent children, women and men that were killed with the bombs and so-called friendly fire coming from the rifles and other artillery he had carried along with his other brothers in arms to free those same dead bodies lying like rag dolls on the ground, or blown to bits, chunks and chunks of human flesh lying here and there, sometimes everywhere he and his platoon would take a step, they would be stepping on an ear or a minute part of a finger... This was one of the many reasons he drank when he did, to take away the dreaming factor, having dreamless and fitful sleep. And when he did dream, nightmares weren’t even close to what he had. Horrible human atrocities he had witnessed. Gratefully waking up in a sheen of sweat, heart pounding hard, breathing labored horribly.
He shook his head and a tear started running down his right cheek, he wiped it away instantly and took a long pull off the martini, draining the glass, wincing from the overpowering taste, traveling down his throat. He pulled another cigarette out and fired it up with the same Zippo, placing the empty glass finally next to his chair on the floor. Inhaled deeply on the smoke and let the exhaled smoke slowly leave his mouth and nose. He would get up soon to make another, but for now he wanted the liquor to do its work so he would not get into that thinking mode, musing about what he had envisioned and he so wished he never had. He remembered his Father’s saying which was something he had heard time and time again throughout his life from various other people, but his Father meant it in a whole another meaning, a knowledge of something he never conveyed to him, “Ignorance is bliss. Boy, stay blissful if you can.” He knew what his Father had been trying to make him understand, “Life has some things for your ass, you wished you would have never experienced or had knowledge of.” He couldn’t get rid of the visions that popped into his mind at anytime which would make him immobile, panic stricken. He remembered his time at Navistar, on the line and a vision would pass in his mind for no reason whatsoever, and he would be the soul problem of why the line came to a standstill. Supervisors replacing him and he wondering what the fuck? Shaking and shit. Bad times. Very bad times. He took another long pull off the smoke and extinguished the remnants. Got up and went to his kitchen to make himself another stiff one. It was time for his next dose of medication, his sedative.
He walked over the open floor. He had to admit he loved the, well, okay, condo. He had to get used to that word, but somehow it was strange still to him because that’s the way he saw the space, after six years seeing it as an apartment, but a big fuckin apartment. He remembered meeting the Vietnam Vet at the Veterans hospital on one of his monthly psyche appointments back then. Now he only had to go and get evaluated yearly, and collect his monthly allotment, or crazy check which totaled 3900 and some change. The Vet having issues too, he had learned while talking to him, the Vietnam Vet being a regional manager now with one of the top insurance companies in the US. But unlike him, the Vet had his shit together.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Thinking Of Daddy (Fifty-Years Old, Tribe Person) 1977
I was sitting in my apartment. Looking out the window and thinking. Thinking about all the absurdity of humans. I had read a lot of Albert Camus' writings and I had instantly bonded with the philosophy of the existentialist. The French author changed my life. I used to take everything at face value. Believed what was said and what had been presented to me given the source of the information notwithstanding. But today everything is different. Nothing makes sense to me any longer.
I remembered my Father, when we were getting ready to go some place and I would ask my Father, "So. You ready to go?" My Father, always responding with that smile that he would put on his face just before he was getting ready to answer, would say, "Boy! We were born ready! And that includes me too!"
It was I and my Father's little fun with one another. I could have altered the question to my Father, but for some reason I never did. I knew my Father was speaking some truth that my Father was trying to convey to me. And I also knew, that when something is repeated over and over again it became instilled into one's being oft times clandestine through the sands of time.
And when my Father was on his death bed, I asked him with a sad countenance, "Daddy. So, you ready to go?"
My Father, not missing a beat, smiled his smile though he was very ill, and said weakly, "Boy. We were born ready. And that includes me too."
I remembered my Father, when we were getting ready to go some place and I would ask my Father, "So. You ready to go?" My Father, always responding with that smile that he would put on his face just before he was getting ready to answer, would say, "Boy! We were born ready! And that includes me too!"
It was I and my Father's little fun with one another. I could have altered the question to my Father, but for some reason I never did. I knew my Father was speaking some truth that my Father was trying to convey to me. And I also knew, that when something is repeated over and over again it became instilled into one's being oft times clandestine through the sands of time.
And when my Father was on his death bed, I asked him with a sad countenance, "Daddy. So, you ready to go?"
My Father, not missing a beat, smiled his smile though he was very ill, and said weakly, "Boy. We were born ready. And that includes me too."
Sunday, February 5, 2012
The Final Dance (Black Recovering Stoner) 1989
Take a step and dance. Prance amid the misstep; prep another fixture to ensure another reality. Sensibility to the falsity what the distorted visual acuity mandates. Predates such vile ignorant beings as we; the tea poured out so long ago but we still have a king lying in the wing. Sing a sirens’ song from the smoked filled bong as the long drag makes me hack violently and subsequently sag into the blissful heaven I will never be able to witness, to see. The fog causing perpetual smog over my life. And why not? Sunshine never emits on dreaded strife. The overcast that has lasted. The gray skies, along with the smoke, my fate belies. I’ll be glad to leave this earth…dancing on the brink of life and death, ending the laborious two-step. Bow and be long gone. Finally get some well needed rest.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
There's Pee, And There's Pee-Pee (Female, Black, Stand-Up Comedienne, Tribe Person) 2013
What's up with these lil muh fuckahs goin round here sayin, "I gottah go pee-pee," All the damn time? No, lil mothah fuckah!
It's just "pee," if you tell my ass that, and yo lil bladdah just startin tah send the signals that yo lil bladdah needs tah be emptied!
It's, "pee-pee," when yo mind has gone beyond that just "pee" point, fo whatevah reason; now, sendin panic signals that you have gone over the maximum allowable amount yo lil bladdah can hold, and yo lil ass bout tah piss on yo self and the flo.
Now, yah see the difference?! It's a mattah of, if I got time tah flip these slices of bacon, befo they burn, befo I have to take yah tah the bathroom! (And yo lil ass knows You and I loves US some fuckin bacon. Let me tell yah!)
Or, fuck it! I'd rathah have tah make some more bacon, rather than have to clean piss off yo lil ass, yo lil clothes, the fuckin carpet and the fuckin flo! Kay?
It's just "pee," if you tell my ass that, and yo lil bladdah just startin tah send the signals that yo lil bladdah needs tah be emptied!
It's, "pee-pee," when yo mind has gone beyond that just "pee" point, fo whatevah reason; now, sendin panic signals that you have gone over the maximum allowable amount yo lil bladdah can hold, and yo lil ass bout tah piss on yo self and the flo.
Now, yah see the difference?! It's a mattah of, if I got time tah flip these slices of bacon, befo they burn, befo I have to take yah tah the bathroom! (And yo lil ass knows You and I loves US some fuckin bacon. Let me tell yah!)
Or, fuck it! I'd rathah have tah make some more bacon, rather than have to clean piss off yo lil ass, yo lil clothes, the fuckin carpet and the fuckin flo! Kay?
Friday, February 3, 2012
Solvency? (Black Stoner) 1982
What? What! The word, which passes through my brain synapses to cause sepsis from within, an autoimmune toxin.
Where? Where! The query that I say so dreamily to wish for the answer which would cure cancer. Finding the genesis of our hypocritical impiousness.
But we smooth the sheets then beat the sheets in the many dead bodies in the streets, causing the chuckholes, bowls of rain in the pain; lumps, the bumps of a virus to tie us all to the gallows with a noose not coming loose. Strangulating and defecating on such a pristine being from the beginning which is spinning out of control and quite befitting to where the human existence has caused a defense in the mechanism of humanism.
Antibiotics being the narcotics of this chaotic state which we all have the same fate of the dark side. Subside into the mindset of complacency, fancy an easier way of living. Never giving, it’s all about self!
I’d rather die poor; Fuck the wealth!
Where? Where! The query that I say so dreamily to wish for the answer which would cure cancer. Finding the genesis of our hypocritical impiousness.
But we smooth the sheets then beat the sheets in the many dead bodies in the streets, causing the chuckholes, bowls of rain in the pain; lumps, the bumps of a virus to tie us all to the gallows with a noose not coming loose. Strangulating and defecating on such a pristine being from the beginning which is spinning out of control and quite befitting to where the human existence has caused a defense in the mechanism of humanism.
Antibiotics being the narcotics of this chaotic state which we all have the same fate of the dark side. Subside into the mindset of complacency, fancy an easier way of living. Never giving, it’s all about self!
I’d rather die poor; Fuck the wealth!
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Specter? (Male, Tribe Person) 1966
Walking out of an unforeseen place.
Were you created from air with that grace?
You can't be from this world with that angelic face.
You are an apparition.
A bad joke God is playing on me.
Why are you approaching my anatomy?
A Look of interest you do possess.
Am I awake or very distressed?
I pinch myself and look at your figure.
You still approach, it must be the liquor.
Are you walking on air?
Floating toward me with that sensual stare?
Your feet have to be touching the ground.
Your mouth moves, but I do not hear a sound.
God's Trick!
Or, maybe I'm getting sick?
I knew you could not be real.
Then the truth is known, when I feel,
Your hand grasping mine;
I shudder; but I will be fine.
I'm still skeptical; then a voice,
"Hi! I said my name is Mychell!"
I smile because there is only one choice:
"My name is Devin," I reply. "Do tell!"
Were you created from air with that grace?
You can't be from this world with that angelic face.
You are an apparition.
A bad joke God is playing on me.
Why are you approaching my anatomy?
A Look of interest you do possess.
Am I awake or very distressed?
I pinch myself and look at your figure.
You still approach, it must be the liquor.
Are you walking on air?
Floating toward me with that sensual stare?
Your feet have to be touching the ground.
Your mouth moves, but I do not hear a sound.
God's Trick!
Or, maybe I'm getting sick?
I knew you could not be real.
Then the truth is known, when I feel,
Your hand grasping mine;
I shudder; but I will be fine.
I'm still skeptical; then a voice,
"Hi! I said my name is Mychell!"
I smile because there is only one choice:
"My name is Devin," I reply. "Do tell!"
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
In Real Time, There Are No Replays (Twenty-Nine Years Old, Male, Black, Tribe Person) 1995
"I'm gonnah go and kick that motha fucka's ass Daddy," I said.
"Who the fuck you talkin bout? That fuckin cop and his partner who kicked yo ass propahly cause yo ass was fuckin round with his wife? That's who you talkin bout "the ass" yo dumbass gonnah kick?" My Daddy asked me with a smile on his face.
"Yeah," I said.
"Well, I'll be goddamned. Yah see that's what's wrong with US niggahs. Part of bein a man is knowin when yo ass has lost. Everybody can't win. There's gotta be some-fuckin-body that looses. I'm sorry tah tell you and all these otha sorry hard headed niggas round here. Shit! That's why these motha fuckas stabbin their wives and shit, shootin not only the wife but their two, three, four children...cause their asses done lost. Like in the fourth quarter in a football game, once the clock hits zero-zero, that's it! Game ovah, motha fucka! Can't play the same game over again. The game is over! And the winner is...and the loser is...The fuck! Sheeit!
The bitch left yo sorry ass cause that otha motha fucka was betta lookin than you; wore bettah cologne than you; had a bettah house than you; made more money than you; had a bigger dick than you; whooped yo ass cause he was tougher than you and the reason why you got yo ass kicked...whatevahthefuck!
Get over it! You fuckin lost...niggah! And I'm glad tah tell yah with yo silly ass self; you look like, sound like and act like a nigga who done lost! But...please listen tah me...move the fuck on!"
"Who the fuck you talkin bout? That fuckin cop and his partner who kicked yo ass propahly cause yo ass was fuckin round with his wife? That's who you talkin bout "the ass" yo dumbass gonnah kick?" My Daddy asked me with a smile on his face.
"Yeah," I said.
"Well, I'll be goddamned. Yah see that's what's wrong with US niggahs. Part of bein a man is knowin when yo ass has lost. Everybody can't win. There's gotta be some-fuckin-body that looses. I'm sorry tah tell you and all these otha sorry hard headed niggas round here. Shit! That's why these motha fuckas stabbin their wives and shit, shootin not only the wife but their two, three, four children...cause their asses done lost. Like in the fourth quarter in a football game, once the clock hits zero-zero, that's it! Game ovah, motha fucka! Can't play the same game over again. The game is over! And the winner is...and the loser is...The fuck! Sheeit!
The bitch left yo sorry ass cause that otha motha fucka was betta lookin than you; wore bettah cologne than you; had a bettah house than you; made more money than you; had a bigger dick than you; whooped yo ass cause he was tougher than you and the reason why you got yo ass kicked...whatevahthefuck!
Get over it! You fuckin lost...niggah! And I'm glad tah tell yah with yo silly ass self; you look like, sound like and act like a nigga who done lost! But...please listen tah me...move the fuck on!"
It Starts With A Time...And The Time Is Now! (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Saved) 2013
Oh, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! There used tah be a time...and the Time is now! I stand before you naked in this Eden and before judgement. Why? Because. Because why hide yourself from so many when this Eden needs some truth! When this Eden is longing for something that has been missing since Your God casted out the ones who started this mess, Adam and Eve. Oh, this Eden needs some long awaited Truth! People speak of their God being the Lord of Hosts and without flaw. Well, I hate tah tell yah with your dirtay faces, the entity was in error with us! Oh, yes he/she/it was!
People avow the trite statement, "The Lord don't like ugly!" Really? Is that the truth? Or some perception thy Nicolatian hath made up? Which I would so humbly have to suggest is the latter. Cause everything I read in The Holy Bible quite assuredly your God made everything which lives and breaths under these Heavens which I and you stand in judgement under? And yes, this Eden is replete with its share of ugliness, the dreaded asps. Millions upon millions of asps now in this Eden. And we; alas, must deal with so many enticements, so many asps and so many evils. But what be you?
You see, the Tree of Knowledge is an analogy. An analogy set forth to make one understand it was nothing more than your God's imperfections. The first being, giving human beings choice. The knowledge humans' could procreate; therefore, create. The second being, with that choice came the evil of, "Creating in our own image." Thus, being your God, a creator oneself. Oh, there was a Time...and the Time is Now!
What I did, and what people do, was shelter myself. Making this elaborate defense system around myself, keeping my given truths to myself. But what be ye reward whence thou seek? One must have witnesses to ones life, the real truth to the said life whence one lives or again, what be ye reward? If no one knows thine heart, then how does one find the truth in thee? So who will be thou witness to this life which thy lives? And through thy individual truths is the only way this Eden, Earth and Heaven will be saved. But it starts with a Time...and the Time is Now!
In order for the evils to diminish, one has to address those very evils to abate and eventually smote them. If problems or evils are never addressed, then those same problems or evils never get solved or subsequently resolved. Quite simple really. Then one may asks oneself, what are the evils for which you speak? Well, that is simple too because in all of us there is innate goodness. And we know, not show, those given evils. And it doesn't take pontificating or being dogmatic of another. No! No! No! Because with consistency comes trust. With understanding, comes humility. And with knowledge comes salvation of this here human race! It starts with a Time...and the Time is Now!
Voltaire once said in Candide, "Let us take care of our own garden." Because the truth lies within. Not looking without and judging. But it starts with every single one of us to tell the truth within our selves and express those said truths without, "I am imperfect! And I stand before ye in this Eden in judgement...naked!"
And like the hackneyed phrase goes, "The truth? The truth will set you free!" The Time...is Now! And that My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Is a Beautiful Thang! Oh, yes it is!
Peace! More to come...
People avow the trite statement, "The Lord don't like ugly!" Really? Is that the truth? Or some perception thy Nicolatian hath made up? Which I would so humbly have to suggest is the latter. Cause everything I read in The Holy Bible quite assuredly your God made everything which lives and breaths under these Heavens which I and you stand in judgement under? And yes, this Eden is replete with its share of ugliness, the dreaded asps. Millions upon millions of asps now in this Eden. And we; alas, must deal with so many enticements, so many asps and so many evils. But what be you?
You see, the Tree of Knowledge is an analogy. An analogy set forth to make one understand it was nothing more than your God's imperfections. The first being, giving human beings choice. The knowledge humans' could procreate; therefore, create. The second being, with that choice came the evil of, "Creating in our own image." Thus, being your God, a creator oneself. Oh, there was a Time...and the Time is Now!
What I did, and what people do, was shelter myself. Making this elaborate defense system around myself, keeping my given truths to myself. But what be ye reward whence thou seek? One must have witnesses to ones life, the real truth to the said life whence one lives or again, what be ye reward? If no one knows thine heart, then how does one find the truth in thee? So who will be thou witness to this life which thy lives? And through thy individual truths is the only way this Eden, Earth and Heaven will be saved. But it starts with a Time...and the Time is Now!
In order for the evils to diminish, one has to address those very evils to abate and eventually smote them. If problems or evils are never addressed, then those same problems or evils never get solved or subsequently resolved. Quite simple really. Then one may asks oneself, what are the evils for which you speak? Well, that is simple too because in all of us there is innate goodness. And we know, not show, those given evils. And it doesn't take pontificating or being dogmatic of another. No! No! No! Because with consistency comes trust. With understanding, comes humility. And with knowledge comes salvation of this here human race! It starts with a Time...and the Time is Now!
Voltaire once said in Candide, "Let us take care of our own garden." Because the truth lies within. Not looking without and judging. But it starts with every single one of us to tell the truth within our selves and express those said truths without, "I am imperfect! And I stand before ye in this Eden in judgement...naked!"
And like the hackneyed phrase goes, "The truth? The truth will set you free!" The Time...is Now! And that My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Is a Beautiful Thang! Oh, yes it is!
Peace! More to come...
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