Nothin But Ho'es Up In This Bitch, Here! (Clancy Joseph, Fifty-Two Years Old, Washington, D.C., Pimp) 2018

Now what you think, oft times, is not what's the truth, the lawful or the shit that needs tah be done.  Fuck naw!  With yo stank ass!  Society has lulled US into a state of docility.  Don'ts yah makes any troubles lil' niggah you!  Yah heard me?  I heard yah, you supersillymothahfuckah, you!  I-the-fuck-heard-yah!  Loud-and-the-fuck-clear!  Goddamnit tah hell!  Great googly-moogly! I gua-rohn-fuckin-tee there's ain't no damn mo earwax in these tired listening buds!  For real!

But they can't leave it at that.  They have to humiliate you and shit.  Cause why?  Cause you's a Black Ass niggah that needs constant negative trainin with yo monkey ass, cause you's not shit but a damn animal, a fuckin monkey and ape primate; buts you's sho nuff not ah human primate.  No, I reckon yo Black ass's not cause that's be special fo US white folks!  You Black chimpanzee you!

Mothuh fuckuhs make my ass laugh...hard!  Yah heard may?  Everybody thinkin their asses are apart of, "The In Crowd."  And yo stank ass ain't shit!  Just like the rest of US.  If yah ain't makin the pimps money, then the pimps hollah out, "Next mothuh fuckin booty on duty!  You stank bitches!"  And we all keep complyin!  And I'm the one that has tah serve some mothuh fuckin time?

No, pimpin ain't easy for a street pimp. But for a Washington, D.C. political pimp...all I can say is...must be the money!  Same game, just diff'rent mothuh fuckin stank Ho'es.  That's all.  Hey-hey!

Thy Truth Cometh In Thine Image! (2008)

Time to clear my mind to find some sense in this nonsense; recompense instead of thinking conditionally about the present and the future tense. Condense the operator’s license I have abused since the age of reason on the pretense of individuality. Succumbing to the sanctioned criminality of this society which I find so uncomely. Sitting back serenely as I dreamily regress from this mess. De-stress and confess to the witness within myself that…life hasn’t been too unkind to such a pitiful soul. Control and unfold the query, why have I continued to live in such misery? Only to thine eyes is that completely true. Only to me, definitely not to you; hence, the introspection. The obsession to figure myself out before my daughter takes on some of my undesirable traits. Trying to understand who I really am, to change for her. Before it’s too late.

Have Another Spot Of Tea (BBP, Near Salvation) Today

Mah fuckahs always sullying Iran's president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Shit, fuck what they talkin bout, that man knows his people! For real. That mah fuckah ain't goin round wearin tailored suits and shit. No, he wears a shirt, slacks and a sport coat. Nothin fancy. He is neither fat nor skinny. He is humble. And that's why those Iranians love his ass! He's saying to them, you see how I present myself? I am a voice of the people because I look like you and I live humbly like all of you!

But these mah fuckahs over here! What the fuck! Can we say, wanna be Brits! Candidates trying like hell to connect with the average American citizen. Puh-leeze! Ain't no average American citizen runnin round in tailored made suits. Shit, havin their hair did er' day. Nails manicured. Having bodyguards or at the very least a driver escorting them every where. Makin no less than $160,000 a year for about seven months work for a year and the last time I checked, was still twelve months. Ain't these mah fuckahs supposed to be Public Servants? The fuck wrong with all of us? Where the broke ass candidates at, like I surely am? And I consider myself an average citizen. Bastards don't want a National healthcare law to go into effect, but all of these political hacks having the best health insurance coverage around. Then when their asses get denied on a claim they challenge their healthcare provider and after the provider finds out the individual is a Congress person, a Senator...Deny no more! The fuck!

Isn't it the case that the higher you get in the political arena, public office, the more of a servant you are supposed to be; ergo, living just below the average American? Yeah those mah fuckahs servin all right, self servin! Public servant my ass! We have been duped! The Federal Government is nothing but legalized High Class Welfare! The same shit they been doin over in Britain for a long ass time, instead of the King and Queen, we have The president and the first lady.

Shit, those stupid ass British elite still see You-S-A as being "The Colonies."  Still owning this bitch! We poured that tea out a long time ago, but those mah fuckahs done snuck their asses right back in the position they wanted to be in so long ago, to be absentee rulers. And we done fell for it! Hook, line and sinker!

Let freedom ring...but don't answer that mah fuckah. Shiit!

And it is still...a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is!

Peace! More to come...

A Refraction Is Not Needed (BBP, Near Salvation) Today

You know there is a lot of Beauty in this stank infested horrible sewer we call: a life. Unbelievable as that may seem; I have found that to be the truth. Beauty, I have found has nothing to do with another's definition, only from the one avowing which one finds Beautiful, me, with my broke sorry ass.  But just because yo ass is broke don't fuckin mean yah can't see sans distortion. Perception and perceptions vary like a muh fuckuh, let me tell yah. For real.

But who gives ah shit? Your ass only's got one fuckin shot! Just one! Yah heard may? You better recognize! Quit placating and let muh fuckuhs understand and know what you see through your own Beautiful unique set of high beams. Fuck what they see! Because you see just fuckin fine. Oh, yes you do!

And that is...a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! Peace! More to come...

12-30-1965=49 (BBP,Near Salvation)

Fucked up mathematics, that's what I call it.  Don't know what chew call it My Dear Sweet Sistahs and  Brothahs but for me it fuckin works.  In a big muh fuckin way.  Good lawd!  How in the fuck am I still livin?  Should have been dead for some time now...but..twas not tah be!  Cause here I be.

Add; subtract; multiply; divide...no mattah what cho broke ass does it's still goin tah equal the same mothah fuckin thing!

And it is...A Beautiful Thang!  Oh, yes it is!

Peace!  More to come...

The Foundation Of Our Society Is Quite Unsettling (BBP) 2007

You see in my opinion I would put a law that only states, “If one is a politician, one must, not shall, answer questions either yes or no." Oh, you can go on your loquaciousness about the decision but a politician must answer any question posed with either yes or no. Some may argue, “Well sometimes there is no yes or no, you might be in the middle.” Well, we are not talking about average citizens, or average mindsets. We are talking about leaders, people that were elected as such; ergo, those muh fuckuhs should be adept at decision making; hence, a definitive decision must, not shall, be made. Even the most mentally challenged can make a decision of, I don’t know. Don’t take no damn effort at-all to not answer, to challenge yourself; thus, elections. Choosing one on the basis that one can make definite decisions speeding productivity of the human condition.

But you see, that is not the point. I look at these political gray haired fools (now, oft times, dyed black or brown with their vain old sorry asses) trying to convince people that the Beautiful conditioning of, Right and Wrong, has been all wrong! That sometimes one can be right at the same time one can be wrong and vice-versa, right or wrong...and whateverthefuck?! No muh fuckuhs!  You! That’s where the old trite phrase, “Havin your cake and eatin too!” Comes into play, and that shit is wrong!  Not right!  Or wrong and right.  No with yo stank ass, just fuckin ol' school mothah fuckin...hold it...wrong! Put it anyway that you want! It all comes out smelling like bullshit! For real!

Where in the fuck are we going as a people? Where the D, I and the R means more than our basic fundamental Beautiful mores of Right or Wrong gets thrown out like fetid waste? Reverting back to being primates? Survival at any cost? Is this the best that we got in the year 2007? And we are supposed to be smarter and a more civilized society? Civility has been an illiteracy since the dawn of humankind!

I look at these political stupid muh fuckuhs going about having political aspirations like all the rest. Shiiiiittt, muh fuckuh! You need tah kick ass and take numbers, fire up the American people that you are not going to do like the rest and fuck America ! Tell the truth and be a human of your word; that’s what's going to separate your ass from the rest. Not this political hackneyed rhetoric of bullshit that we are hearing and smelling!  Funkin up the goddamned world!

 “Talk hard!” And never vary from the truth. Yes or no, like a child to a parent. Where the shit starts. Fundamentals you dumb shits! If you are a wild card candidate why not? What’s your ass got to loose? Yao Ming? But that’s just me. Yah heard may! And it is still...A Beautiful Thang! Oh, yes it is, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Peace! More to come...

That Little One Thing Matters To Matter (Anonymous) Year Unknown

We are no thing;
If any thing.
And to become some thing,
You loose that, Human, one thing
Amid no thing.

Shiiiit! Vote For Me! And Get The Fuck Outtah My Way! (BBP) February 16, 2008

This is the only thang that pisses me the fuck off about old Obama. He sits up there and patronizes mah fuckahs givin them political correctness and shit, "I want to have a coalition of Democrats and Republicans. Where we can reach over the aisle and shake each others hands and agree on some things about what needs to change in America..." Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Asshole! Soundin like the adults do on the Charlie Brown shows, "Wanh-wanh-wanh-wanh-wanh!" I'll be shit! You a niggah mah fuckah, kick ass and take numbers! Fuck it! Tell us, "This shit is fucked up! And I'm goin tah change a lot of this fucked up shit!" Yao Ming? Fuck this Republican and Democrat Bullshit, lets get to the grassroots where I've been and was raised. And what my Black ass, I don't know about you My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, wants tah do is wake y'alls sleepy asses up with the alarm of getting our foundation in tact of: What is fuckin right! And what is fuckin wrong! Ain't no party lines can touch that shit. That shit is the truth for all Americans. Basic, fundamentals of American life. Let's get away from these adhering to party truths. And start again the building of American Truth. What the fuck else needs tah be said? Shiit! McCain could kiss my ass! Hillary could kiss my ass! I know what yo ass is needin, some goddamned old school structure. Something that you have been missing for a very long ass time...the fuckin truth!

And the truth has nothing to do with Dems, Reps or Independents. The truth transcends all that bullshit. Trumps that shit in a huge mah fuckin way. I remember old George Sr. sayin, "K.I.S.S. Keep It Simple Stupid." Damn right bout that, he who is the Father of such a disgrace of a president. Shiit! If Cheney and Bush were mah fuckahs in the hood, those mah fuckahs wouldn't last a damn second with their given credo. The news media steppin all over the truth. Those two mah fuckahs are fuckin liars and un-the-fuck-trustworthy! Same damn thang they say about crackheads and drug dealers. But won't say the same damn thang about this sorry ass President and Vice President. Then they gotstah nerve to wonder why society is gettin out of control? Call a spade a Black Ass mah fuckahs, that's all I can tell yah ignant asses! Yao Ming? The fuck more needs tah be said? Criminals! Straight up! Crimes against humanity in a big mah fuckin way! The fuck son? The fuck? Just because they have the title of President and Vice President doesn't give them the absolution of being what they condemned and killed Suddham for, killing innocent men, women and children. Et Tu Bush et Cheney! Et Tu!

And are we any better than who we deem transgressors? For the first time in my fuckin life I am really ashamed of being an American; though my Black ancestors were brought here in distance past, this is my home. The only home I and three to four generations before me called righteously...home. My Black American ass! I stand before you as a people that have been through turbulent times in this here...America! I used to stand proud because we used to be a people striving to give this world hope. To see a people comin together in this great land, that used to stand and stood for something more than just about you greedy, rich, elitist mah fuckahs! We stood for something around the world. We stood for: Hope! Now we don't stand for nothin! Around the world mah fuckahs shakin their given fists denouncing America and, alas, Americans. Sad-the-fuck-a-while! While yah playin.

We Americans are a piece of work. What other leaders do are wrong. But what our leaders do...well...needed to be done! And I'm glad tah tell yah My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, that shit ain't right. Basic human teaching of right and fucking wrong. We have tah pay for our transgressions of self-righteousness. And we are going to have to pay in full! And that is a goddamned shame! But...when it comes into its fruition, because that is the only thing we Great Americans do. We admit when we are wrong! And we were wrong to all of you Iraquians, Koreans, Japanese, Vietnamese...We were fuckin wrong! And we plead for your Mercy for the Heavens that are among us! We plead for your mercy! Give us a chance to make amends! And we are your servants once more, My Mother Earth!

Oh, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! I feel a change comin, oh forget the slogans, a change is comin. Good or Bad! A change...oft times...is a Good thang! And it will be...a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it will! Peace! More to come...

Live By The Srbosjek! And Surely Die By The Srbosjek! (Thirty-Two Years Old, Andjela Crncevic, Serbian American) 2017

I see the end.  I see it quite clearly.  I see my own modified Srbosjek slicing and dicing into the jugglers of every Freemason tirelessly.  One by one: slash-slash-thonk-thonk...My spirit remembering the horrible sins of the past...and present, that you Freemasons are responsible.

And my God doth not forget...ever!

But thy judgement cometh to thee righteously!

God has sent me to this place and time for a reason.  And may not one of you shall escape Her wrath!

Texture. Texture. Texture. (Forty-Nine Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) December 31, 2014

Spaghetti.  That's what it's all about; Infused with Italian sausage ;Perfect; al dente spaghetti with perfect meat sauce (half ground beef, half ground pork infused with, oregano, rosemary and fennel), which I was partaking in right now.  The perfect pasta.

What is too much sauce hanging on a string of pasta?  How much is too much?  Then you taste your shit, then you say, "Perfecto!"  A true Sicilian would be mad at me at the taste and the texture my own non-Sicilian ass made this on point pasta dish.  But I would have to say "Fuck you paisanos.  You all know it's bene!  Molto bene!  Mangia!  Per favore? "  The shit is just righteous no matter how you want to dislike it.  A very solid dish!   Ching-Ching!                                                                                                                                                                      

Chloe's Dilemma - 443

I wrote this @ July 2006. Thought you all would enjoy it. So enjoy...


They do grow up quickly don't they? I look at her and say, "Didn't you just come out of your mom's holiest of holys just this morning?" Two teeth, gettin into all kinds of shit! Crawlin all over the place. "Chloe, No!" She looks at me like, "Who you talkin to niggah? I ain't no damn dog!" And she continues to go about trying her best to get at the cable running from the cable outlet. After the twentieth time getting her from there, finally she tires and starts trying to get into other mischief. I think I'm gonna have to put something in front of that damn cable outlet. I look at her and think to myself, I am witnessing a human wonder. Seeing her daily growing, trying to stand with her bad self!  Go on with yo little ass. Yao Ming? She makes me smile so often. I said to her as I held her last night, "I will never leave you Sunshine! Only in death will I leave your side!" She smiled at me like I was talkin crazy, swung her left open hand and baby slapped me. Still smiling. And tried to follow it up with the right open hand and I moved my head back just enough to feel the little breeze gently float past my face! "Hah, yah missed." I said to her and she showed her two teeth and smiled like she understood. Maybe she does. It doesn't really matter. We are together. She's by my side so I can have the greatest gift of all: witnessing her growing up. I wouldn't want it any other way! For real! And it is...a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! Check it out My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs...


Chloe’s Dilemma - 433

She tries to stand in the living room environment that she is just beginning to discover. Having trouble with balance and dexterity tends to be her curious plight, as she finally balances both legs adequately apart but legs still a little unsure about her weight distribution; unstable but alternating putting a certain amount of pressure on each leg, measuring the threshold; alternating her grip from left to right with her hands. Flopping on her safety cushion during perilous times; or, learning to lessen the impact by easing down just far enough reaching out with usually her right arm until the palm of her hand touches earth, easing her weight on the arm and shoulder as slowly as she can and use that knowledge to keep her from hurting herself by improper flop, now, half-flop; doing knee bends as she stands on my lap; crawling an endless amount of square feet; strengthening her arms, legs and body for that first big moment. The Genesis of her Basic Training for Life, to take her first step! That once in a lifetime right of passage; a moment that says, “I have a path! And I must walk it!” I Hope I will be able to witness it.

Meredith Singleton Circa 2000

Peace! More to come...

Meredith 

Playing God Or Being God? What Be You...Muh Fuckah? (Broke Black Prophet) Year Unknown

We spend our lives justifying our existence. Troubling mothah fuckahs with our bullshit, our dreaded insecurities, because tah not deal with our own shit, is to avoid a sad state of affairs. Shiiit! Don't nobody wannah work on their own shit! Hell naw! Let me fuck wit cho shit! If a mothah fuckah calls you a mothah fuckah, don't blame the mothah fuckah! That mothah fuckah callin yo sorry ass a mothah fuckah cause you've chosen the place where you are now, being appropriately called a mothah fuckah! Mothah fuckah!

Damn! If yo sorry ass just would start, just one goddamned time, thinkin bout where you want to be, instead of where you are...maybe you'll stop pointin fingers. Yo sorry ass, believe it or not, is the God of your universe. Start fuckin actin like it! Yah heard may?

Peace! More to come...

The Rich Done Gone And Fucked US Again! (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) January, 2014

People be crackin my Black ass up! For real! Talkin that bullshit, "When the economy gets better..." Wanh, wanh, wanh, wanh, wanh...Soundin like the adults on Charlie Brown and shit! Ain't nobody tryin tah hear that fecal matter. This shit ain't gonnah get better for US! Oh, no it's not. I'm sorry tah tell yah with yo ignant asses. Hope, all you fuckin want boo-boo, but the United States as we knew it, is done son! Done! Sold the fuck out by these rich bastards! And they don't give a fuck bout chew or me, with our broke asses. No, they don't. Don't give a flyin fuck, with our stupid asses!

Muh fuckahs talkin bout Obama this and Obama that...Obama don't have shit tah do with this fucked up shit here! Unh-the-fuck-unh! That dog don't fuckin hunt round here! Oh, no! Yah need tah quit that noise. Six years in office and you tellin me a reasonable person can actually believe that Obama, with his Black ass, done fucked this country up in less than two terms as POTUS? I know what they have said about US niggahs, but come ohn now? Yah can't blame our Black asses for this horrible mess what the rich, white, arrogant, ignant white men done did tah this You-S-of-fuckin-A!  Try the Rothchilds,  the Gettys...and all those othah sorry ass, old ass welfare recipient con-men so called bankers and so called businessmen that are below thieves as far as their morality goes in my book!  Sheeeit!

And what the fuck does Our poor asses do? We start stealin from each othahs shit! The fuck wrong with US? If yo sorry ass wants to steal go to the rich muh fuckahs neighborhoods and start stealin their goddamned shit! Not from muh fuckahs in the same shit as you and me! Stupid, no count, poor muh fuckahs! We ain't got shit tah be stealin! Fuckers!

We some broke asses! But we don't have to succumb to their merciless, sorry ass, rich bastards' morals and character! Yah heard may! Damn! Let US quit fuckin ovah one anothah! Let's start gettin Our spiritual shit back togethah! Start helpin one anothah again! Please!

All My broke Black ass has got!

Peace! More to come...

The Secret Society Speech (courtesy of jfklibrary.org)

President John F. Kennedy
Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York City
April 27, 1961

..."The very word "secrecy" is repugnant in a free and open society; and we are as a people inherently and historically opposed to secret societies, to secret oaths and to secret proceedings. We decided long ago that the dangers of excessive and unwarranted concealment of pertinent facts far outweighed the dangers which are cited to justify it. Even today, there is little value in opposing the threat of a closed society by imitating its arbitrary restrictions. Even today, there is little value in insuring the survival of our nation if our traditions do not survive with it. And there is very grave danger that an announced need for increased security will be seized upon by those anxious to expand its meaning to the very limits of official censorship and concealment. That I do not intend to permit to the extent that it is in my control. And no official of my Administration, whether his rank is high or low, civilian or military, should interpret my words here tonight as an excuse to censor the news, to stifle dissent, to cover up our mistakes or to withhold from the press and the public the facts they deserve to know.

But I do ask every publisher, every editor, and every newsman in the nation to reexamine his own standards, and to recognize the nature of our country's peril. In time of war, the government and the press have customarily joined in an effort based largely on self-discipline, to prevent unauthorized disclosures to the enemy. In time of "clear and present danger," the courts have held that even the privileged rights of the First Amendment must yield to the public's need for national security.

Today no war has been declared--and however fierce the struggle may be, it may never be declared in the traditional fashion. Our way of life is under attack. Those who make themselves our enemy are advancing around the globe. The survival of our friends is in danger. And yet no war has been declared, no borders have been crossed by marching troops, no missiles have been fired.

If the press is awaiting a declaration of war before it imposes the self-discipline of combat conditions, then I can only say that no war ever posed a greater threat to our security. If you are awaiting a finding of "clear and present danger," then I can only say that the danger has never been more clear and its presence has never been more imminent.

It requires a change in outlook, a change in tactics, a change in missions--by the government, by the people, by every businessman or labor leader, and by every newspaper. For we are opposed around the world by a monolithic and ruthless conspiracy that relies primarily on covert means for expanding its sphere of influence--on infiltration instead of invasion, on subversion instead of elections, on intimidation instead of free choice, on guerrillas by night instead of armies by day. It is a system which has conscripted vast human and material resources into the building of a tightly knit, highly efficient machine that combines military, diplomatic, intelligence, economic, scientific and political operations.

Its preparations are concealed, not published. Its mistakes are buried, not headlined. Its dissenters are silenced, not praised. No expenditure is questioned, no rumor is printed, no secret is revealed. It conducts the Cold War, in short, with a war-time discipline no democracy would ever hope or wish to match.

Nevertheless, every democracy recognizes the necessary restraints of national security--and the question remains whether those restraints need to be more strictly observed if we are to oppose this kind of attack as well as outright invasion.

For the facts of the matter are that this nation's foes have openly boasted of acquiring through our newspapers information they would otherwise hire agents to acquire through theft, bribery or espionage; that details of this nation's covert preparations to counter the enemy's covert operations have been available to every newspaper reader, friend and foe alike; that the size, the strength, the location and the nature of our forces and weapons, and our plans and strategy for their use, have all been pinpointed in the press and other news media to a degree sufficient to satisfy any foreign power; and that, in at least in one case, the publication of details concerning a secret mechanism whereby satellites were followed required its alteration at the expense of considerable time and money.

The newspapers which printed these stories were loyal, patriotic, responsible and well-meaning. Had we been engaged in open warfare, they undoubtedly would not have published such items. But in the absence of open warfare, they recognized only the tests of journalism and not the tests of national security. And my question tonight is whether additional tests should not now be adopted.

The question is for you alone to answer. No public official should answer it for you. No governmental plan should impose its restraints against your will. But I would be failing in my duty to the nation, in considering all of the responsibilities that we now bear and all of the means at hand to meet those responsibilities, if I did not commend this problem to your attention, and urge its thoughtful consideration.

On many earlier occasions, I have said--and your newspapers have constantly said--that these are times that appeal to every citizen's sense of sacrifice and self-discipline. They call out to every citizen to weigh his rights and comforts against his obligations to the common good. I cannot now believe that those citizens who serve in the newspaper business consider themselves exempt from that appeal.

I have no intention of establishing a new Office of War Information to govern the flow of news. I am not suggesting any new forms of censorship or any new types of security classifications. I have no easy answer to the dilemma that I have posed, and would not seek to impose it if I had one. But I am asking the members of the newspaper profession and the industry in this country to reexamine their own responsibilities, to consider the degree and the nature of the present danger, and to heed the duty of self-restraint which that danger imposes upon us all.

Every newspaper now asks itself, with respect to every story: "Is it news?" All I suggest is that you add the question: "Is it in the interest of the national security?" And I hope that every group in America--unions and businessmen and public officials at every level-- will ask the same question of their endeavors, and subject their actions to the same exacting tests.

And should the press of America consider and recommend the voluntary assumption of specific new steps or machinery, I can assure you that we will cooperate whole-heartedly with those recommendations.

Perhaps there will be no recommendations. Perhaps there is no answer to the dilemma faced by a free and open society in a cold and secret war. In times of peace, any discussion of this subject, and any action that results, are both painful and without precedent. But this is a time of peace and peril which knows no precedent in history.

II

It is the unprecedented nature of this challenge that also gives rise to your second obligation--an obligation which I share. And that is our obligation to inform and alert the American people--to make certain that they possess all the facts that they need, and understand them as well--the perils, the prospects, the purposes of our program and the choices that we face.

No President should fear public scrutiny of his program. For from that scrutiny comes understanding; and from that understanding comes support or opposition. And both are necessary. I am not asking your newspapers to support the Administration, but I am asking your help in the tremendous task of informing and alerting the American people. For I have complete confidence in the response and dedication of our citizens whenever they are fully informed.

I not only could not stifle controversy among your readers--I welcome it. This Administration intends to be candid about its errors; for as a wise man once said: "An error does not become a mistake until you refuse to correct it." We intend to accept full responsibility for our errors; and we expect you to point them out when we miss them.

Without debate, without criticism, no Administration and no country can succeed--and no republic can survive. That is why the Athenian lawmaker Solon decreed it a crime for any citizen to shrink from controversy. And that is why our press was protected by the First Amendment-- the only business in America specifically protected by the Constitution- -not primarily to amuse and entertain, not to emphasize the trivial and the sentimental, not to simply "give the public what it wants"--but to inform, to arouse, to reflect, to state our dangers and our opportunities, to indicate our crises and our choices, to lead, mold, educate and sometimes even anger public opinion.

This means greater coverage and analysis of international news--for it is no longer far away and foreign but close at hand and local. It means greater attention to improved understanding of the news as well as improved transmission. And it means, finally, that government at all levels, must meet its obligation to provide you with the fullest possible information outside the narrowest limits of national security--and we intend to do it.

III

It was early in the Seventeenth Century that Francis Bacon remarked on three recent inventions already transforming the world: the compass, gunpowder and the printing press. Now the links between the nations first forged by the compass have made us all citizens of the world, the hopes and threats of one becoming the hopes and threats of us all. In that one world's efforts to live together, the evolution of gunpowder to its ultimate limit has warned mankind of the terrible consequences of failure.

And so it is to the printing press--to the recorder of man's deeds, the keeper of his conscience, the courier of his news--that we look for strength and assistance, confident that with your help man will be what he was born to be: free and independent."

I Am The Alpha And Omega (Fifty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, First Chapter Of His Tenth Novel, "Know Thy God! Thy God Is You!") June 2016

He held his hands out and closed his eyes.  He didn't have to close his eyes but closing his eyes made him more focused on the commands and ultimate works that he was in control of.

Luke 18:27 - And he said, The things which are impossible with men are possible with God.

That verse made all the difference in the world with him.  He saw himself levitated at that moment the verse sank into his soul.  Looking over the whole world and contemplating finally his possibilities he would bless upon this tainted Earth. 

He smiled.  Oh, yes, he was not men;  he was a man, not plural in nature; ergo, he was his God!  And people better start realizing the various other people's gods they are praying to.  Because instead of praying they are preying on each and every individual that does not understand but over-stand their given purpose.  IT was a word game.  His God had informed him long ago, it was a manipulation with subtlety of verse and definition.  

He had heard people time and time again talking about, "Do you believe in God?"  Then his God guided him into enlightenment with the overstanding; believe, is to be-lie the truth.  No, he did not belie-ve, he knew.

(to be continued...)

Sylvester Stallone is a Fake Ass Italian (Thirty-Nine Years Old, Anthony Faglia, Indianapolis Italian Restaurant Owner, Speaking To His Thirteen Years Old Son) 2015

Fuckin America.  I fuckin work for ah fuckin livin.  Sicilian trew an' trew.  All we know is tah work.  D'en d'is guy.  We have it hard enough yah know?  Callin 'im: "The Italian Stallion,"  Rocky Balboa, "The Real Italian," "The Real Deal Italian," ...the fuck!  Yah know?  My Father, Sicilian.  My Mother, Sicilian.  The fuck?  D'is guy, fuckin fourth or at best one d'ird Italian, you know?

Fuckin Jew, that's what he is.  Ain't no fuckin real ass Italian no fuckin Jew!  The fuck?  Look at me.  Look at me?  Yah understand Ant'ny?  Ain't no fuckin real Italian no fuckin Jew!  Catholic?
 You bet!  A fuckin Jew...fahgetahboutit!  Dat's fah da movies.  Fuckin Hollywood!  Capisce?

I'll Suck A Dick And Fuck A Man In The Ass... But Don't Call Me, Black! (Twenty-Two Years Old, Homosexual, Matthew Thames, Dark Skinned American, Professional Rookie Football Player) 2014

What?  Yes, I heard you.  Am I an African American?  What does that have to do with the reason I’m at this microphone?  I’m sorry?  Oh, I understand.   All I have to say is, yes, I am gay.  What?  Really?  That age old race question again?  I know I have a darker complexion.  I just choose not to, that’s why.   Listen, my great, great grandfather was white. His nationality?  German, one hundred percent.  I consider myself mixed, not Black.   

Listen, I am not Black.  I just love men.  Period.  Please don’t call me Black.   

I'm an American gay.

The Fair Ain't Never Been Fair (Ninety-Two Years Old, Cleetus Jenkins, Natchez, Mississippi) 1992

We weren't ever allowed in the damn place.  The present day, I see niggahs just traipsin their happy asses in the festivity and I just shake my head.  How soon we forget with our Black asses.  Back in the day, the county fair was the main location to shop and buy a niggah.  Shit.  I've asked so many niggahs, "How many Black farmers have you seen in any county fair?  State Fair?  Yeah that's what I know, zero!  Have yah evah wondahed, why that is?"  They look at me all blank faced like I'm the one that has said or did something dumb.

But we are a funny bunch.  We will forgive and forget anything...for a good ass time.  Uhm!  Just some sorry asses fo sho!  Ain't learned shit with our ignant Black asses.  Still back peddlin; and that ain't no good thang at all.  

No, I reckon it's not.

Advice To Lil' Dicks (Twenty-Six Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Basic Training, Bravo Company-Big Foot Platoon (Fort Knox, Kentucky))1992

"All right lil dicks," Drill Sergeant Ingram began, "Six weeks in, it's time for us to have an important discussion.  So listen the fuck up!  Very...carefully. I don't fuckin love yah!  I don't fuckin care bout cha!  Not personally anyway.  As long as yah doin your fuckin job, soldering, when you are s'posed tah be doin it.   I, nor anyone else in this here United States of America's Army is goin tah fuck with yah.  I guarantee that.  If you are a fag...I don't give a rat's ass, as long as you're doin yo damn job first, soldiering.  But we don't have any fags in this platoon?  Do we lil' dicks," Drill Sergeant looked around the room at all of us after the rhetorical question, "Let me just make sure.  If you are a fag, raise your hand.  We all have our freedoms.  This is America damnit!  So, raise your goddamned hand if you are a fuckin fag!"  Again Drill Sergeant panned the room looking as if he were going to see a hand or two going up at any time.  But he didn't.  "Very fuckin good lil dicks!  Outstanding!  If you are and you didn't raise your hand, good for you.  Ain't nobody's business.  Yah keep that shit to your damn self.  Don't need one of you mother fuckers tryin tah be a hero or some shit bout "comin out".  This shit is about a brotherhood.  And I don't know about you but while out there soldierin, I don't need to worry about someone in that brotherhood tryin tah fuck me!  Do you understand me lil dicks?"

"Yes Drill Sergeant!  Who-ah!"  We all yelled out.

"Ya learnin lil dicks!  Ya learnin!  Out-fuckin-standing!  Maybe one of these days you'll be a big dick like me," Drill Sergeant said with a smile.  We all chuckled and got back into our military baring.  "Y'alls sorry asses got two more weeks to go before you head out to your AIT, Advanced Individual Training, and you will be a full fledged soldier in this great United States of America!  Can I get a, "Who-Ah!"," Drill Sergeant demanded.

"Who-ah!  Drill Sergeant!"  We yelled out as loud as we could.

"We are heading out on Bivouac today and won't be back for five days.  And when we return I won't have too much time to talk to your helpless asses.  But let me give you one more important piece of advice.  And remember this one simple piece of advice, after the first one that I informed your asses of.  After, always keep soldiering.  The next one being, never fall in love.  At least not until your soldiering days are finished," Drill Sergeant looked around making eye contact with every single recruit in the room.  "Am I saying, don't get your dick wet.  Fuck no!  I'm saying get your dick wet but don't marry the watering hole.  Because let me tell you lil dicks something that I know.  On the various bases you will either visit and/or live on, the women love them some Drill Sergeants, a strapping man like me.  And while your asses are away, soldiering, I'm going to be in your bed fucking your wife.  Because like I said, they love the drill sergeants.  And I don't turn away no available good pussy!,"  Drill Sergeant Ingram turned to the other Drill Sergeant in the room, "Am I lyin tah these sorry lil dicks Drill Sergeant Marnell?"

"Shit!  They'll fuck Captains, Colonels...but they love us.  Your sorry ass is gone for two to eight months at a time, that hole needs to be drilled on a regular.  Vibrator my ass!"  Drill Sergeant Marnell chuckled and shook his head.

"That's all we got lil dicks.  0900 formation, pack your shit.  We's goin on a trip! Fall out lil dicks!"  Drill Sergeant Ingram commanded.  

"The Pet Rock" And Other Marketing Miracles (continued...) (Thirty-five Years Old, Moses Burnbaum) 2013

The Hell was he thinking, that fuckin Jew.  He knew better than that.  We never talk that way in front of them, gentiles.  And there he was, Honest Goldberg, Mister Holier than thou talking shit to me.  To me! To me?  He knew the fuck better than that.  So I had to check him.

"Honest.  I understand what you are saying.  But please do not speak that way to me.  Please,"  I said.  Not wanting this to happen again.  And what the fuck did he do?

"Or what Mo?  You gonna tell Daddy on me or some shit?  I'm tired of that mother fucker.  He paid your half of this company that we own fifty-fifty.  But I paid my own damn way.  My way.  He can't do shit about me.  This is my shit. My...shit!  Do you understand?  You gotta beef with him, talk to him.  If you gotta beef with me, then I say to you, fuck you!  You fuckin pampered ass Jew!"  Asshole talking like a fucking nigger kike.  What was the fucking world coming to?  The fuck?  Did he just use the "J" word?  And at me no less.  Fuck wrong with him.

So I looked around the room at the other fifteen people in the room, all gentiles, and said, "Everybody get the fuck out!  Honest and I have to have a little pow-wow."  

(...to be continued.)

"The Pet Rock" And Other Marketing Miracles (Thirty-Five Years Old, Honest Goldberg) 2013

Addressability, that’s what it was all about.  It was the Pandora’s Box that they were looking for.  They had tried many different avenues to come up with the ultimate mental control but most all of the actions they had come up with came up with not too much.  So I had suggested to them, quite innocently, in one of their goddamned numerous of nauseous meetings:

“Check this out.  We already have addressability unbeknownst to the subscriber.  All we have to do is to make them pay for not only programming but to have them program their given television programming for themselves.  And then you get all of the goods without spending another dollar and getting paid for them giving us the information.”  And what did that smart ass Jew say to me, “The fuck Honest?  They’re not that stupid.  I mean really,” he said scoffing at me.  And all that I said as a retort was, “Really Moses?  Your degree is in business with an emphasis in marketing.  “They” are the same mother fuckers that made that sorry ass mother fucker of an inventor of “The Pet Rock” a fuckin millionaire.” 

And your ass could’ve heard a pen drop.   

Got Fags? (Anonymous) 1966

Looking at the glowing tip get brighter as I inhale;
Watching it dim as I pull my lips from the butt;
Yes, it is like life;
That's why I smoke.
As the fire fights fruitlessly
Trying to stay toward the tip,
As in life, it is in vane.
Life has to burn...up!
Life reaching it's fiery crescendo;
Burning until there is nothing left,
Only what cannot be enjoyed,
The Filter, a small part of the whole.
But for now it constantly burns;
Embers never dying;
Until life has ceased.
Pulling out another,
Rejuvenating life;
As with a birth of a child;
You need fire to implant the seed;
A Fire for life;
To start the finite whole,
The short cylindrical phallic
That will die,
From me,
Or from someone else snuffing it out,
Or burns out all by itself.
Yes, you are like life,
As long as you are burning,
I Still have a chance.
Until someone, or something, snuffs me out;
Or...I burn out all by myself.

Hooked On Stupid (Recovering Black Stoner) 1995

I see it live and in color in kaleidoscopic hues. Terrible twos are not the topic anymore in this needing of  a presbyopic state, going to get a new prescription way too late. But that’s the fate which belies such fools as we. Drinking green tea to stay healthy while the wealthy pours another glass of red wine that has suited US just fine. Going to find another cure? Sure. Whatever! Sever the chord of the discord once again. We will always sin. Our addictive innate qualities have given the powers that be to tap into the hot button of technology addiction, that affects man, woman, child, race, creed and color. Two hundred million more addicts and they’ll shut it all down, to everyone’s chagrin, to everyone’s frown. The cellular phone is the nebular drone to our once interpersonal interactive voice. Funny…humans were doomed when they were given choice.

God Incarnate (Female Tribal Elder, Northwest Territory, Second Cycle) Year Unknown

What dost thou seeketh in this non-refracted transgressed world? Why dost thou want to keep breathing in such fetid, rancid air? Dost thy being, thy spirit verily awake to nothingness? To awake and witness the same as thy dost the day before thine eyes closeth? Thou is the Kingdom…and the Glory! Awake ye all and passeth on thine light to thine Brethren and Sistren! Thy life will forever carryeth on afore life passeth on life! We! We all are! Our God in the flesh! And we must, not shall, adorneth Ourselves with that raiment of Holiness for all to see and to witness! For the sake of US all!

Fuck Memories...For Now. (Thirty-One Years Old, Jacqueline James (Jay-Jay), Black American) December 2005

My Mother had been dead eighteen months, four days, sixteen hours, thirty-seven minutes and ten, eleven, twelve...seconds.  I was still having problems.  I was healing from her passing but very, very slowly. I thought I was going mad at first but once I started reading and speaking with people who had lost a parent or parents, I found out that I was quite sane in fact; which was the most troubling part about it.  

You mean to tell me people have been emotionally devastated like me throughout humankind trying to stay somewhat functional with their daily lives dealing with the bullshit that is going on inside me right the fuck now?  How had society been so progressive in our history?  And the last query that I had just asked myself gave me great pause and helped me immeasurably for my future mental state and future productivity.

Just after my Mother’s passing I would break down crying any and everywhere.  But for the past twelve months those bad times of missing her only came when I was at my home.  Why was that?  Like now, I am at home and I am almost inconsolable with my grieving with my loss which had happened eighteen months, four days, sixteen hours, forty-one minutes and forty-five, forty-six…seconds in my past.

(to be continued...)

I Am A Proper Life's Soldier "Kill'em All Drill Sergeant, Let God Sort It Out!" (Fifty-Three Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Saved, An Interview With Adam Christ Of FM 104.5, WPPL, Indianapolis, Indiana) 2019

You can answer that question for yourself.  So can every listener to this broadcast.  We know what our given truths are and it doesn’t make any difference what another’s truths are if we are not receptive to said another’s truths.

“Well, maybe I did misspeak.  I guess what I was trying to get at is your opinion of the question that I asked you first Mr.Hopson,” the On-Air Personality, Adam Christ, said.

Now that’s an entirely different thing.  I do not speak for any group, organization, political entity…so when one, like you, asks me such a loaded question I am not here to recruit converts, convince another, propagate cosigners…only to speak my individual truth or truths. Nothing more. 

“I understand.  I’m sorry.  Please, would you answer the question that I had posed to you previously?”  He asked.

I’m sorry too because, no.  The question you posed previously is flawed.  If I answer the question you still are not on the record of changing the way the question at the onset of this query session was posed and until you do that I will not respond because of the problems referred to prior.

“Well, I really don’t see the relevance of what you proffer.  You are on record for having extreme views on the human race and where ultimately you would take this life that we live.  So why the hesitancy to answer the question?” He asked.

I have no hesitancy to answering any question that pertains to my belief system, my truth.  But I do have an hesitancy of answering a loaded question that makes me sound like I know what is best for the human race and the human existence; that I do not know for all, but I know for my truth; ergo, my belief and my truth not another who may be listening to this banter.

“Is it always this difficult speaking with you Mr. Hopson?  I’m just asking you questions that are not difficult because you have been addressed and have answered them before, so why are you giving me such a hard time?”  He asked.

Communication is difficult; and effective and accurate communication even more so.  I cannot speak for the ones who came before you who asked me questions about this life and didn’t inform another, like you, of the travails that they had gone through of interviewing me.  That is not my responsibility or problem.  I only am here to reiterate the positions I have posed before.  And if you think I am here to only give you a hard time then that is not my intimation whatsoever nor, again, my problem.  I would only convey to you that if you feel that I am treating you any differently than the rest who have interviewed me then you need to asks the previous interviewers of their given experience with me but I refuse to sit up here giving testimonials to you to how an interviewing process is handled by me, that is something you need to do your own homework on but I will not do your job for you.  I am who I am.  But once query is posed correctly, I have no problem answering any and or all of them.

“I see.  Okay.  What would you do, if you were president of this great nation of ours, to make our human lives better?”  Adam asked and raised his eyebrows as if to ask, “Was that direct enough for you?”

Ahhhh!  Well put my dear Adam.  And as I have stated numerous of times before: I would kill every mother fucking male adult and male child on this planet and start once more.

“But you are a male too.  That would mean you would have to die also,” Adam said in a scoffing fashion.

And your point would be…?

Cessation of Smoking Love (Broke Black Prophet)

You're like the cigarettes that I used to smoke; those cigarettes didn't give a damn whether I smoked them or not. Hell no! Those mothah fuckahs know that there are others that also Love them, indulge in them and Love their addictive and seductive qualities. So I'm no different. Just another stupid consumer, that's all. Alas; I've come to understand that.

But I've never been one, once discernment has been inhaled and exhaled, to waste my time on such absurdity. I know it is past the time and the right moment to stop smoking...and to stop Loving you. Both of you are killing me, stealthily.

You're just a bad ass vice, like smoking, I had to get over; just like all the rest of them and me should have done so very long ago.

Terminus (Broke Black Prophet) 2003

'We're going to have to let you go," she said.  I didn't blink.  Nor was I surprised.  The company had been firing people at an astronomical rate for the past two months; and I knew sooner or later it would be me taking the long walk to Human Resources like I had just did just six minutes ago before I had gotten the bad news from them.

There is no other reason Human Resources sends you a note to come down to speak with them on a Friday when you first get into work except for termination; the note forbodingly setting on your workstation desk, welcoming you for this Friday's events to come; sending you/me an adverse "Hello."

And all I could do was smile.  Then do the firing shuffle to the elevator that would take me to the first floor; then, I would take a left to the door of doom marked majestically as "Human Resources," which would lead to my termination of this chapter of my life.

"Thank you," I said to Nancy (a proud Human Resources employee).

"Thank You?" she asked, "I sure haven't heard that response in this scenario.  Are you going to be all right?"  She asked and looked at me carefully, making sure she didn't misread me, I just might be one of those employees that acts calm then shoots the place up.

"Nancy, hell, it's not your fault.  I saw it coming with all of the other times this has happened in the last two months.  And I'm sure no different.  I'm saying "Thank You" to you because you are just doing your job.  That's all,"  I said.

"Do you have to get anything from your desk?"  She asked.

"No.  But thank you again. I guess this is my cue to leave.  Do you need to walk me out?"

"No...not you.  You'll be fine.  Good luck to you, Meredith.  I really mean it,"  she said.

"Thanks again," I said and walked out of the Human Resources Department.

I arrived at my apartment.  Went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to retrieve the Flor de Jamaica, that I drink a gallon of at least every four days or so.  Took a glass from my cupboard.  Filled the glass half with the Jamaica and filled the other half with Apple infused Vodka, making the perfect Cran-Apple Cocktail.  And got properly drunk.

Somewhere Down The Road of Life (Broke Black Prophet)

I love this shit! I really do! You know, all my goddamned life, I had to be this rational or semi-rational muh fuckah round my fellow humans. But this damn Internet is a lovely, ugly thang! Oh, yes it is! I can get on this shit and say the various "Fuck Yous" to all the rational and semi rational things I had tah do, tah deal with this bullshit of life! And here mine be, with my lil ass in this big ass world!

But the wondrous thing about this shit is, our children and their children are going to see and read exactly what was in the minds of the real populous at large...And where they are headed. Well, here I be in this vast world! I hope you'll eventually find me. Somewhere down the future road apiece; and hopefully, the future road of peace! Here's my lil shit I had tah say bout this mothah fuckin bullshit! Right-the-fuck-now! I hope the hell that it helps! Yao Ming?

Peace! More to come...

Without Arms

I see a new day coming into fruition
for me;
Sans bombs, missiles, guns...no ammunition,
to finally be free!

See You Soon! Kay? (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) May 4, 2014

I was driving down a street and saw a gentleman that looked familiar from the back, but I thought to myself, "Impossible."  I continued to drive and while still looking at the back of the gentleman's head wishing he would turn around so I could catch a glimpse of his facial features to ensure I, in fact, was not mad.  And as if the gentleman read my mind he looked over his left shoulder, at my vehicle coming up on his left side, because he was walking almost in the middle of the street, and I finally saw his full features as he passed in front of my vehicle, and for some reason jogged over to the opposite side of the street's sidewalk and continued to walk and he finally addressed me.  I rolled down my window and said playfully, "Brother Al.  Now you know you shouldn't be playin in the streets."  He smiled his big smile, and I noticed for the first time he had a full beard and it looked good on him, he has always been a handsome man, "Hey Meredith," as he laughed his laugh a quick and delightful,"hey-ey."  I finally found a place to pull over so he could get into the car so I could take him wherever he was going because all of the sudden it started snowing, well I would have picked him up anyway even if it weren't snowing but I thought it odd that it started snowing because neither he nor I had on coats, we were just in our shirtsleeves.

I pulled over.  Got out of the car and was about ready to shout at him to get in but he was not there any longer. I smiled because then I remembered he had taken another way home...and I will too one fateful day.

As my eyes slowly opened up to another living day.  And I smiled again, now awake, thinking of the good memories of my Brother Al.

Safe And Secure (Thomas Fuqua, American Satirist) 2016

"The right to keep and bear arms,"  Don't you just love that little quote from the second amendment?  You just gottah love it!  Just flows from your Mouth.  Makes you feel all safe, comfy and cozy just thinkin about it doesn't it?  And I just love the way people interpret it by saying to one and all,

"That's right I have a right to keep and bear arms; which means mother fucker, if yah didn't know, I can bust a cap in your monkey ass anytime I see fit tah do so.  And heavy on that monkey shit.  Cause you never know when monkeys, niggers, spics...you know what I mean, are goin to get out of control and that's just the reason why they call arms peacemakers. Because you never know.  Oh, no you don't.  They's a clever lot.  You needs some good ol' God given protection sent from heaven; man made in the USA of course!  And like the old American Express commercial used to say, "Don't leave home without it."  Damn straight."

I could keep going but that's enough.  I feel more than safe enough to go beddy-bye now.

Embrace Our Differences! None of US Are Going Anyplace, Any Time Soon. (Twenty Years Old, Canadienne, Nancy Downse, Mulatto Female, Marian College Nursing Student(Indianapolis, Indiana)) 1986

People sit in the scorner's seat and point fingers, ridicule, humiliate...whatever...the thing about all of this life is the fact: no one wants everybody to be the same nor think the same.  Oh, we can sit up there and discourse about our very different ideologies until we die and that is just what we do oft times; but, that's what makes this thing we call life so Beautiful; so worth living, so interesting. 

Our differences keeps all of US continuing to wake up every day.  The vagaries of life keeps US all alive, Sunshine!  Though some are brighter or dimmer it's Our endless variances of individual enigmatic light that makes this life...well...worth living!

I Think I've Been Shot. (Twenty-Six Years Old, American, Dana Joyce) 2018

I was driving and I couldn't feel anything with my right leg.  The car that I was driving all of the sudden started slowing considerably, and I remember thinking at the time, The fuck?   I tried to accelerate but my leg did nothing but felt numb.  I tried to step on the brake with that same right leg and that was a no go.  I was so put off by my inadequacy I kept looking at my right leg in befuddlement and forgot I was behind the wheel of a ton of death, lost in my own personal health quandary.

Then I noticed the blood on the outer side of my right leg, and then again, I noticed the round hole in the passenger side door which I looked at, then brought my head up to look out of the passenger side window for answers.  That's when I felt the car jerk violently backwards, while my mouth impacted horribly with the steering wheel, blood spewed from my mouth;  my vision started to become fuzzy, grayish; liquid warmth dripped on my chest.

And everything became a beautiful monochromatic blackness.

The Sorry Ass Lazy Days of White Affluence Is Being Exposed! And Their White Rich Lazy Asses Ain't Likin It Too Much To Be Called What They Are And What They Have Always Been...Worthless, Welfare Recipients, Quite Lazy...Sorry Mothah Fuckahs! (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) May, 2014

The NCAA is having a fit because the niggahs wantstah be set free once again in their lil NCAA microcosm of this here slave induced and filled ideology in this great You-S-Fuckin-A.  And the rich mothah fuckahs are two times pissed aussi.  Why?  Because niggahs been footin the bill for their lil love childs gettin these four year all paid athletic scholarships to these various division I, II and III universities.

 Niggahs footin the bill?  The fuck?  The fuck, my ass mothah fuckahs!  Shit!  From the rooter to the tooter.  Niggahs have been the main money maker in collegiate sports given that football and basketball brings in the booty that needs to be stolen to keep the other non niggah sports, with the plethora of rich mothah fuckin children of these rich white people, continue to survive and continuing to get a free ride even though their rich asses can afford to pay for a four year degree:  Lacrosse, Golf, Wrestling, Band, Tennis, Fencing...like I said, all non-niggah sports.  And the non-niggah sports athletes are getting degrees and shit but the niggah sports and niggahs, which makes the money to fund the non-niggah sports, ain't gettin shit but shit but the opportunity tah play in a non-hostile environment.  That's so sweet.

I'm not tellin you what I think, I'm tellin you what I know.  I decided tah go tah Butler University located in Indianapolis, Indiana.  My family didn't have ah pot tah piss in nor a window tah throw it out.  But I peeped the game.  I had marginal speed.  So D-I was out.  But I went to the Butler Head Track Coach at the time, Stan Lyons, and asked, "What's your fastest sprinters' time?"  And Coach Lyons looked at me and said, "Eleven-two hundred."  The fuck?  I was runnin that shit while I was ah sophomore at Crispus Attucks High School.  "So what, if I walked on, would you give me a full ride if I produced."  And he chuckled and said, "Yeah Meredith!  We'd be glad to have you!"  And that mothah fuckah that was runnin that sorry ass "eleven-two" next year got his full ride revoked by me.  And his family that lived in Carmel, Indiana, had tah foot his sorry ass no count havin skills college tuition for the next two years that he had left on his degree requirements.  Yah see what I mean?

Ain't that some shit.  But the mothah fuckahs all up in arms and shit because the fuckin jig is up?  Well, I'll be shit!

Yah see, slavery never goes away.  These rich white mothah fuckahs just find anothah way tah use the poor yet again tah work fo free while they have forever lived off the welfare of what we make them.  A damn fuckin shame!  And quite fuckin pitiful!  With y'alls lazy, rich, welfare...havin asses!

Ants (Forty-Two Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 2007

I know I have written about it before, but this life has never been about you, ever.  We sit up there and think that we are so important to this universe to have the nerve to think, it is all about me.  Well, I’m sorry to bust your delicate bubble Sunshine but, uh…no.  

Us?  Yes.  You?   Fuck you!  Do you understand?  I so hope that you do.  

“A grain of sand,” my Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs.  As simple as a grain of sand.   When one granule of sand thinks they are different and better than another than, what makes Us a cohesive desert?  

We see ants all the time but still take no notice of the fact that ants understand the basic survival skills that humans have discounted, being:  without you there is no me.  And if you don’t look out for me, we can no longer survive.  We can no longer exist...with one another or survive as a collective entity.  And we just may become extinct.  

Just Call Me "D" (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Saved) August 25, 2014

I had been chasin death most of my life.  Elusive isn't even close to how Death evaded me. And today, I saw death make a left around the corner and I too followed Death like I usually did.  But unlike the plethora of past times death was there, smokin a cigarette, leanin against the building's brick wall.  I didn't know what to do so I just stood still and watched Death smokin.  I guess Death felt sorry for me and looked at me and said, "You wantah fag mothah fuckah?"  Holding the pack of Marlboro reds out in offering.

"I'm fine.  I only smoke Winston Ultra Lights.  Those are way too strong for me," I said to Death.

Death smirked and said, "I don't know why.  If you are going to do the damn thang, do the damn thang right!"

I understood what he was talking about, he spoke like me, (I said "He" because evil has and will always be male) and took the cigarette that was offered to me.  I fired it up.  Inhaled.  "Damn!  These are some harsh mothah fuckahs!" I said.  Death just looked at me and laughed.

"So you've been lookin fo me my niggah," Death said with eyebrows raised in a rhetorical gesture.

"Yes,"  I said and inhaled another harsh pull.

Death laughed.  Pulled on his own cigarette, exhaled.  "Well it seems you've found me," Death said.

I just continued smokin, hatin the drag off the cig that was offered to me.  I sure wish it was lighter and this conversation wouldn't have been so uncomfortable.

I finally got enough nerves tah ask Death, "So am I goin tah die now?"

He pulled hard on his cig and while exhalin, smoke goin in every damn direction,"That all depends on you and me.  And more me than you.  You understand?" He said and asked, rhetorically.

"Yes," I simply said.  I'd had enough of the harsh smoke so I let it fall from my index and middle fingers to the ground and extinguished it with my left foot while death noticed every living thing that I was doing.

He pulled hard again on his smoke.  Did the same as I and extinguished his smoke also but with his right foot.  Looked at me and started admonishing me with his diatribe:  "I will always be here Sunshine.  Like the sun, the moon,  the earth, the oceans...I will always be here.  You don't evah have tah look for me because I will find you in the end.  That's just the way the shit y'all mothah fuckahs call "Life" is.  Life, the shit is just temporary.  But my ass is permanent.  Final.  The end!  And as yo so called Non-Secular circle would say, Amen!  I am the everlasting truth.  The only truth.  The truth!  The Alpha and Omega!  I am omnipresent.  I am...mothah fuckah!  Yah undahstand?"

"Yes.  I have always respected you because of who you are.  May I go?" I said and asked.

"You can just call me "D" because I like you. You can always go as long as you have your temporary life.  But yo ass belongs to me in the end," Death said.

"And I definitely understand my friend, D," I said humbly.

"And I am sure that you do.  I so appreciate you!  But I am who I am!  Please forgive my makeup.   Be free and live this temporary life!  But when I visit you again, it will be time for you to give up this...temporary life,"  He said  with his parting words.'

And I turned and ran.  Smelling the air... Life.

If just for awhile...if just temporary.

Spring Is Here, Mothah Fuckahs! (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) April 12, 2014

I've made it through another winter.  Although as beautiful as it was, with the numerous snow days, it was harsh.  And my spirit, like it usually has done in the past, and this last winter was no different, maybe even worse, began the dreaded descent into the abyss.  How did I survive this last one?  You might be asking yourself while reading these little words on your various computer screens.  My answer would be, humbly, I am getting more mature (and mature if you didn't know it my Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs is a euphemism for being: an old ass); with the understanding, taking whatever ails me spiritually has to be taken in doses; and with this past winter the doses being: things and life...and take those doses of things and doses of life, day by day.

And Spring is here with it's promises of warmer weather; and the dead shall rise...again!

I am starting to see life before me in nature which imbues into me an essence of rejuvenating my spirit again.

And I have survived, yet, another winter!

We Can Handle This With No Problems (Twenty-Four years Old, Anthony Battles, Vietnam Veteran) 1974

So I walked into the neighborhood bar with my new lady.  Why?  Because I knew the brothahs would be gawkin at the Sweet Sistah that I just hooked up with and things were goin for three months now quite copacetic...that is, up until we walked into the neighborhood joint of note.  As soon as we crossed the threshold I saw movement from the back where the pool tables are situated, and where I made myself a lot of damn money, but anyway, she and I had just gotten settled in and was just about ready to sit down and order when that movement from the back started becoming more pronounced.

It was Floyd Washam, in the hood his sobriquet was "Flo," and I said to him, "Whatcha no good Flo?"  Flo wasn't lookin too well and still with a pool stick in his hand.

"Pookie man, what chew doin with my lady?"  Flo asked.

I looked at Sheila and all that I saw was the top of her head.  No help there.  So I knew ol' Flo was tellin me the truth.

"Well don't that beat all," I said.  I always keep a Bo Silver Dollar in my pocket for luck sake so I knew just how to rectify this situation.  I took it out.  I flipped it in the air and Flo watched it go up and me catch it in my right hand and put it on the back of my left hand.

"Heads or tails Flo?"  I asked.

"Whah?"  Flo now looking at me perplexed but no longer trying to stare darts into Sheila's eyes.

"I asked you, heads or tails, turkay?"  I said good heartedly.

Flo still in a daze says,"Heads I guess."

I peeked at the coin which I had previously covered with my right hand which the coin set atop the back of my left hand and it was tails all day long.

"Flo, it's your lucky day.  She's all yours,"  I said.  I winked at him and made my way out of the nightspot.

Got in my red 1969 Oldsmobile 442 and drove to another spot three miles west where I got fitfully high.

Knowledge Is The Key (Forty-Eight Years Old, Black, Optician, Indianapolis, Indiana Native) 2014

“Well I can’t see what I used to out of these new glasses!  Why is that?”  She stated and then asked.

“Let’s check out what’s going on.  Shall we?”  I stated and then asked.

“Please.  Because I feel like that I have wasted my money with these things,” she said.

“I understand.  But I guarantee you that we are not in the business of making an individual visually challenged.  That wouldn’t be good for business at all,” I said.  And thankfully she laughed.

“No.  I guess that wouldn’t be good at all,” she said.

“You know?”  I said.  And thankfully again, she laughed.

We sat down at the dispensing table.  I pulled out a standard optical reading card that had different font sizes, handed the card to her, so she could read utilizing her new lenses/glasses, to see what was happening with these DPALs (Digital Progressive Addition Lenses) the patient had purchased and I had chosen for her when I entered the order via the internet in VSP’s (Vision Service Plan's) website LOS (Lab Order Screen).

“Okay read the ten point line,” I said.

“I can see it.  But it’s kind of blurry and my other glasses weren’t like this.  My other glasses are clearer than this looking at this line.  I brought them with me if you would like for me to bring them out and show you,” she said.

“Please,” I said.

She pulled her old glasses out with the old prescription, took her new glasses off and put the old glasses on.  

“You see?  It’s not blurry.  I can read this line now,” she said with vehemence.

“And I understand.  Makes sense to me.  But based on my experience and what I am witnessing, can you do something for me?”  I stated and asked.

“Sure,” she said.

“Normal reading distance is bent arms length, twelve to sixteen inches from your eyes.  Tilt your head up while keep looking at the same ten point line and tell me what you see?”  I stated and asked.  She did as I requested.

“It’s looking like the new glasses.  It’s not quite clear.  That’s not making any sense to me,” she said.

“Okay.  Now put on your new glasses if you would please?”  I asked.  She did again as I requested.

“Now look at the ten point line,” I said.

“It’s still not quite clear,” she said scoffingly.

“I understand.  But indulge me for a sec.  Look at that same ten point line.  Based on what I informed you before of, normal reading distance is bent arms length, twelve to sixteen inches from your eyes” I said.

“It’s still looking the same,” she said, patience and indulgence gone at this point.

“I understand. Believe me.  Now indulge me just a little bit longer.  And tilt your head up a little bit more while keeping your eyes on the same ten point font sentence, looking out of the very bottom of your lenses,” I said.  She started tilting her head up.

“Oh,” she said.

I smiled inside, not letting her understand that I knew what the problem was even before we had sat down.

“I’m just telling you this but I’m sure you know already.  The eyes, over time, as we get more mature are not able to accommodate like they used to.  The muscles in our eyes over that same time weaken and going from our distance to our near vision is compromised because of that weakening of said muscles.  That being said, your eyes have accommodated, adjusted to your old prescription by using the intermediate zone for reading and the reading zone has not been utilized because of that.  You have three fields of vision in Progressive Addition Lenses, or what the industry calls, PALs:  distance, intermediate and reading.  Your eyes have told your brain with the old prescription, “Don’t go any further on these lenses because that reading zone is not needed, just put whatever you are reading further from us.”  And it has worked.  But the technology of the PALs now have been compromised unbeknownst to you because of the brain and eyes interaction with one another because the eyes have successfully did what they needed to do to see whatever you have put in front of them given the medium, in this case, the old prescription,” I said.

“You know, the way you explained it to me I really understand that.  I have been to other offices and they would always tell me, “Give it more time. You’ll get used to it.”  And I never did.  I thought you were going to give me the same old trite response to me not being satisfied with my vision.  But you explained it to me the way I can understand it.  And I totally appreciate that,”  she said as she tilted her head down and up slowly.  “Why couldn’t they just explain it to me like you just did?”  She asked.

“Well, you know now.  And really, that’s all that matters,” I said.

“I like you. I really do. Thank you,” she said while looking at me deeply.

“You’re welcome.  Anytime,” I said.

Murdering Death by Killing Time (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) April 1, 2014

The absurdity of man.  Voltaire wrote about it.  Sartre.  Camus...all those mothah fuckahs.  Existentialism; the fuck is it good for?  And like Edwin Starr sang, "Absolutely nothin!  Say it again..."

The same ol' shit, just ah different mothah fuckin day.  Damn right bout that!

All the knowledge in the world ain't gonnah save our sorry asses.  Doomed in its purital state.  Because, yah see, we don't wantstah hear it or read it.  And by "it" I mean, the truth.

Fuck the truth!  Fuck it!  Fuck it!  And if yah didn't undahstand me the first three times, let me say it again, fuck it!

Since we have come into being we have forevah made the same fucked up decisions and fate for us all.  And our decisions and fate are symbiotic, if yah didn't know it.  It's what the old school scholars have been callin, "causes and effects" since, again, forevah.  And we collectively, to that age ol' mantra, still sayin, "Fuck it!  That shit ain't the truth!"

And, I, for one would have to concur tah that fucked up idiocy.

"Well, Broke Black Prophet, that's why yo Black ass is broke!  Cause yah done gone and drank the mothah fuckin Kool-Aid!"

Maybe.

Perhaps.

But I doubt it very fuckin much so.

"Explain yourself dear sir?  If you would be so kind.  Please?"

And I quite appreciate your indulgence in this mattah of madness.

I can only tell you, my Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, that it comes down to two truths that man has fell  victim to throughout humans' time, that are the individual sole problems that has lead us to our destinal  fated path again and again:  Time and Death.  Just two absolutes that we have perpetually and forever agreed upon.

Time leads to death.  And with that death becomes the non-existence of time.  Take time out of the equation, death is no longer a factor in humans' existence; because time has now become an illiteracy.  Time is no more.  Now the shit, just is!

And we have successfully murdered Death by killing Time!

Blue Black (Thirty-Nine Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 2005

Let me tell yah somethin My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, you can talk tah yah Black ass is Blue in the face, suffocatin like a muh fuckah from all the life yo sorry ass expellin tryin tah make a mothah fuckah understand some shit! But cha see, they ain't listenin nor do they give a good solid fuck!

Why? A lot of fuckin whys goddamnit! Shiiit! Pick yo poison mothah fuckah! But the one thing that comes tah my sorry ass mind is that yo Black ass is Black! Shiiit! How anothah mothah fuckah s'pose tah know yo ass can't breath and shit? Cyanosis settin the fuck in, gettin ready tah check the fuck out, been talkin so much tah the hard headed mothah fuckah! They lookin at chew like, whah?

Cause, yah see, it's hard tah see the tell-tale sign of the bluish hue yo skin takes on cause you's ah Black ass muh fuckah! They just thinkin yo sorry ass gettin darkah right in front of their eyes and shit. Interestin the hell outtah of 'em, while yo pitiful dumb ass talkin yo sorry ass tah fuckin death and they ain't listenin cause they just lookin at cho skin colah gettin darkah. Seein yo Black ass pink lips movin but they too caught up in their own mystification of yo skin tone turnin this bluish Black. Sayin in their mind as the colah is changin, like Spock used tah say on Star Trek, "Fascinating!" And ain't heard a goddamned word, your bout ready tah die Black ass, has said!

Shiiit! Fuck that noise! Get cho Black ass just Black again! Shut the fuck up! Breath! And live! You stupid Black, now Blue Black, mothah fuckah! Yah understand?

Peace! More to come...

I've Seen Enough (Thirty-Eight Years Old, Malcolm Cheats, Gang Member, Murderer, Eleven Years In, Serving Three Life Sentences, Michigan City Prison Indiana) 2009

Oh, we blame so many people for our individual lives.  I've been rehabilitated.  

But those same people were never the problem.  I've been rehabilitated.

 

We witness the problem everyday in our grown, adult lives:  Staring back at us in the mirror; seeing through that individual’s eyes; spending that individual’s money; reliving the sins that put that individual in…wasting valuable time doing nothing; with that same individual’s life looking back at me through that horrible reflection of the perpetual refuse of witnessed time. 

I've been rehabilitated.  But there is nothing more to say about my life; alas, until I die. 

The Masters' Plan/Universal Global Slavery (Anonymous) 2015

It had been put into action long ago.  Lying dormant until the right time.  And the right time was now.  Imminent Domain; Moving the industries outside our borders; Instituting strict environmental laws; Allowing non-American citizens within our borders to work...And other fecal matters like the previous examples.

The point of this little factoid?

The point is easy to figure out.  The United States of America has been, since its discovery by the early Imperialists, groomed to be a land where only the richest of the world would eventually live.  And the rest of US, the poor, will be here, shipped here or flown here to service those very few.

Water Into Wine? Puh-leeze...Mothah Fuckah! (Forty-Two Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 2008

The Holy Bible is the truth!  Really mothah fuckah?  Is that what say you?  Or is that the truth.  And it ain't no damn question mark to the last statement cause that shit is fuckin rhetorical, straight up.  Ain’t no fuckin copyright tah the Bible.  You can rewrite the mothah fuckah if yah wantstah.  As long as, yah see, yo mothah fuckin ass has enough money tah make yo version stick.  And that’s some hellafied marketin and a lot of fuckin monay tah boot.  Yah undahstand?  Or, maybe yo Black Broke Ass don’t. 

How the fuck you think Sun Yung Moon came up with some bullshit?  Or the Book of Mormon?  Or whatevah type of fucked up religion (if yah didn’t know all the various types of religions out there are, fucked up) yo sorry ass wantstah come up with…?  It don’t fuckin mattah cause the shits been altered maybe a thousand times ovah. And I knows y’alls mothah fuckin asses “done heard it through the grapevine” and shit, and y’alls sorry asses understands how that same grapevine done got rancid, sour… “Water into wine,” my ass mothah fuckah!  Can’t make no fuckin wine outtah nasty shit cause if yah make wine outs rotten fruit, yo sorry ass don’t haves wine; hell nah, yah ass just gots shit that can’t be drunk by no damn body! 

That's like me sayin, "I gottah six and a half inch dick that the Lawd overnight done turned intah ah thirteen inch ragin python!"  Sheee-it!  You's a grown ass man or woman and yo sorry ass goddamned knows that, some shit just ain't gonnah happen!  Evah! 

Yah feel may?

I Want To Be Like Mike (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) March 8, 2014

There’s not much to say but everything and nothing.  C’est tout.  I have always looked upon the both of you as a Geiger counter to my ultimate relationship.  I have seen Mike kiss his wife with a Love that I can only hope I will only be able to duplicate with my own spouse, Geeg.  Your relationship humbles me so.  But it also fills me with joy beyond anything you can possibly imagine.  

I remember telling Dr. Jennings and others about the two of you, “When I grow up, I want to be like Mike.”  Don’t laugh.  I understand the correlation that one gets when I say that very statement with the Gatorade commercial, but still…it stands true. Truisms are an enlightening state of being.  I have found the truth in the both of you.  Do you both understand?  I hope you do.  

And I understand one fated day I will have to breakaway and become who I need to become for my individual and marriage sake.  But whatever that may be, the success, I am sure, will be the example that the both of you exude without really understanding your strength of example.

I Love you and will always carry you with me until my last breath on this fated earth.

Happy Birthday Mike.

Love Always,

Meredith

Pour Che (Thirty-Four- Years Old, Eryck Swope, Black American, Revolutionary) 2018

They shut him up quickly.  He didn't even see his fortieth birthday.  Children, wife...they didn't care.  The battle cry was getting louder and they had to do something to quell the uprising starting to take over South America and the adjoining islands.  So they sent one of their own to execute him though they prepped him and gave him richest beyond anything that he could have ever imagined.  The executioner probably found it quite ironic based on the ideological Marxists views Ernesto "Che" Guevara espoused. 

But that is how Imperialism thrives.  Taking the poor, the weak, the down-trodden with the promise of uplifting them and maybe their families into another level of existence.  But like Che probably would have said to his executioner, "You will never be accepted amongst them.  No matter how much they have given you for this abhorrent task."  And maybe it didn't matter.  Of course, it never has and maybe never will as far as giving someone from abject poverty enough money to possibly make them have a heart attack from the amount given when execution was carried out.  And it was.  And the beat goes on.

But...times have changed.  And I will not be stopped.  I have not nor will I ever seek publicity from what needs to be done to kill imperialism.  No, one must learn from the past if one is to be successful.  Stealth is the way to succeeding. 

And quietly I will kill all of the rich.  And kill all of the poor, US, who have helped them succeed in their past quests.

30 Feet/ 9.144 Meters: Brought Me Gold (Twenty-Eight Years Old, Kirk Haley, Olympic Gold Medal Winner, Long Jump) Saturday, August 1, 2020 Tokyo, Japan

I was an unknown but I would become known.  I had asked my coach, Chloe Joi Thompson, for some three years, a year before the XXXII Olympiad in Tokyo, "What will it take to win this event?"  She looked at me and said, "Thirty-feet and there will be no problem at all.  But you have to get your speed approach to the maximum.  You have the height.  We just need more velocity on the approach.  And you don't even have to worry about scratching because you are consistently taking off from the middle of the board."  Cool.  So I started pondering before the World Championships just before the Olympics how I could get my speed up before I had to get ready and finally at the end of the runway shorten my last step before I took off.  And I finally came up with how I could go where no man has gone before, thirty feet and beyond.  And Chloe hugged me and looked at me and said, "Brilliant!"

It was all in the time and place.  Mike Powell, the world record holder had gone out 29 feet 4 and1/4 inches in the same city, Tokyo, Japan.  Carl Lewis, the third best in the world, had gone 29 feet and 1 inch in the same city, Tokyo, Japan.  And Bob Beamon had the Olympic record of 29 feet 2 and 1/4 inches, though in Mexico City.  It was all in the cards.  And all were going to fall to a little unknown like me because this was all that I wanted to do, to break the Long Jump Olympic, American and World Record.

I didn't use my "Brilliant" plan like coach Thompson expressed to me until the Olympics.  I had broken the World record the year before by 3/4 of an inch.  But by the next summer I was flying high, figuratively as well as literally, with the gold in the Olympics along with the World and American records.

So in the Summer of 2020, Saturday, August 1, 2020 at The Games of The XXXII Olympiad, I soared further than any human had gone before to an exact thirty feet, 9.144 meters to win Gold in the event which I had been preparing for ten years.  And the thing I did differently than any one else in Long Jump history: was to use starting blocks to get to optimal speed before take-off from the board, and have a 19 and 1/2 stride approach.

E' Cigs and Shit (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) 2014

Mothah fuckah!  Mothah...fuckah!  Say whah?  You  heard my Black Broke Ass!  Oh, yes yah did! 

So, a mothah fuckah tryin tah quit smokin and shit.  So my Black ass goes to the closest shit.  Yah heard may?  So I pulls up tah Meijers' gas/convenient mart.  Walk in. 

What kind of E' Cigs do yah have?  So the clerk says tah me, "Njoy," and some othah kind of mothah fuckin shit I have no idea the name brand.  But I remember, based on advertisin that Njoy was  the shit I am familiar with.  Yah see how shit is fucked up?  Anyway.  I tell her, "Njoy."  How much is that?  And she says, "Hold ohn.  It might be buy one get one.  It's been like that for a long time." You mean a BOGO?  Shit, you already know.  So she rings the shit up and says, "Oh, no.  They ain't no buy one get one no mo."  That's alright.  I'll take one.  "Well we got, Original, Light, Menthol..."  I'll take the Original please.  "Whah?  You tryin tah quit smokin or som'ehn?"  Yes.  Gottah do somethin with my old self.  "Well, just do like I just did.  Just quit."  I hear yah My Dear Sweet Sistah, but tah me, it ain't as easy as that.  "Shit, I just quit.  I even smoked weed and shit."  Hah!  No you didn't!  But I undahstand!  "Seriously though.  Just quit.  And that will be nine dollahs and thirty-five cents."   Ouch!  "Yah see what I mean?  Just quit.  If I did it, anybody can do it.  I was up tah a pack and ah half and shit.  Fuck that." 

Word.