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!

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!"

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.

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

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. 

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.

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…

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. 

...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!’