Monday, December 30, 2013

On My Forty-Eigth Birthday (Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) December 30, 2013

Just Being Human
 
I feel it.  Feel it all through my body, a trembling subatomic feeling in nature, vibratory vacillations radiating in an abnormal way.  The only way.

 I am still alive! 

And you are too! 

Quit the frowns, the ill fated inaudible sounds infuriating the consensus to distrust each other…My Sister and Brother.  We all in this shit together…so let US chill with this shit...Together.


Amen and Awomen

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

At The C.A. Meeting (Black Stoner) 1988

So this here mother fucker was sitting up in the meeting. There's this other mother fucker talking about, "Oh, I don't shoot it or smoke it. I just snort it." And almost in unison half of the mother fuckers at the meeting said, "What a fuckin waste!"

And I laughed. Laughed so hard tears were coming out of my eyes, streaming down my face. Cause that's exactly what I thought when this guy had said it. Shit! If you are gonnah do the shit mother fucker, do the shit right! Cocaine addicts were off the fucking hook with their honesty.

And that was the Beauty of addiction...(to be continued)

Monday, December 2, 2013

"My Left Foot" (Seventy-Two Years Old, Hypertensive, Diabetic, White Male) 2012

They cut my big toe off.  That was fine I guess, at least it wasn’t my whole left foot like this one doctor wanted to do.  Then the toe next to where my big toe used to be started doing the same thing, turning black.  So I told the doctor, “Why don’t y’all just cut all of them off.  Cause it seems they are all going to get infected, so just lop them all off.  I’ll be alright.”  Then the doctor looked at me and said, “You know, I think that would be the best Joe.  Then you don’t have to worry about that happening anymore.” 

So here I am, toeless on my left foot.  But hey, I’m still walking and kicking rocks!  

Friday, November 29, 2013

Set Me Free (Black Stoner) 1990

Let me die battered and bruised
No longer confused,
with nothing to loose,
No thrill,
A nice life's kill.

Let me finally experience the dark dreaded perpetual night,
Finding the supreme light
Feeling never more the terrible fright.

Let me feel the intense pain.
The constant rain.

Shedding this pitiful human form,
No more the norm.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

What Obama Should Say To The White Masses: Fuck Yah! Feed Yah! I Don't Fuckin Need Yah! (Forty-Four Years Old, Broke Black Prophet Pre-Salvation) 2010

Say what ch'ou want to My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Say, what ch'ou fuckin want to goddamnit! Shiiit! What really burns My Black ass up is the fact, you gottah white, lazy, rich, stupid mah fuckah that just got out of the "White" House and ain't did shit but fuck off for eight mah fuckin yee-ahs. And whatdoyouknow?

Black mah fuckah becomes President and the white sorry ass media, the white everything in this here fuckin You-S-of-Fuckin-A expects this Black president now tah do what niggahs been doin for over four hundred yee-ahs: to be a slave.   To make non-yielding, fucked up land now productive.  Black mothah fuckahs ain't no damn miracle workahs.  Sheeit, this shit gonnah takes some time tah produce even some bland bullshit, how the powahs that be neglected this bitch fo some eight yeeahs tah at least produce some edible bullshit.  But what do these mothah fuckin white ass bastards expect from a niggah, though that Black ass is president? 

Get cho Black nigger ass in that Oval office and fuckin work goddamnit!  Fire up the cauldron.  Do some voodoo on this fucked up shit!  Whatever yo nigger ass has to do to put the shit our counterparts fucked up, right.  'Cause that's what a niggah is s'posed tah do!

Ain't that some shit? Mah fuckin white man gets tah go to Crawford, Tex-ass any goddamn time, suckin on Lone Star beer, ain't gave a fuck for eight fuckin yee-ahs, but yo niggah ass gotstah work! Tah do all the mah fuckin work that sorry ass didn't get done for all these yee-ahs, but your niggah ass don't mind that at t'all! Yo ass gotstah break yo niggah back and get the shit done in less than two?

Well I'll be fuck! And they say this shit done changed? Then wake my Black niggah ass up, 'cause I sho nuff must be fuckin still asleep and in a horrible dream! And that ain't no Beautiful thang at all My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Fuckin ugly! And sad! Sad-the-fuck-awhile! Too fuckin sad! I don't know bout that America the Beautiful bullshit! But I sho nuff knows bout this America the Ugly! And Fuck you boo-boo, too!

Damn right bout that!

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Look How Great I Is! (Thirty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 1996

Mothah fuckahs always talkin that shit, "I've been to the Bahamas," or some othah bullshit island or country! Shut the fuck up! Nobody tryin tah hear that shit! For real! Chew buy my ass a ticket to the mothah fuckah? Did chew take my Black ass along? No, to the first question and a definite no, to the second! Just tryin tah rub yo broke ass face all in some shit! "Nanny-nanny-boo-boo! Yo Broke ass can't do it too!" Um! We some sorry muh fuckahs!

Mon voyage etre terrifique! I think that's how yah say it in French. Been a long time my Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Long fuckin time! But I think that is the correct usage and written way of using "passe compose". Or maybe not! Shit, like I said, been a long fuckin time with my old ass, what can I tell yah. Digressing, is yo sorry ass goin just tah brag whatcha no count ass did? Or, did you go for yourself? Or both? If it's both, nobody gives a fuck unless yo sorry ass gonnah take my broke ass along for the adventure. Other than that, shut the fuck up! And I don't really want to hear about your fuckin vacations! Exotic or otherwise!

If I didn't go along...I gives ah fuck bout yo shit! And if yah didn't hear may, that would be yo shit! Ergo, vanity!

That's all My Black Ass gotstah say bout that bullshit! And I ain't hatin! Best belee dat shit! I'm just tired of mothah fuckahs tootin their own sorry ass horn! For real! Peace! More to come...

Your Secret Is Safe With Me (Thirty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 1996

I got nothin.  C'est tout.  Whatcha wants my black ass tah say, "Well, it was a good day today"?  Or, "Tomorrow will be a sunshiny day for sure"?  I don't have any good speak fo yo sorry ass.  Nothing!  Ab-so-fuckin-lute-ly!  Yah feel may? 

Well maybe not.  Maybe yous be one of those lucky mothah fuckahs where every fuckin day is a good ass day!  Sheeit!  All I's gotstah say is, "If yo ass is like that, I sho do envy yo happy ass!"  For real.  I ain't the kind tah shine yo merriment havin ass ohn!  Shit no!  I just wantstah know:  What is yo damn fuckin secret?

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Human Sacrifices (Anonymous) 2012

Why do I feel so fuckin cold? Feel no fuckin warmth whatsoevah unless my Daughter's around me. I look around and all I see is a society just breedin, bleedin and needin!

Mothah fuckahs talkin that shit, "I'm goin to college to get my degree for my children so I can get a better job!" How bout just fuckin workin? That fuckin degree ain't fo yo sorry ass children, that fuckin degree is fo yo goddamn ass, let's get that shit straight from the jump! Can't fool a recoverin foolah or lie to a recoverin liah! While yah playin! Goin tah college and gettin student loans for a muh fuckahs livin expenses is this generations supplemental income while they on welfare. Don't play me. This life ain't goin nowhere but down the fuckin toilet! Yo ass just tryin tah get bye until the next phase, tryin tah bide some fuckin time until somethin comes up. Whatevah fuckin horrible phase or comin up this mothah fuckah fo our broke asses!

Then you got married people, got three tah five children, both the parents are workin wonderin why the fuckin children so fuckin disrespectful and ungrateful? Shiiit! Cause one of y'all muh fuckahs needs tah sacrifice for those lil bastards y'all done had! Talkin bout, we doin all this for the children. Whatevah muh fuckah! Whatthefuckevah! I don't see those children ridin in yo two-seater BMW. Or, see them wearin that Rolex yo sorry, pathetic ass flauntin on yo wrist, which is attached to yo hand with those very manicured fingernails, you lyin mothah fuckahs! Y'all needstah cut this shit out!

If yah want yo family tah live bettah, just start concentratin on the needs and fuck these wants! Yo fuckin children need guidance, not the one-hundred and eighty dollah tennis shoes the mothah fuckah ain't gonnah play no kinda sport in! Quit throwin money at the problems and deal with the problems: these fuckin children! Goddamnit! They need yo Black ass round, not these jank ass friends that don't want nothin else but tah get high and fuck all day, with their lil dumb stupid asses! The children need yo ass tah talk tah them instead of this fuckin television and Internet feedin their lil sponges of a mind that are soakin up all this fuckin nonsense they don't fuckin need tah become a productive part of this here fucked up society!

People talkin that shit, "I need Me time!" Fuck yo sorry ass time! Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! You selfish, worthless piece of shit! You! A life for a mothah fuckin life! You brought that child or those children into this fucked up shit! And you knew full well what those mothah fuckahs were gonnah be up against, and yo ass gots the nerves tah talk bout "Me" time? The fuck people smokin? Is everybody on crack up in this bitch? Fuck You! I'm glad tah tell yah, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, but once yo ass decides tah have a child or to have children, yo life is ovah! Everything from then on is about that child or those children! And fuck yo fuckin "Me" time! And if yo sorry mothah fuckin ass don't see it that way... then yo sorry, pathetic, pitiful ass shouldn't have had the lil mothah fuckahs from the get-go! Super-silly-mothah-fuckah!

Friday, November 22, 2013

Tribulation Is Upon US (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) January, 2013

The Earth is comprised of 75 percent water and 25 percent of land. So too is the human body, 75 percent liquid and 25 percent solid matter. Now, yo ass can keep lookin at this shit whatevah way yo sorry ass wantstah look at it, but the end is nigh! Call my Black ass crazy if yah wants to. But the shit is what it is!

I ain't seen rain, thunder, lighting, heat...whatevah the fuck, like I'm witnessin right now. Like the human body where you can tell what the fuck the symptoms are to determine the fuck is wrong with yo body. The Earth is tellin our sorry asses something is the fuck wrong! Damn right bout that.

If yah read Revelation in The Great Book of Humankind, it conveys very clearly the three cataclysmic events that are going to happen when shit is bout ready tah pop the fuck off: A Super earthquake; A Super Hurricane (Or some other water affiliated disastrous event); and lastly, the kicker if you will, A Super Volcano. The last will send this Earth into a Nuclear Winter, killing over 95 percent of this world's population.

Say and do what you mothah fuckin want. Open yo mothah fuckin eyes, ears and soul. Move to the high ground! Pray! Cause this shit is gonnah get much worse! And it is here to stay!

Call me crazy if yah wants to! And I ain't tootin my own horn or comparin myself tah any damn venerable body...but...they called Noah a Loon too!

Yah heard may?

Peace! More to come...

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Good Shit (Black Stoner) 1986

I cook the shit to make the hit. The little cotton ball purifies it all. I push the plunger. The thunder rumbles through my veins. A cooling, soothing liquid abating my plethora of pains. I feel this world slipping away and that's more than okay! I smile and I sway; lost in my smack filled haze; hoping there will not be any other days. Umm! My eyes close languidly; I open them the same but tranquilly. My head bobbing like I am sucking my own dick. Going in and out of conscientiousness but I am far from sick. I smile again, at the absurd sight, of the needle still hanging perilously within.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Prudent (Thirty-Nine Years Old, White Male, Father, Dying From Esophageal Cancer) Decemeber 30,1981

A life without a plan.
I surely understand;
What this life will eventually become;
Lying face up in the ground for not some
But all, who live and breath.

My life has been nothing but a sand-
pile of memories,
Porously passing through my hand;
With only a grain,
A stain,
Left in my palm;
An alm
Of hope;
Which I pray I can pass onto my seed;
Before I have no more to bleed.

Monday, November 18, 2013

A Fall, I Fall (Fifty-Five Years Old, Black, Lugubrious, Male) October, 2003

I look outside and see nothing but gray.  Autumnal death is upon not only the landscape but also within my soul.  I despise this time of year.  It is time for my soul to hibernate; and like so many years before:

I am not sure if I have enough spiritual nourishment to survive 'til spring?

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Now, Whatcha Got? (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) November 14, 2013

Everybody has gotten all humanistic with this Affordable Care Act.  Don't it make yah feel all warm, safe and cozy?  I scoff at thee!   Cause ain’t that a bitch!  These mothah fuckahs crack my ass up with their bullshit speak.  Talkin bout what the public really wants and shit and most of the public don’t have but the ones speakin the bullshit sure do.  Best believe that noise.  I’m dealin with a time bomb my damn Broke Black ass self.  I haven’t been able to afford health insurance for fifteen fuckin years, while yah playin.   And you and I both know it’s only a matter of time before something goes wrong inside my old ass body.  That’s a fact mothah fuckin jack! 

Got a bunch of rich ass whiners.  Always whining about something.  They the fuck don’t have a damn solution for the problems but they sure can give their given two cents about the problem, that of course, they don’t want to do a damn thing about.  They want to say, “Just die you no good for nothing poor bastards!”  Oh, they want to say it, but they don’t dare, cause they for damn sure don’t want no damn revolution.  Shit no!

Shit if rich people had their way when the poor folks start complaining about not having any money to pay for their maladies…the wealthy’s solution has been and is, “Well shit Bob!  Let’s start a fuckin war goddamnit!”  The rich feel like a war is a panacea to any and everything that ails yo sorry broke Black or white ass!  And I hate to say it My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, the shit worked. 

But I’m glad to tell those sorry rich mothah fuckahs now: “That dog don’t fuckin hunt no fuckin more!” 

Sunday, November 10, 2013

It Begins With You. And It Ends With You. (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) November 10, 2013

Bible class is an euphemism that means indoctrination into the various religious sects you willfully accept.   It has nothing to do about: what the Bible is conveying; but, has everything to do about that churches legalism.  And legalism has everything to do about a plan; a scope; a beginning to an end.  C’est tout.  Not, the truth. 

There is no one greater than you.  There is no one smarter than you.  There is no one more important than you.  Understand those very premises.  When one believes one is more important than one, then you have got problems.  Big problems.  And God doesn’t work like that.  We all deserve whatever another deserves; plain and simple.   End of story. 

Because you are the beginning and the end!

Friday, November 8, 2013

Crack Is Religion (Forty Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) November 8, 2013

We’re being lead by schizophrenics.  But instead of those people talking about just voices they have been a little more specific by saying, God’s voice.  You sorry mothah fuckahs, You!  Don’t that beat all?  Callin mothah fuckahs crazy when they say voices but these mothah fuckahs gots the nerves to do a mothah fuckah one bettah by sayin, God.  Well, what the fuck your sorry ass gonnah say bout that?  I don’t know what your sorry ass would say, but what my Broke Black Ass would say is, “Fuck you!  You crazy mothah fuckah!”  I don’t give a good damn whether you put god’s name in that shit or not, yo ass sounds the fuck out of your god-damned mind.  And these mothah fuckahs most definitely are.

The only thing these preachers, priests, rabbis, imams…care about is getting your mothah fuckin dollahs out yo mothah fuckin pockets and into theirs.  Plain and fuckin simple.  Yo silly sorry ass payin fo their sorry asses tah get cracked up.  Payin fo their highs.  While they defile yo dumb ass while takin yo hard earned mothah fuckin money.  You dumb sonsahbitches! 

And the parishioners are co-signin bout these sane schizophrenics because for some reason these horrible shepherds are the only ones that can hear the voice of god!  Whew!  You have been and still being nastily fucked!  But you must love it!  Must!  The fuck!  Cause yo ass still runnin to those various sanctities of god’s glory givin yo still hard earned mothah fuckin money:  and it is all being smoked the fuck up!

God will never pick: whoremongers, whores, thieves, murderers, drug dealers, pedophiles…to do god’s teaching and preaching.  You can put all the ‘Ex-‘s you want in front of those vile monikers, because if you were, yo sorry ass still is.  And I wouldn’t lie tah yah!

Cause god tells us one and all to just: “Come unto me.  Ask…Seek…and Knock.”  Just  ASK God.  And no church or its perceived leader is needed.       

Getting Back On Solid Ground (Thirty-Three Year Old, Female, Running Enthusiast, Agoraphobic) 2011

Running, that’s all that I am doing, but on a treadmill, going no place.  So why am I running?  Now that is the million dollar question; to put it simply, because I am used to running in the same place.  

Running progressively, takes not only effort, it takes a lot of work and oft times interaction with another human being.  Open spaces, paths and people have so many variables, so many terrains and so many people to deal with.  On this treadmill I am safe and I know where it eventually is going to end…in the same place as whence I started.  I need not speak to no one. 

Boring?  Maybe.  But I still live today without any ill circumstance.  As my feet hit the familiar surface and as my ears hear that low hum of energy I am creating...I realize at this point of nowhere...I am getting tired of seeing the same four walls.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Our Patient, My Friend (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) November 4, 2013

“Doctor Jenning’s office.”

“Meredith.  This is Sheila.”

“Whad’up, whad’up one of my favorite patients for real?  Oh, don’t tell me.  I’m getting the vibe.  Somebody needs to reschedule.  Hold a sec and let me get the other line.”

“Well, all right you ninny.”

Line two:

“Doctor Jennings office can you hold please?”

“Yes.”

Line one:

“Hey, girl.  What you know no good?”

“She left with him.”

“Well, it sounds like somebody needs to reschedule and talk.  Give me a few.  Be right back at cha.”

“You’re still a ninny.”

“You know I’m your man.  Don’t even fake the funk.  Hold on you.”

Line two:

“I’m sorry this is Meredith. How can I assist you today?  And what day and time is best for you?  How about next Monday, November the eleventh, at two o’clock?  You’ve never been to this office before?  Okay.  Your first name?  Your last name?  What kind of vision coverage do you have?  VSP?  Yes we are a provider for that vision insurance.  Your date of birth?  The last four digits of your social security number?  So we have you scheduled for Monday, November eleventh at two o’clock.  No, thank you.”

Line one:

“So we talkin right?”

“Yes, what the hell do you think we are doing?

“Now, you know what I’m talkin bout.   We talkin professionally or as friends to the end?”

“Friends to the end man.  You know how we do it.”

“You know how we do it?  You need to quit it.  So, what the haps?”

“The what?”

“The skinny; the scenario; the story…well hell…give me the damn goods.”

“Good Lord.  You crack me up sometime.  A lot of times I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Whew. Worse than I thought  ‘cause if it takes you this long to tell me what’s been goin on you must be two times pissed, for real.”

“I am. And I love you”

“And I Love you too.  Now get to it, will you?”

“Well, like I told you when I made the appointment last week, she was leaving with this guy to go live in California.  They’re just to Colorado and already she’s callin me for fuckin money.”

“I wouldn’t send her a damn thang!  Not shizit!  You got your big girl panties on now Sunshine!  I wouldn’t send her the S, the H, the I, the Z and I definitely wouldn’t send her the IT.  Kiss my black ass why don’t cha.”

“Now your ass is not even black.  At the best it could be is light brown.”

“True dat.  But that’s beside the point.  All I’m sayin is, yo ass can’t be an absentee ruler and still tryin tah demand some taxes.”

“Hah!  That’s a good one.  I’m going to remember that.”

“Damn straight.  How you goin tah be out of the house and I’m still on the hook takin care of your grown actin ass?”

“And that’s what I told her…sort of.  I told her, you are an independent dependent.”

“Preach it!”

“So she gets all mad and said, well I was going to tell you we have been just living on waffles.  So I said to her, I hope you got some syrup.”

“Whah?  Well look at chew!  There’s hope for you after all Sunshine. “

“Shut up.  You’re so silly.”

“But that’s why you love me so very much.”

“That, and you don’t tell me what I want to hear.”

“Never!  I’ll tell you what.  Let me schedule you for the last appointment at six-thirty next Monday, the eleventh and we’ll talk some more?”

“I’d like that.  I Love you.”

“Bet.  I Love you too.  And keep your head up.  Cause you ain’t gonnah find nothing of worth on the damn ground.”

“Bye weirdo.”

“And you know it.”

Monday, October 28, 2013

Telepathically Speaking (Counsel Member, K.Now, Director, Department of the Advancement for Human People, Speaking to The Counsel of The Eleventh Environ: Oratory For The Need To Start Communicating Verbally Once Again) PRO-12-140041

We found out, quite too late of course, that the endless amount of wireless impulses going through our living environment was causing a tremendous amount of stress to the human form; like a microwave oven used to do…you all do remember those? Good… with food products, those same electrical impulses going through our bodies trying to penetrate whatever that matter, in this case our precious entities, was in front of those volatile impulses eventually they go through that matter, being hell bent on  getting  to its various connective sources and beyond, in the interim our bodies were being denatured; being broken down, more and more by the energy engulfing and passing through our human forms, destroying that form faster and faster;   what we know now as, clandestine subsonic ultra waves of ventricular vibrations.  The ones in the past that were, well… let me put it in the rarest of truth, killing themselves without knowledge of the cloaked danger they had created.   

And so we are here today, our honorable Counsel members of Eleven, to instill another teachings from the scribes of old which we can clearly see with our characteristically gaunt facial features and bulbous heads.  We have learned to diminish that energy going through our bodies, as in days’ pasts, by telepathically communicating.  But that has had its dangers too.  By us not vocalizing our thoughts we have transformed, in my opinion, to an unattractive race because of our wondrous ignorance.  We know and see what has been and what we have become.  Yet, we still have been disobedient from our past knowledge.  Working in adverse instead of being responsible; hence, the reason I am speaking to all of you, Great and Honorable Counsel members of Eleven.  We can change our present and make a better future; but we have to sustain the human form. 

Friday, October 25, 2013

A Victim? (Forty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 2006

"He was crazy!  That mother fucker!"

"I can't stand that crazy bitch!"

And on and on it goes Sunshine. 

But let me asks yo lil tired ass this, "You didn't see all this comin?" Come ohn nah?  Yah see, what you say bout the mothah fuckah yah used tah be with and was fuckin says alot about yo sorry ass.

Oh, don't look at me all crazy.  You fuckin know what I the fuck mean!  Yah see, if you would have told a mothah fuckah, "I like a lil crazy goddamnit.  But that mothah fuckah was too crazy!  You know what I mean?"  And they would probably look at chew like you were crazy, because: No, I don't know what you mean.  Crazy is crazy.  And you got what you say you fuckin like!

But cha see, that don't win yo sorry ass no damn brownie points does it?

Break Fast (Black Ex-Stoner, Recovered Drug Addict) 2000

They say Adam didn't fuck Steve but Eve. 

The only way to conceive is with the female persuasion in the situation of humankind; a procured sign left behind, a little nibble to quibble. 

But I say, "Fuck that and the Cat In The Hat," because the fat does more better when wetter.  You just can't wear a sweater, whenever.  Sever all the binds that pines a nice memory to every human being, blind, not seeing.

Well, what then is our fault within? 

Quite naturally, sin.

Mommy And Daddy! And So Be It! (Nineteen Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 1985

I remember when I was a lil mothah fuckah, my brothers used to tease me about callin my Father and Mother, Daddy and Mommy.  All the rest of my siblings called my Daddy and Mommy, Dada and Moma.  It didn't quite set well with me.  I don't know why it didn't, it just didn't.  I have ten brothers and one sister, and sibling pressure, like peer pressure, is a mothah fuckah.  And I was just about ready to cave and start callin my Mother and Father, Moma and Dada, until Mommy took me to the side one day and said to me, "Meredith, as long as you live I will always be your Mommy."  Works for me!  And, fuck you othah mothah fuckahs!  For real. 

Yah see, we get caught up in the bullshit of life, human shit.  What about your life?  What is that mothah fuckah worth?  To you?

We make this mothah fuckah, we call 'Life,' harder than ah mothah fuckah.  Why?  Don't we have more tah fuck tah do than tah try tah control anothah mothah fuckahs life?  We got enough on our own damn plate of our own sorry ass lives tah try tah deal with!  Don't we?  Or maybe I'm just fuckin out of my goddamned mind. 

But really, I don't think so.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Sliding (Twenty-Four Years Old, Black Male, Indianapolis Native, Saved For Eight Years In An Apolstolic Church, Now A Back-Slider) 2006

I
   A
      M
           G
              O
                 I
                   N
                      G
                          D
                             O
                                W
                                   N
                                       T
                                         O
                                              HELL.
                      

Friday, October 18, 2013

One Nigguh Has Made It To Heaven (Sixty-Nine Years Old, Delander Rawls, Conversing With His Old Childhood Friend, John Bailey, from Trenton, Tennessee) 2008

Bailey, let may tell yuh.  I gottuh new Cadillac; I gots, not only one, but two pockets full of monay; a .38 pistol in my waistband towards my back; and tuh top it all off, I’m married tuh uh white woman!  What mo can uh nigguh ask fo?

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Director Ever E. Place, Drug Counsel Member (Pleading to the Mass Counsel Members on: Why Cocaine and Cannabis Should Still Be Utilized In Such A Wondrous Civil Society On The Planet Earth) PFO-12-010473

“No, we have evidence that shows from the Tenth Cycle, Circa PRFO-2017x10-D736935, we had misused the information that was before us.  We tried to outlaw it because of the insurgence of cannabis into the Counsels’ own families.  Then we had to deliver the Counsels’ family’s on Earth more information which they did not have because of our protocol, to get their families, who wished to indulge, in cannabis, off that drug and onto cocaine.  The numerous real live studies that have gone on in the, especially, Tenth Cycle, clearly shows what the inducement of the given drugs do to human behavior.  And what they found out was interesting.   When one was allowed to indulge in cannabis, they were the docile ones, the ones you could teach, be guided and most of all, followers.  And when one was allowed to indulge in cocaine, they were the ones that were the leaders, aggressors...they did anything they needed to do to keep us alive…”

Monday, October 14, 2013

A Letter To The Future Chloe (Forty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) February, 2006

I look at your eyes,
You couldn’t have gotten them from me.
I look at your nose,
You couldn’t have gotten that from me.

I look at your lips,
Those you definitely didn’t get from me.

I look at your hair,
Well, Sunshine, that was definitely a toss-up…
I guess I write all of this to say: How could I have ever co-created such a Beautiful Daughter?
But I’m so glad you’re mine.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Hell Is Heaven (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) September 11, 2013

Sometimes I like this mothah fuckah.  Hate to say it, but damn.  Got this Police Officer herein our finest, Indianapolis, Indiana, hit, a group of motorcyclists while the motorcyclists were stopped at a light, he driving his police cruiser, Ol Officer Bisard, and whatdoyouknow?  Ol' Bisard tore those group of motorcyclist up!  Killing one and badly injuring another.  The mothah fuckah was over two times the legal limit and shit, oh, and did I mention, he was on a police run in the middle of his shift, getting paid to get fucked up.  

But that’s the fucked up thing about it, sometimes when you are getting paid to get fucked up, yo sorry ass fucks up! We’re dealing with numbers, the more times yo ass does some fucked up shit, the better chance yo ass got of getting caught while getting fucked up.  Oh, and he did.  But after over, I believe, almost three years, they are still trying to see what they are going to do with his white ass.  Now, if it were my Broke Black ass that gets into an accident, while almost two times over the limit and kill a person and badly injure another, they’re going to prosecute me to the ends of the law and the trial would be over in three weeks or less, which means, my Broke Black ass will not see a free light of day again until my soul leaves here.  But shit I still wouldn’t see it then.  Shit, The fuck I’m going to do in Heaven.  Mothah fuckahs talkin that shit bout, “Oh, and the streets are going to be paved in jewels…and you will be able to praise him until eternity.”  Oh, shit!  You mean everybody up in that mothah fuckah goin tah be the same?  Doing the sleep walker shuffle; in this intoxicating euphoric state of serving the lord only?  Ain’t that what we supposed tah be doing nah?  Ain’t no variances in ah person’s behaviah, everybody always in a good mood, no ill words to one another…Shit, that don’t sound like no mothah fuckin Heaven tah me!  Shit no!  That sounds like mothah fuckin Hell, goddamnit. 

Everybody bad mothin Hell, sounds like some haters hatin on Hellians.  Fuck that!  You mean tah tell me that, if God made this 'Hell' shit too, you tellin me, there ain’t one good thing bout that mothah fuckah?  Not one itty-bitty thing good about Hell?  And God made it also?  Um! Damn, Heaven got a badass P-R Department.  Fo Sho! 

And why the fuck we worryin bout Heaven or Hell anyway; unless, yo sorry ass gettin paid for gettin fucked up. 

Friday, October 11, 2013

Quiet Storm (Aaron Thompson, Black Male, Non-Custodial Parent, On-Going Child Custody Case In Johnson County Indiana) 2010

When my Daughter is around, nothing really matters.  Being a non-custodial parent isn’t as easy as most people think.  Quite the contrary.  And the time you don’t have to spend with that child, given this non-custodial, custodial bullshit that the courts came up with to survive?  Puhleeze!  “In the  best interests,” my ass!...but getting back to my point, You Fucking Suffer!  Straight up!  How a woman or a man not suffer from not being around that child, you and another brought into this existence and not being able to spend that precious life of time with that child?  Tell me?  Please?  Hurting, doesn’t even come close.  Good Lawd! 

But it is, what it is.  And chill with that shit.  And everything is going to be all right.  Oh, yes it is. 

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Today...But Respect Tomorrow (Sixty Years Old, Black Male, Vietnam Veteran) 2008

The only thing that matters is today.  Yesterday’s news.  Tomorrow’s blues.  But I’ll take the blues if I make it til tomorrow, and tomorrow can happen from now til then.  So, tomorrow’s just a trite ass word meaning, hope.  I am alive and in color right now.  And no, I can’t speak for tomorrow.  But,

“How Y’all folks doin…Today!”

And Hopefully I may speak for tomorrow. 

Fine Again (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, One Year Married, Near Salvation) October 2013


What kicks yah in the ass is, that this is the only mothah fuckah that wanted and took yah losin ass, and you’re looking worse physically than you have ever in your life.  But you gave the women before, that didn’t ever want to marry your Broke Black ass, a body that was, if not presentable, at the very least,  semi-presentable.  But I wouldn’t dare take my thirty-five pound extra havin ass shirt off in front of no damn body.  Shit done went downhill with a quickness.  And you didn’t see it coming at all.  Now, look at cha fat ass?  Going to have to take some pain there Big Boweeeeee!  Best believe that.  She didn’t sign up for another thirty-five pounds more of, “…A hunkin, hunkin,  burnin love.”  Come ohn nah?  Yo, fat ass gotsta pull yo’self together, and start representin this woman, who took a major chance on yo tired ass, and show these mothah fuckahs why she really married yah.    And fast a little bit more mother fucker! 
Yo ass be fine again in no time.  We’ll see. (…to be continued)

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

What Good Is A Fucking Fag Without...(Twenty-Six Years Old, British American) 1978


You see?   You have two types of fumers:  

1) The one who is always cognizant of where their fags are, but always bitching bout, “where the hell did I put my torch?” 

2) Then you have one, like I, who is always cognizant of the placing of said torch. 

Fucking fags are in abundance;

But only a few,

 Always carries a torch.   

Monday, October 7, 2013

"...Yeah/Yeah/Yeah!" (Forty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 2006


“I got a needle in my gum!/Yeah/Yeah/Yeah!”  That’s what our quasi-ghetto commercial jingle was when I was a lil mothah fuckah.  My nephew, Keith, got this needle stuck in his gum and the rest was Hopson lore.  I don’t know why we did it when we were lil but we thought the shit was cool seein tailors with needles stuck between their lips while the tailors fitted you for your wardrobe.  So, shit, fuck a toothpick, we gots metal niggah!  Whah?!  Yah heard my Black Broke ass! 

So, aftah  Mommy pulled the mothah fuckah out, aftah the stupid mothah fuckah tried tah make a full revolution with the metal needle in his mouth, like the cool mothah fuckahs did with the wooden toothpicks we had seen, with their toothpick exploits in the hood, ol Keith, didn’t even make one full revolution and the point of the needle got the fuck stuck!   And that’s when he was hollerin like a bitch, with his stupid ass.  But, oh, how we had fun with that shit!  Hence, the jingle mothah fuckah, “I got a needle in my gum!/ Yeah/Yeah/Yeah!”  And with the, “…Yeah/Yeah/Yeah!” You had tah shake yo lil ass a lil three times on the beat, tah tease the fuck out the mothah fuckah.

I, quite simply, hated Keith; he was four years older than me and always accusin me of havin his drawahs ohn!  And I remembah the time he accused me, and Keith was right, and my lil ass runnin in the house, hollerin fo Mommy tah exact some forthwith penances on his ass, fo me tah have tah run in this house, callin fo her because I was bare ass naked because, yes, I had put ohn this hateful mothah fuckahs drawls by ah mistake.  But he didn’t havetah make a mothah fuckah take the damn things off in front of the whole neighborhood and God.  Come ohn nah?  You heartless, bastard!

And that’s why this jingle was fuckin gold!  Now, my prey ass became the fuckin predatah!  And with the backin of the many peoples growin up in the house, I began tah revel in that most wonderful jingle, “I got a needle in my gum!/Yeah/Yeah/Yeah!”  And fuck you!  While I made sure my hips went, with much fervor, right-left-right, in beat with the “…Yeah/Yeah/Yeah!”

Saturday, October 5, 2013

I'm Glad You Picked Me (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Now Married) October 5, 2013

Do you understand the severity of life you're getting yourself into?  You do?  Okay.  Let me give you a lil factoid for your ass!  I have had thirteen serious relationships in my life, at my old ass age of forty-six; which means my successful relationship average is: 0-13.  There ain't been one of those women that wanted tah marry my Broke Black ass; I have been a Loser in the relationship department with the record tah show it.  Do you understand the odds marrying me? It ain't lookin good is it?  You don't care?  Well I ain't evah ran into a woman like you.  Evah!

And as long as we're togethah, I will always be beatin the odds.

Happy One Year Anniversary, Geeg!

Friday, October 4, 2013

Do You Want To Even Be Human? (Aaron Thompson, Non-Custodial Parent, Marion County, Indiana) 2014

It's all about you and me.  That's it, in a nutshell.  Because we are in that shell together.  You can wish away all that you want, but we are all in this together.  Oh, yes we are.  And why shouldn't we be?  You think a deer really wants to be a deer?  A mouse really wants to be a mouse?...  Heck, some humans do not even want to be human. 

You see? 

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Our False God (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) October 03, 2013


I hear nothing in the house.  I hear the sounds outside this very window I am sitting next to, looking down at the woods (that used to be painted green, a now greenish gold)… writing.  Pondering.  Thinking.  Musing.  Sashaying.  And Feeling. 

The house is still, funeralisticly quiet.  One might say, quite deathly.  But what do I think death is?  This greater than life entity, death: is going to be this loud blare of infinite voices hollering in terror as One to make this terrible sound which one cannot bare to make the death more painful?  This God of Death?  Well, the only thing I can tell you is:  Death has better things to do, and it too moves on to the next one, quickly.

We have learned nothing from our pasts voices.  Leaving traces of the past so we may last.  But that is the danger, one tries to live forever from leaving those same traces from our past to continue with…Life.  But Death has always been a sly one.  Death peeps the game and decides to turn those Lives against one another.  And Life has always lost.  Big ol goose egg.  Loser!  But we keep signing contracts with our individual Lives to that same losing team of, Life. 

And we have a God given choice to believe in any God we want to be true. 

Damn-right-about-that!  Amen!

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

We Are The Fuckin Same. But That Don't Mean We Act The Fuckin Same. (Forty-Six Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 20012


Lonely.  I remember on a television show one time, I believe it was CSI: Criminal Intent, I like that shit, but with Goren and Eames, some of the best television ever, anyway,  ol’ Goren, as usual, getting all in this suspects head right?  And he says to him, “…you must be used to being alone.”  And the mothah fuckah gives him something he didn’t expect.  The suspect calmly looks at him and says, “Oh, you never get used to it.”  Damn!  Oh, mothah fuckahs wantstah sit up there with their Billy Bad Ass selves and avow to the world, “I don’t need no fuckin body!”  And all that you can do is give them one of those lil smiles that makes them understand, “Talk shit all you fuckin want.  You!  Yo ass needs some fuckin body!”  Or why the fuck you leave the house?  Why you livin in an urban area?...  Shit, plenty of wide open space in Idaho, Nebraska, The Dakotas, Alaska…where yo mothah fuckin ass can live sans seein anothah mothah fuckah fo the rest of yo goddamn life.  So, don’t try tah fool a recoverin foolah, or try tah lie to a recoverin liah!  Shutitthefuckup!  Right-the-fuck-now!  Cause you can kiss my Black ass!  Yah heard may?

Cause yah see, Goren, like my Black ass and you understands the shit.  But what you did was fucked up!  For real! But you see, yo sorry ass went and applied the shit that was going on in your mind.  As long as that fucked up shit stays in between those two ears everybody’s cool.  But once action is involved in those fucked up thoughts that you, I and the rest of this so called civil society have…then Houston:  We got a problem!  And that’s why yo sorry ass lookin at my ugly mug bein  bothered with questions; Mister or Miss don’t need no fuckin body!

Friday, September 27, 2013

Stop Being A Whore (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) Summer, 2013


We’re all whores.  Selling something within our being to survive.  Don’t make no mistake about it.  We all sellin somthin.  Maybe not our asses, but we are definitely sellin somethin tah stay afloat in this commerce of supply and demand sea of life.  Oh, yes we are.  
You…Fucking…Whore…You!

What It Is! (Thirty-Six Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) Spring, 2002


We’re all culpable.  But to what extent is that culpability?  Now, that’s a mothah fuckah.  We all think that just because we Are, has to do with everything bout what we Was.    But that past shit don’t have shit tah do bout shit!  Hell-the-fuck-nah!  What our Broke Black asses need tah start thinkin bout is the now, what Is?  We can fantasize, rationalize, patronize…come up with any ize’s yo sorry Broke Black ass wantstah.  But cho thinkin needs tah be bout:  What it Is!

Thursday, September 26, 2013

I Scoff At Thee? (Thirty-Five Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) Autumn, 2001


Yah see, that’s the way this mothah fuckah is!  This Life!  One mothah fuckah Life no othah!  A mothah fuckah I loves tah hate!  Then the mothah fuckah has the nerves tah say, “What are you going to do about it?  I am LIFE!”  Shit!  The fuck I’m s’posed tah say bout that shit?  “Fuck you mothah fuckah!”?  The mothah fuckah just goin tah laugh at my Black silly ass.  Best believe that noise!  Because, here I am still Living, takin that mothah fuckahs name in vain, and my Black ass gotstah nerves tah scoff. 

Amen, To That Shit! (Anonymous) 2001

When I look at your Beautiful being,
It does something to me.
Makes my pitiful ass glad to be alive!
Let me tell you!
Makes me feel good.
Um!
I look at your fine ass,
The skies open up.
And I say to God,
"Good Lord! I just have to be witnessing Heaven!"

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

And It Won't Be The Last Time (Thirty-Nine Years Old, Black Female, Ex-Crack Addict) 2003

I've dealt with evilness
In its purest form;
Felt the pain and the rain,
And weathered the storm.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

A Letter To The New! (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) 2013

I love to write.  Absolutely, positively, love the shit out of this shit!  Just let your mind go!  Freely.  Ain’t nobody around that’s going to stop this mental thought, unless somebody shoots my ass, stabs my ass…you feel may?  But the progression of this thought is ongoing; ergo, I still be here as a witness.  And I ain’t dead just yet.  That’s what I’m getting at.  Writing is the truth if it comes directly from the author to the human minds, and maybe not so human minds.  There was this chasm for a long time, filtering down the power of the author’s voice to one’s voice in the various translations throughout humans’ time.  But not now!  Shit no!  Twitter, chat rooms, blogs, Instagram…makes the history being made much easier for the ones who will come aft and have to decipher:  the fuck happened to those other stupid mother fuckers in the past?  They will have those thoughts and expression in real time at nausea-um.   And what say you then, my future brethren and sisteren?  What will you do with this real time information to better this life; because if you don’t utilize this information to adjust our humans’ destiny, we will surely repeat it again.  Is that what you really want?


In Loving Care, To All Of You Who Have Survived,


Broke Black Prophet

Monday, September 16, 2013

But, That's My Friend; That's My Girl (Thirty-Four Years Old, Rashada Lyons) 2017


Shit, let me tell you.  We out on the bitches farm right?  We chillin!  Yah know what I’m sayin?  And that bitch got killah herb, let me tell yah!  And all yo Black ass can think is, “The fuck they been sellin me in the hood?  Takin my mothah fuckin hard earned money!  Sellin me bullshit!  Commercial doesn’t even come close!  And the shit this bitch got?  Y’all done did the bait and switch in the Black community I live in ‘cause the shit I’m smokin with my girl…shiiit…you bettah recognize!”  And I tell yo Black ass no lie!  The fuck was I goin with this shit?  Okay, got that ass now!  Bitch thought she was FUBAR.   But I’m chillin with this shit.  But the story?  I’m sorry this is just a live and in color literary example of what I’m tellin you this woman’s stank weed is all about. 

But anyway…we chillin with the shit.  Gabbin our mothah fuckin brains out.  Lookin at the clear dark beautiful open skies with the speckles of light.  Talkin shit, sipppin ohn beer, smokin  fat ass, stank ass weed… a fat ass doobie , sittin round literally, a camp fire!  Havin fun!  You hear me? Fun!  Then all of the sudden, I see behind my friend this fucked up shit.  Whoooosh!   “The fuck bitch!”  And my friend tells me to calm down.  Fuck you!  And then again, behind her ass, Whooooosh!  See my Black ass ain’t crazay!  Before I could think, I had ran some hundred yards to the house and had my hand on the knob lookin at Cathy.  And in amazement I see the crazy bitch laughin!  Fuck wrong with you?  Run bitch!  Run!  The fuck!  I’m inah place when a Black ass sees this many trees they know they’re lost.  I done took a wrong turn somes place!  Shiiit!  I’s be free!  Got me intensified with my ancestors again, mothah fuckah  tryin to escape, goin through pitch black woods, runnin for their freedom.  And I ain’t one of them!  And this is the now.  And I’m tellin yah white ass tah, “Run you crazy bitch!  Cause once I’m in, secure!  I’m not unlockin the door for your stupid ass!  Yah heard may!”   The fuck she do?  Kept on havin ah good ol time with my bewildered ass.  She just shook her head in way like: girl, you’re just over reactin.  Whatevah!  I’m gonnah tell you for the last time, “Run!”  

“Look,” she said.  And took a flash light and turned it on and shined it in the direction of the woods and toward the winged satan animal.  “See?  A Peacock,” she said.

“Peacocks don’t fuckin fly, at least I never seen one flyin and that ain’t no fuckin peacock goddamnit!”

“I guess you’re right because If I had wings and could fly, I sure wouldn’t be hangin round here all my life, like they have.  But they’re peacocks girl.  That’s the only time that I have seen them use their wings is at night.  They use their wings to get themselves into a tree for their safety.  If they stayed on the ground the predators would tear their asses up!”  She started laughin again.   And for some reason, I did too. 

Sunday, September 15, 2013

You Ain’t Nothin But A Name; And Only A Very Few Know (Bantu Rush, Indianapolis Journalist, FinePrintDaily.com) 2016

You see, all we are, is product in single units; a commodity unto ourselves.  But like any other product, we know that our product is up and down in this hopefully, future market, and what be my name then?  Like most excellent brokers will tell you, get in when you can fit in, and I’ll make you some money.  Cool. 

But back to my point.  Rich people are so greedy and hedonistic because not only do they have the ability to but also, they want their names, their heirs to have the same kind of lifestyle, in the near future, when the wheels fall off and everybody's gonna be stuck neutral and then the shit is going to hit the fan with a quickness.  The wealthy don’t know when it’s going to happen but they sure in the hell know it’s coming… soon.  Well why wouldn’t they inform everybody?  That’s just the point!  You, me and everybody else not in the top five percent are considered, “Persona non grata!”   You’ll see what I’m talking about, in a minute or two.  And when it does that means: all the money in the world ain’t worth a fucking penny any more.  Oh, no!  But I have a name, and people will not kill me when that happens because I am resourceful…:

Do you remember Microsoft?  I’m the president of that company.  Yes, that is my name.  But just call me Bill.  Please, thank you. Well, what did you say your name was?  Quonta, you said?  Strong name.  You’re welcome.  As, I was saying, Quonta, there’s a lot of things that need to be done.  And we’re going to have to work together you, me and the twenty gentlemen behind you.   Let’s get us back on line!  Shall we…

…and the beat goes on.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Don't Say It...Until You Really Mean It! Then, Fill In The Blanks. (Forty-Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) December 06, 2005

What do you really want?  What do you really need?  I don’t want to bust my head, instead get to the cranial plate, start tappin that mothah fuckah: Pang!  Pang!  Pang! Fuckin...blip... 360 degrees at ease as my heart seizes, Dear…blip…pain, doth thine heart tis burdened with thee lovely ugliness, I see all thine eyes can possibly see, Oh …blip…I’ve gotten older just by writing these few passages, Let me see Thy…blip…We’re praying three times a day, please help US…blip…My…blip…Please…blip… Fuck The…blip…Have Mercy…blip…A…blip…Puhleeeeeeez, Great…blip…Don’t you want…blip…In the Holy name of…blip…a WOMAN…blip…From a child of…

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Just The Facts (Confused, Thirty Years Old, Jehovah's Witness, White Male) 2009


Bitterly hazy.  My visual acuity has been compromised for oh so very long.  I am aghast with the absurdity I am witnessing.  Unbelievable.  When a fellow human being thinks that a person should get more time in prison for abusing a dog than abusing a human child…then…all I can say, the shit needs to come to an abrupt end expeditiously. 

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

...And Then Some (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) December, 2012


Choice.  A mothah fuckin word no mothah fuckin body wanstah  fuck wit.  Blamin everything on the devil and god.  The fuck!  No, you stupid dumb fucks!  You!  That shit don’t have shit tah do bout shit!  Yah heard may! God nor the devil don’t have shit tah do with this fucked up shit that’s goin ohn right-the-fuck-now.  God chillin, kickin his’/her’s heels up, drinkin a mothah fuckin cocktail on that ass.  “Sippin ohn gin and juice,” sayin: 

“What chall mothah fuckahs fuckin up now?  I done left y’all stupid asses tah y’alls fucked up volitions a long fuckin time ago!  Shiit!  And why the fuck y’all still blamin a mothah fuckah named the Devil?  Who the fuck is that mothah fuckah?  Y’all needs tah quit that shit!  Shutitthefuckup! For real!

I likes tah fuck men!  Then you's ah homo.  I likes tah fuck women!  Then you's ah hetero.  I likes tah take pussy froms a woman!  Then you's a goddamned rapist, with yo no count havin ass!  I likes tah fuck children!  Then you's a sorry ass, Low-life mothah fuckah; and I's got a lil som'ehn, som'ehn special fo yo deplorable, ingrate havin ass!  Yah best believe that shit!  Oooh Shit!...  But that's besides the point!  The fuck y'alls sorry ass mothah fuckin choices gotstah do wit me?  Nothin!  Abso-fuckin-lutely!

Though some of yah gots sins within yo sorry asses that make me shamed tah have made yah, there's one commonality that y'alls sorry asses possess: Mothah fuckin 'Choice.'

Eve sittin up there sayin tah Adam, ‘oooh, Adam stick your dick in this tree of knowledge!’  And instead of Adam sayin, ‘The fuck!  Woman I ain’t gonnah partake in that tree of knowledge cause God will most definitely smote both our asses!’  And what the fuck did Adam do?  The mothah fuckah says, ‘Okay!’  And fucks the bitch!  The fuck I’m s’posed tah do My Dear Sweet Brothahs and Sistahs?  Play Patty cake with y’alls worhless asses?  Hell nah!  Y’all done fucked up royally!  For real!  And now y’alls boutstah suffah forthwith!  The fuck?   Yah damn no count havin no morals, heathen mothah fuckahs!  You!  The fuck y’all think y’all fuckin wit?  I’s be God!  And it’s high time fo y’alls sorry asses tah start recognizin and payin the fuckin pipah!  And if yo sorry asses didn’t know, yah bettah asks some damn body cause that mothah fuckin  pipah be me!  God…damnit!”

And e’rbody say, ‘A-the-fuck-Men!’

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Beaucoup Rouge (Nathaniel Weah, Liberian Refugee, Les Etats-Unis) 2012


It would have been better off if we could have made it to the Cote.  But that was not an option at all.  Some four hundred miles and some change to Cote d’Ivoire was not going to work, on foot.  Even if we would have had a vehicle to drive to that country’s border, taking the roads was a death sentence to the men and most assuredly rape, torture, indoctrinated into the sex trade and, after all of that, a death sentence to the women as well.  No, we had to go north and get the fuck out of Dodge, tout de suite.

Ten miles north to Sierra Leone’s border or over four hundred miles east to Cote d’Ivoire’s border?  One can do the math very quickly.  Going south toward Hell, Monrovia, a definite no-no.  And to the west of us, well one might as well say nothing, a no-no aussi, the vast unmerciful Atlantic Ocean and we in no way had a seafaring boat or a water vessel at all.  My whole family are farmers by trade, mostly growing rice that kept our family comfortably living.  But since the first Breakthrough cout d’etat in 1989, comfortable living was a thing of the past.    

Robertsport, Liberia, located fifty kilometers north of Monrovia, we still lived the way we did before the war.  But in 1998 that all changed.  For some reason some of the rebels left Monrovia and started making paths in every direction from the center of the madness, Monrovia, and of course one of their paths was headed our way, north to Robertsport.   And that is when our quasi-safe environment changed into a nightmarish, crimson filled reality.  My disbelief of the wicked, barbaric actions by our fellow countrymen upon us will never be forgotten while awake nor while asleep. 
Tres, tres mal, to say the least.
(to be continued)

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

WMD (Anonymous, Level Five Security Clearance, Retired Federal Employee) 2014

Everyone had heard that dreaded acronym while Bush Jr. was in office.  Now, it was the known dreaded acronym once again.  What was once an acronym meaning, "Weapons of Mass Destruction," was rightly being known as the principle and integral part of the federal government, its baby, Weather Manipulation Division or wrongly accused WMD from what the populous was supposed to think, Nuclear Arms.

People, like me, were sworn by secrecy not to let, 'the cat out of the bag,' so to speak.  The federal government on a global scale did not want the populous at large to understand that there was a new kid on the block of fear, and it had nothing to do with nuclear arms.  It had everything to do with controlling the heavens, the environment.

The Weather Manipulation Division had started way back in 1954 in the United States.  In its infancy stages the wonders of its capacity was shown to the powers that be.  And all the world wanted its precious panacea qualities.  Third world countries wanted it to keep their people fed by adding elements into the atmosphere so it would rain in their perspective, 'neck of the woods,' so they would not have to trade for the most basic need, sustenance. And the greatest country in the world, 'The USA,' would not let another country benefit from such an awesome discovery.

And to the demise of many rulers: Saddam Hussein, Muammar Gaddafi, Hugo Chavez...obtaining that Pandora's Box, would be a death sentence. (to be continued)

Monday, August 19, 2013

The Past Tense (Thirty-Two Years Old, White, Enlightened Female) 2009

Patience was never my forte.  I get antsy when I'm idle or I have to wait.  I'm starting to experience more people like myself, to the point I am starting to see how horrible I am with my impatience.

Rude, boorish...I'm starting to see all of those uncivilized qualities in so many of my fellow humans that have been within me most of my life; now, I am starting to change that behavior; albeit, not overnight.

No, one, like I, cannot undo thirty-two years of conditioning in one good night's rest.  But one, like I, can slowly change those mal-formed characteristics that one has. And one day, in the near future, I will be able to say about my ill behavior:

"I had those same dastardly qualities at one time.  Heavy on that, 'HAD.'"

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Tick! Tock! Mother Fuckers! (Anonymous) 2017

My heart races often times now.  I have seen the end.  And I see it every day coming.  This great symphony of life building and building until the fiery, beautiful and kaleidoscopic finish, the crescendo. 

And it's going to blow the fuck up! 

Just in time.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

It's Just My Nature? (Forty-Three Years Old, Ex-Marine, Black Male, Murderer For Hire) 2005

He often smiled about the things that Hollywood and the dreaded television instilled into people.  Especially the violence.  The violence they made so pretty, so "cinematic,"  so cool...violence, he was here to inform you, was far from all of those things.  Violence was so fucking ugly.  But the sad part about that was he was good at it.

The Marines taught him how to kill with dignity.  He liked to call it, "The Pure Kill Philosophy."  When you murder someone you do not do the murder in malice.  When he took another's life he never relished in it.  Never drew it out.  Never watched them suffer before their perspective lives ended.  Never, like Hollywood and television showed the ignorant, defile the human being that you are about to murder with actions or words before they see their last vision of this life.  A Clean kill.  A pure kill.  No matter who or what that person was they, at the very least, deserved that respect in their last second of this life.

He had only murdered men and that was the only object of his violent nature he would let come to fruition when he was paid to exact punishment on the men he thought deserved such abominal actions that he would carry out on them.  He had learned in the Marines, there are some people that needed to die.  But the reason he had separated himself from the Marines some ten years ago was he started not agreeing with the people he was commanded to terminate.  Asking the simple question, "Why?" was not an option when he was a Marine.  And he didn't like that.  He didn't like that at all.  He liked killing, no check that, he loved killing.  But what he didn't like at all was the fact in the military he didn't have reason, he didn't have choice.  Choice was what made all the difference in the world to him as far as what he was very good at, murdering...(to be continued)  

Monday, August 12, 2013

The Chill Factor (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) January, 2013

There's always something My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs!  Always something!  Let me tell yah.  Don't make any sense at all...but...it is what it is! 

And I don't like that shit! 

You say, "Fuck You!".  I say, "Cool.  Cooler than cool."  Yao Ming?  But that's just me.  Definitely not You.  And we both know that's two different mothah fuckin thangs.  And I guess, that's what I 'm trying to get at.  People say all the time about some shit, "I refuse to live my life like that!"  And I will say to your ignorant ass, "Cool.  Cooler than cool."  But that's just me.  Not them.  And what I mean by them is, your ass doth not make the populous.  Four billion and some change and your ass absurdly thinking it's still just about little old you?  Well, I'll be damned. 

And I will still say, "Cool.  Cooler than cool."  And again, that's just me.  Not them.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

After The Big Bang (Fifty Years Old, Johnson County Indiana Farmer, Black Male) March, 2021

Everything is broken.  Mistakes.  Too many to even mention or to list.  And I guess one gets comfortable with the way life is instead of where this life may eventually go or turn into.  I was lucky to be a loner.  Fifty years old and having no children nor wife is probably the reason I am alive today.  I have only had to worry about myself.

Everthing is this grayish dark yuckiness.  And the sky.  Even the sky is still gray.  The sun?  The sun hasn't shone it's brillance since Yellowstone erupted.  I haven't come across another human being.  I often think that maybe I am the only person alive; but I know that couldn't be.  Could it?  Definitely not.  I have put it through my mind many of times thinking that living in rural Johnson County and being the only Black living out in these sticks that I may be the only "nigger" or white person alive.  Wouldn't that be a hoot.  But I know it wouldn't.  No, that would be too much for me to handle.

I go farther and farther away from my farm.  Since the Big Bang and the Fall Out I am now traveling six miles from my farm every day, in each direction, with not a sighting.  It's seems as though I am in a bad dream or a very bad reality.  I pray every night that it isn't the latter.  But again, like today, I awake to nothingness.   

Monday, July 22, 2013

Impressing Thy God, Who Hath Made Me...Made US (Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) February, 2013

In or out.  That's the only two choices a mothah fuckah has.  Not maybe.  Not, I don't know.  Not, let me think about it.  And definitely, Not lukewarm.  No!  No!  No!  Hot or cold you silly sonsahbitches!  C'est tout! Yah feel may?  Quit fuckin 'round! 

Yo sorry ass gotstah make damn decisions.  And that fo damn sho don't mean bein on the fuckin fence!  Hell no!  Eithah go ovah the mothah fuckah or stay on the same damn side yo sorry ass been fo such a very long ass time, and that, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothas would mean fo yo whole entire sorry ass life!  Mothah fuckahs!  Don't cho ass evah get fuckin tired?  A whole lifetime of maybes?  A whole lifetime of, I don't knows?...The best yo one time life havin ass gottah give this one time world?  The best you got?  Well I'll be damned!  Sad state of affairs there Brothahs and Sistahs let my Broke Black Ass Tell yah ah lil som'ehn, som'ehn!

I'll tell yah this.  I am human!  Black, White...who gives ah fuck?!  I am a mortal, livin, breathin...entity.  And until the breath of life gets takin from me I have tah fight!  Or not.  But we were born tah fight this mothah fuckin life so here I be mothah fuckah!  Live and in colah!  And welcome tah the Octagon! 

And I am on the canvas spewin blood from ev'ry orifice but I'm still alive as a witness.  And God speaks tah me and says, "Thy child there is nothing left to live for!  It is time to come home!"  I have tah correct God with my labored breathin and say, "No Lord!  I mean no disrespect whatsoevah!  You made this body and soul that has been beatin down by anothah one of yo creations, life!  And with that, I'm not dead yet!  I's gots mo asses tah kick and mo life tah change!  So, let me do what Thy commandeth!"

And God sits back, is impressed and says tah me, "Well look at you!  I have not seen such piousness.  So let it be!  And so be it!"

Damn right bout that!  Damn...right...bout...that!