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.