Alas, God Doth Made A Mistake And It's Time To Correct God's Sole Error! (Broke Black Prophet) September 11, 2017

People will always blame their given makers.  And when all else fails they will blame the ultimate maker, God.  Why?   We are not taught control.  We are not taught that we are God and that God is within us.  We are not taught proper parenting albeit playing God.  We have known amongst ourselves time and time again about society's shortcomings and where this world is going wrong; yet, we do not want to take accountability of ourselves playing the God which we have chosen to become incarnate, i.e. creating children in our own likeness; ergo, creating this fine world that we are now witnessing.

 

We want to listen to so-called experts making excuses for our trying to be God asses who have failed and just like Our God we don’t know how to say, “I fucked up!  I should not have created in my own image!  My ass is way too wrapped up into my damn self to succeed as God!” 

So here we be.  Still lying to ourselves, still lying to others and, most importantly, still lying to Our God who imbued within all of us humans with the same ill characteristics that God passed onto Us, we being God’s children, of deflection and denial. 

We will always be who our makers bred us to be, in their own likeness and in God's own likeness.  Like it or not.

Less, we have enough about ourselves to quit being scared of our makers and to say to them, "You fucked up!  And I'm going to make this shit right!" And to finally break the dreaded, fallible and unforgiving cycle.

(...to be continued...)

Playing The Dozens/The Final Story (Broke Black Prophet) January 1, 2020

There was twelve of them but they never had been close.  Not to his eyes and experiences anyway.  He guessed that’s the way it was for most big families.  People thinking that the bigger the family the closer that same family but he was here to tell all who could hear and read, that was not the truth; quite the contrary.  He hated most of his family; loathed every part of them.  Why?  Well, that was kind of complicated and intricate.  When one has been in a situation for some fifty-four years it is hard to just define the problem in a word, a sentence, a paragraph or a chapter.  No it takes a book often times to get through the quagmire, the muck and to come to the reason and even then others looking from the outside in still would say, “I don’t get it.” 

So fuck it.  I’m talking about me.  My life.  Writing in the third person just ain’t gonnah cut it.  If a mothah fuckah is going to tell a story then tell the shit right!  Is that alright with you?

Well, let me see if I can explain my reasoning in the best way that I can and we’ll see what the verdict is subsequently. 

Are you ready my dear brothahs and sistahs? You sure?

 

Take my hand while we walk and talk, I tell a story better that way.  Good.  

And here we go…

I was born Meredith Singleton Hopson; the Last of twelve children born to Morgan Lambert Hopson and Elaine Henderson-Hopson. ..

(…to be continued)

Black, White, Blue And False Flags (Sixty-Two Years Old, Matthew Moses, IMPD Commissioner) September 27, 2016

“Here’s what you are going to do men.  You’re going to act like policemen.  That shouldn’t be so hard should it?  They’ll make all of you look like movie stars!  Because we have to take back the streets!  That’s what we do by the way.  The streets are our domain, our shit!  You understand?  I’m sure you do.  These people behind me on this dais are here for you; are going to help us do just what I said to you previously, to take back our streets from these thugs!  This is all inter-departmental and I want you to all understand that.  Nothing goes outside these walls.  This shit is only “Blues News” only and of the highest confidentiality,” Commissioner Moses said looking out at his subjects, the great Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department. 

They had come to him, “How well do you lead?  We need a great leader to lead great men and we heard you were the one.  Governor Pence said as much.”  Well shit if the ex-governor had that much confidence in him well by god it was time to make a change, like they had surely told him after.  “We need great men to do as they are told without question and they will be rewarded greatly as well and you will be a man to be afforded such exorbitant greatness as well, if you know what we mean?”  Of course he knew what they meant.  It was what any outstanding leader looked forward to in times like these, he would be in the historical annals of greatness.  Get out of my way and I will take the reigns forthwith.

Commissioner Moses looked down at his gold Masonic ring with the emblazoned gold Eye of Providence, gold square and gold compass engulfed by the black onyx backdrop, and a tear almost ran down his face, but he composed himself just in time before the teardrop had gotten heavy enough to make its way downward; he looked up, nodded to all of his fine policemen and held up the right hand which carried the fine piece of jewelry and turned the ring toward all who were in the room, all of the policemen in the room stood from its power.

“What we were promised is about ready to become reality!  It is time for us my dear brothers!”

(…to be continued…)

Non C'è Di Che (Sixty-Two Years Old, Alberto Schuiello, Capo Di Tutti Capi, Indianapolis Nucleo Familiare) December 30, 1990

I have learned over time to not shout, to not yell, to not scream…we, as people, are desensitized to that. 

So, what I do is, I say something one time, just one time, very calmly, very directly and if things don’t get accomplished the way that they should be, the way that I envision it, I beat the shit out of someone; with the same calm demeanor. 

And that has made all the difference in the world to my way of life and to my increase in business viability.  

Methodology To The Madness ( Fifty-Three Years Old, Joy Elaine Jennings) July 6, 2016 9:56 PM

“Oh, my God!  Oh, my God!”  Tyrone said, “Joy, wake up!”

“What’s wrong?  What’s happening?...”  Joy said, getting oriented while she jumped out of bed.

“No, Joy.  Nothing like that,” he said.

She stopped and tried to wipe the sleep out of her eyes so she could see her husband clearer through the sleep filled haze she was experiencing. “Tyrone.  Come on now?  We both have to get up in the morning and go to work.  Come to bed please.  We’ll talk about whatever it is in the morning.”

“But they’re trying to kill us, Joy!”  He said.

“Who is trying to kill us Ty?” Joy said.

“The cops!  White people!...They just killed another one of us in Minnesota!”  Tyrone said.

“Oh, my Lord…” Joy said as she flopped back first, onto the bed which she was just before he interrupted her visit in sleep nirvana.

“You’re going back to sleep?  We have to do something!”  Tyrone said.

“What would you propose for us to do?  I’m all ears,” Joy said with her eyes closed hoping like hell she could visit the place which just a minute ago she was visiting peacefully and unencumbered.

“Quit being flippant.  I can hear it all in your voice.   I speak with you about these subjects and I told you these vicious and senseless killings of us Blacks were going to escalate!”  Tyrone said.

With that being said by her husband, like most of the time, she had to quell this argument expeditiously so she could get some godforsaken sleep.  Like in the past, if she did not indulge him he would goad her all night until she did indulge.  She sat up in bed, yawned loudly, “I told you we need to get rid of that damned Internet!  It’s been nothing but trouble,” she said transitioning herself to discourse mode.

“Get rid of the Internet?  I need it for my work, paying bills and emails.  I’ve told you that is not possible!”  Tyrone said.

“And like I’ve suggested before, since you’ve put your work in the mix, they don’t pay a dime of this household’s more than one hundred and sixty dollar Internet bill.”  She said revving up.

“We’re talking about what is happening to the Black community now.  What does all of that have to do with the information I just informed you about?” Tyrone said.

“Everything and nothing,” Joy said.

“What?”  Tyrone said.

Gotcha! Now she was ready to fully transition.

(to be continued…)

Yuri Bezmenov And America's Last Stand (Thirty-Three Years Old, Jack Herbert Cameron, Conscientious Objector, Revolutionary Leader) August 25, 2019

You can talk until your tired ass is blue in the face and it still won’t make a damn bit of difference.  You see the people who are running this shit just love to see broke folks jaw-jacking because it doesn’t amount to shit.  The elite are used to that reverse psychology bullshit.  They always promoting: talking it out or doing things without violence…blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…!  See what I’m saying? 

And the first thing the elite do when they don’t get a country or a person to do what they want is to go in with guns a blazing!  Killing any and everyone involved in the little ‘miscommunication.’  That’s what the elite call it, ‘miscommunication.’  Sounds nice, does it not? 

“We’ve tried numerous of times to handle these things with civility but in the end the animals sent in ISIS and we just had to rectify the situation save the threat would affect us all, you see.”  Interpreting, that just means that our rich asses told their broke asses to do something and they didn’t do it so we had to kill the sons of a bitches.  And we sit back sing Kumbaya and “America the Beautiful” and shit, and the bastards are one step closer to disassembling the greatest and the last stronghold of the land of the free on this close to being boned Red planet. 

We better recognize tout suite.  And,words to the wise: you better not get rid of those precious arms ever! Because, we have some serious fighting to do!  If we want to continue to be free...

(...to be continued)

When Will I Die? (Eighteen Years Old, Gupta Chaudhry, Prostitute Since Age Ten) Dhaka, Bangladesh 2014

Taxonomy, a prelim to the beginning and to the end; send my soul to another consciousness for another non-human business.  Discuss never more the humanistic side of our desire to address the nonsense of our existence.  Persistence to recompense for the past of non-forgiveness; since the genesis of our time we have been in the sublime. 

Alas, I tire…aspire to retire; but, until then, I must keep stoking the flickering dreaded fire.