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.