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.