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.

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!

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?

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!

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...

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.

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.

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?

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!” 

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!

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.

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.”