Fresh Air (Fifty-One Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) December 30, 2016

Another year as a witness my Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs!  Another fuckin year!  Yah heard may!  I know that you did.  But that’s what, to me, is becoming more transparent; more clarity is setting in about this here bigger picture.

 Shit, you got Pizza Gate, ubiquitous nasty pedophiles; President Trump; The Mandela Effect; False News with the Major Networks; Propaganda in “Free” USA; The Russian Blame Game; Flat Earth Evidence;  Lies, on top of lies, on top of lies…well shit, no wonder this world is fucked, the fucked up!  Everybody in this piece, not peace, confused like a mothah fuckah!  And the beats just keep on getting heavier! 

Am I tired…sure, but just like everybody else; that’s all; no more, no less. 

Fifty-one years to this day I was born into this…shit!  And the smell hasn’t gotten any better.  The environment still as fetid smellin as when I had taken my first breath comin out of my Mother’s Holiest of Holy’s.  Now what?

Well, all I can tell you My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs is, in my truth, the older I get, the more outward I get.  What do I mean?  I mean, in my youth I was a selfish mother fucker!  Straight up!  Inward like a mothah fuckah!  Life was about my existence and the pleasures this life had to offer me, and fuck everybody else!...  Shit, I’m just tellin truths!  Too old not to. 

And I guess that’s what I’m tryin to convey to all of you...when the fuck does your ass find out about who you really are and what the fuck you have to add to this still stank-ass-funky ass life?  

What?  Just to be like everyone else and keep breathin this rank life and one day die?  Noooooo!  Fuck that and the cat in the hat!  My truth, there has to be more than this shit I have been breathing for the past fifty-one years.  Gotstah find some Life Air Freshener!  

Make a mothah fuckah or two understand this life ain’t all about this shit we’ve been breathin into our lungs!  Start sprucing up this place one mothah fuckah at a time!  And finally get rid of this shit smell for good!

And it starts fifty-one years to the day I was birthed…but better late than never...

(...to be continued...)

Save US...We Are All Drowning! (BBP) January 21, 2017

Fuck you!   Fuck you!  White America!  You are drowning and no one is trying to throw you a life preserver!  These other “Global” fuckers want you to fuckin die!  And you just don’t give a fuck!  Goin the fuck under!  Glugg-glugg-glugg… The best you got? 

Talkin bout niggahs makin this nation what it is, a deplorable state, and you white mothah fuckahs are sellin this shit for fuckin peanuts, fuckin fiat money that ain’t worth the paper it’s printed on!  The fuck wrong with you mother fuckers?

Ain’t no niggahs in charge of this here U-S-of-fuckin-A!   The fuckin rich fuckin pedophile Brits done weaseled their asses right back into power clandestinely.   Have you ever just listened or read John F. Kennedy’s “Secret Society Speech”?  No?  The fuck!  It fuckin figures!

What about Obama?  Yeah, what the fuck about Obama!  You damn-dumb-simple shits.  Ain’t no Black mothah fuckah evah, since the existence of this America, been able to do shit without y’alls white asses cosigning like a motha fuckah!  What?!  You fuckin heard my Black fuckin ass mothah fuckahs!  A niggah can’t do shit without a white man’s sanction even to this very day, even if yo nigger ass is the so-called President of this USA!  Fuck y’alls white sorry-ass-denying-asses!  Fuck y’all!  Put any Black, Brown, Yellow…face in the mix, it’s the white mothah fuckahs makin-it-the-fuck-happen!  I gives a good god damn!  Look in the fuckin mirror goddamnit!  And you’ll see what is staring back atcha and realize what the truth really is:  “My own white people have been playing me and fucking me hard…without lube!”

Quit bein mad at our darky asses cause it’s y’alls sorry pale skin mothah fuckahs that are fuckin each othah and blamin the darkies for it!  And I say to you sorry mothah fuckahs:  “Quit lying to each other before it’s too fuckin late!”  We, the Black Americans, are tired of your blame.  This shit is all your fuckin fault.  So, wake the fuck up and make the shit right!

We Black folks still for some reason got our hand out for you to accept to join us in this broke plight that we all non-rich are in!  Keep rejectin it if yah wannah!  But it will be a sad fuckin day when that same hand you been rejectin is the same hand you witness goin under with your denyin white ass with our look of: I told your mothah fuckin stupid ass it ain’t evah been bout no damn racial shit!  Glugg-glugg-glugg…

Just Kickin Rocks (BBP) Friday, January 20, 2017

On the fields of cotton everyone’s plottin.  Dreamin of Freedom cause you really don’t need’em.  Feed’em something sweet and sour every hour.  Cotton mouthed gone south to rebel the hell of the treasonous ways of this here U-S-of-A.  But it’s okay.  

You just gottah walk…

Sashay and go away for a day or more.  Vacay to a beach and snore.  One cannot teach the repetitive nature of absconding this farce of life to keep the sanity.  But you gottah keep it movin, groovin to this funky beat blaring, hammerin never stammerin with the quick wit that it emits tellin you how it is.  This existence never lies...and that's no surprise....

You just gottah keep bobbin your head and walkin...quit with all that fuckin talkin.

(Created while listening to: Zhu "Generation Why")

The Redeemers (BBP) 2017

The farther a man goes up the ladder the more shit that same man has to do to climb up that same ladder.  

One might say that the ladder is nothing save composed of wood or aluminum and rungs which one man would use to climb upward.  Well, yo ass would be wrong.  

You see, it’s all about where one is trying to get.  

One is thinking in the traditional sense where one needs some aid to advance; albeit in an upward fashion because one is only so tall; ergo, one needs assistance to make it upward to whence one would like to ascend.  

But what about a depraved mothah fuckah that’s not trying to ascend?  Has your ass ever thought of that?  No, I'm sure, quite the adverse.  

I have investigated time and time again where one needs that same ladder to aid, not to ascend, but to descend.  Yes, this is all truth.  Ascension and descension are the same depending upon the space which one has to traverse to get to where one aspires to be.  You might be asking yourself, “Why would one want to descend, if one lives on earth?  Why would one want to work in adverse instead of progressing upwards toward the light?"  

Oh, you pure ignorant soul of this earth.  That is such an unforgettable naïve and pure human response to this man-made darkened existence we call life.  But let me tell you something.  There are people that exist such as, myself.  Yes.  Positively.  I am one of the many Redeemers on this earth.  And the evil that is spreading forthwith will be just as expeditiously abated by ones just like me. 

And I’ll show you how…

Broke-Sorry- Ass American Bitches! (Anonymous) December 19, 2016

People worrying too fuckin much about what another mother fuckah’s doin instead of taking care of what is proximal: within the space which they take up; given a twenty mile radius.  That’s all.

 Believe it or not; most people work and die within a twenty mile radius from where they were born and grew up.  I said most motha fuckah!  Can’t stand these mothah fuckahs that just dismiss when you say some shit like that…Most goddamnit!  They ain’t listenin!  Well, I know a friend of mine, now the boyfriend’s mother other-childs-mother’s father…The fuck?   Again, I said most damnit!  I don’t know my Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! 

Shit!  We got Trump damnit!  Do you understand?  You better recognize?!  Trump?  Puh-leeze!  Putin finally going to make some White House visits cause a mothah fuckah speaks Melania’s same language Comrade…shit!  Yah know?  Givin all kinds of fuckin US secrets to the mothah fuckah and the president of this here United States has not a clue cause he don’t speak fuckin Russian like his wife does, a wife that is now getting dicked down by Putin?!   Putin-it on Melania!  You stupid…  Just another limp dick, short, old, sorry-ass, ugly, quasi-rich…white man that doesn’t have a damn thang to loose…other than like Mortimer and Randolph on Trading Places, we, the American people are just another bet,  that the real rich lost with the example of note:

 “Mortimer, I bet you I can get this Nouveau rich, Trailer Park mother fucker elected as President!”

“Ridiculous Randolph!”

“How much you wannah bet Mortimer?”

“Oh, the standard…”

“A dollar again.”

“You got that right!”

“You’re on!”

We can only support the mothah fuckah and hope for the best.  Cause America’s electorate voted for the mothah fuckah!  Not US!  So fuck it!  You won that mothah fuckah on a bet…well goddamnit to hell, let’s see if yah cash in on the bee-atch!

Purging Of The Adam Effect (Morgan Dewitt, Peoples Activists/PAs: Archive Number E-10-6-2016-20:08-CY-10) NWO666-20/20ED

“Just say no!” I didn’t make that slogan up!

Shit no!

 But I’s gotsta steal it!  Oh….yes lawd!  I-the-fuck-do!  And fuck you too-boo-boo! 

Yao Ming? 

Straight up…b.b.b.buttacup!

 Ya’ feel may?  Or, maybe you don’t? 

It’s all good in the hood misunderstood!

 Passing byes,

While the ladies dance majestically bye. 

A true miracle has just transpired that I didn’t think to try just... until then:

Begin seeing the fellow-female-human-being as startling Beautiful;

Instead of sin.

The Wordsmith (Deuce) November 19, 2019

For some reason he had carpentered his desk, adding his own little touches to it, here and there.  Oh, he wasn’t trying to say that he made the desk.  No, he would have to probably study for eighty years of woodworking before he could ever make such a fine proper desk as he possessed. “When one works, one should work in the proper environment of said life’s work; moreover, if proper environment is not obtained then your life’s work becomes a job,” his Father’s edict throughout his juvenile life, “And believe me, you don’t want no damn job!”  So, no, a job was not an option whatsoever.  And Daddy had been right on the money with that maxim…

  

But I am getting off of the story a wee bit.  The alterations of note… Why the alterations you may be asking?... 

Well, hell, my ass is paranoid!  Shit, what do you want me to tell you?  I just love woodworking?  Or some shit like that? That’s what he’s here for!  Shit!  I told him I wasn’t no writer, that’s why I’m telling him the shit...

 

Oh, I’m sorry, you’re correct, the purpose of aforementioned tweaks on the desk.  And please forgive him, he gets like that sometimes when he wants to try to take over the story…

Well, like the white people, he did enjoy himself some safety.  And your ass cannot be too safe; ergo, constructing a side pistol holder on this fine wooded proper utility! 

But the agent, or so called agent, didn’t have a clue.  So it was no surprise to him when he was on his computer, Blogging as he usually does, writing about the future and the injustices of all humans that are not rich, when a white man, with aviator sunglasses, wearing a John Deere baseball cap, plaid shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots, just walked into his room which he uses for said Blogging.  The guy smiled and he thought that odd.  He kind of smiled at the intruder and said offhandedly, “So this is really like this shit goes down?  Like those foul, trite assed movies that they make and flood the market with this shit?  This is how it goes down?”  He asked in amazement.

The guy, still smiling, simply says, “Yeah, pretty much.”

 Damn he sure has some nice teeth to have a southern twang like he does.  Those teeth are definitely real, not some damn dentures or paste-ons , he liked to call false teeth, oh, forgive him , veneers…Shit his mind started to be not focused like usual, not focusing on the situation at hand that if he didn’t reach for that .380 Beretta semi-automatic which was nestled that he so adeptly, if he must say so himself, manufactured the pistol holder there on the right side of his desk… tomorrow, this fine pieced desk he could not enjoy, nor his invention, nor his life...

He smiled to himself thinking, “And that just ain’t goin ta happen…at least not today.” 

(…to be continued…)

The Flash (Forty-Two Years Old, Keahi Sakata, San Diego, California) December 06, 2020 0700

We saw a flash but we didn't know where it was coming from.  The flash was so bright we instantly closed our eyes in fear that, to keep them open would lead to very bad visual acuity, to say the least.

It was bulbous, glorious if I can explain it that way, taking over the horizon with it's brightness then dying down to be able to open your eyes again, the safety zone, then the darkness trailing nigh, like it had affected the whole entire world, the sound, then the rumbling, audibly as well as physically and it's firestorm leading towards us.  I experience this foreboding empathetic depressing feeling of helplessness.

Something was very wrong but it took us maybe a minute to figure that out because of the magnitude of the flash and its aftermath.  Then after we figured it out, it was almost too late...

Time To Turn Off Some Of Those Motha Fuckin, Too Expensive, Bright Ass So-Called Lights! (Unknown Author, Mid-West Region) DED (data entry date) @ 2018-12-06-0030-INTDOC-US-R-66

Time To Turn Off Some Of Those Motha Fuckin, Too Expensive, Bright Ass So-Called Lights!

You can tell the future from the past.  Whatever you have witnessed in the past leads to this here 

future.  And for some damned reason way down deep in your gut you denied it like a motha fuckah!  Oh, yes yah did.  Takin this shit for granted cause, “I’s havin fun!”  And look what that fun has added up to?  “Damn!”

 

I sho nuff saw this shit comin like a muh fuckah!  And look atcha with you old ass!  Unh!  All’s I can say bout cho old Black ass!  Shame fo God…

”What God!?”

Yah see that’s  where yo Black ass fuckin up!  Like all these otha muh fuckas round here, faith wanin like a muh fucka!  Cause whah?!  Y’all’s asses done founds out the mastahs  been lied to, too!  Not just y’alls Black asses!  The white people feelin that big filthy rich dick up that ass!  Bang!  Bang!  Bang!!!  Er'body gettin fucked!  Now er’body up in this bitch mad!  But cho Black ass knows betta!  And it’s time tah start feedin that arid soul some good rich inexpensive faith, til that muh fuckah full as shit!  Cause that’s the only truth yo Black ass has evah known as the truth, Your faith!  It’s bout cho individual faith, not anybody else’s.  Fuck that!  It’s time fo yo everlastin light tah shine!  By turnin off some of these false rich unneeded blinding effulgences.  So we can start seeing the future again, while in the past.

(...to be continued...)

Revelations of The Flat Earth (Fifty-Two Years Old, Eoin Cody, Kilkenny, Ireland) 12:01 AM, Thursday, February 14, 2019

We have found out there has never been a person that has landed on the moon.  There have never been any planets.  No solar system.  No space.  No black holes.  No nebulae.  No meteors…our atmosphere has been a firmament, as noted in the various historical biblical texts, of the various religions ingrained in our society, that were put aside long ago for no other reason save for ridicule and ostracization by society and loosing viability as a valid religion; ergo, the religious sects fearing the extinction of said religion because of the religion telling the truth.  

We, society, Catholics and Protestants, have been lied to throughout human time about our reality on every level; the powers that be, complicit in the deception to mislead us from our God... from the truth.

Our minds not being able to comprehend the infinite flat plane of this level of life.  So we bent this flat plane of a life to not challenge the mind.

We, as a collective, finding out in a horrible turn of events that God, is in fact, real.  And judgment is now being exacted.  

(...to be continued...)

Familiarity Breeds Contempt (Aaron Thompson) 2016

There’s nothing worse to me than going through pain by your-damn-self.  Now, I’m not talking about physical pain, wanting someone to take that bullet with you or that multiple stabbing going into your flesh… hell no, I’m not that type of dick.  Not at the fuck all.  My ass be just a regular-non-super-sized-one-hundred-percent-non-GMO…dick.  Yah heard may?  Nothin special kind of dick, just me.  Normal dick shit. Yao Ming?  But back to what I was sayin.

 

I’m talkin bout emotional pain.  The kind of shit where you want to take a scalpel and cut the shit out but that shit ain’t possible.  I’m talkin bout catchin some fuckin blues for real, so blue the blue shit bout ready tah turn black, borderline like a muh fuckah!  But it’s not close to borderline, very definite.  So definite that you can explain the pain deep inside your soul but a doctor wouldn’t even be savvy or adept enough to even know how deep to cut or where in the fuck in your torso to be successful in purging the, with the now, what it feels like, cancerous type of pain, the genesis of it anyway without killing you their damn self.  And medication on any level has been diagnosed to be negligible and not an option.  

So where do you go to cure this unbearable pain?  No place, that’s where.  You affirm the shit.  Recognize the shit out of it and you deal with it, because depending on the severity, the shit may be hurtin for days, weeks, months or years to come.  And you knew that even before the excruciating emotional pain began.  You the fuck knew the pain had to come and stay one day.  But all you can think of is, “Can my old ass survive this episode?”  You smile at that question because it's been asked and answered for the past ten years.  And your Black ass is still here as a fuckin witness to this oft times painful existence.    

Well, like anything in your life, everything has been painful and nothing has come easy that has been worth a damn in your life that was sans pain so…you have to learn how to deal with it because you also know emotional pain doesn’t last forever unless that’s the torture you want to put yourself through: perpetual emotional pain until you die.  

No, that is not a viable option at-the-fuck-all because that would lead to madness and the madness is already present in your wrecked soul and if it gets any worse, then dirt and silence becomes your friend and that’s no way to put a period on your life or show your love for the one who you are painfully still breathing in this life for.  Oh, no!  

You see, the only thing you must, not shall, do My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs is to be one with the pain and deal with it!  Because emotional pain is commonplace in my soul!  

What do you fuckin got this time?  No better than the last!  I guarantee it!  And one of these days…one of these days…I will finally put you down for the last time, the final death blow! 

But for now…give me your best fuckin shot!  You sick fuck! 

Muscatatuck Urban Training Center (MUTC), Butlerville, Indiana / Hiding In Plain Sight (BBP) Monday, August 21, 2017 9:30 AM

I asked before I decided to visit if they had a tour of the more than 1,000 acre facility.  “Sure,” the person named Alex Jonas said, “Anytime between, eight to four will be just fine,” he continued.

“You mean I don’t need an appointment or anything to witness it?  I mean it looks as though you all are busier than shi.. I mean heck,” I said.

“Oh, buddy, it’s not like we haven’t heard words like that before.  You’re fine.  But hecks no.  I’ll be here.  I’m the one that gives all the newbies a tour.  We sho nuff don’t have nothin tah hide down here.  Just come on down you’ll see.  Okay,” Alex said so amicably.

“I’ll do that Alex.  I’m anxious to see all of the urban mock facilities you have down there for training exercises for God’s sake that the experts say: Are state of the art, ” I said.

“For sure, for sure buddy.  Pictures don’t do this place justice at all.  Just come on down.  You’ll see.  Bye now,” Alex said.

“Bye,” I said and we both rang off.

(to be continued...)

"Soylent Green" and Other Refinements (Fifty-Eight Years Old, Wheeler Aulseitz, Bioethicist) November 15, 2018

We never thought of it really.  How could they?  I mean I understand protein is protein but turning the dead human species into energy bars; and having the nerve to call them, “True Life Bars,”  and then the motto: “The life within this healthy food  will aid you in living forever and we guarantee it or a return of your full monetary purchase price.  And keep the rest on us!  We are True Life!”  

So they said and no one was really suckered into it, save some broke down rich person looking at some radicalized shit that claimed that they would, oh, just that, live forever.  There was no manufactured eugenic formula made out of all else, we nasty humans, that would keep one in the fittest shape imaginable forever.

But damn.  You would have to be here to witness the shit that is on display.  I mean mother fuckers some one-hundred-fifteen years old looking as though they do not look a day over thirty.  How's a scientist in any capacity going to discount this diet plan to the naysayers?  The shit was working and the people taking it didn’t give a shit of where the tasty tidbits came from that is making them look quite fabulous I have to say.

(...to be continued...)

Sending Out An S.O.S.! (BBP) December 31, 2015

Lost, how else could he possibly explain what he had been for the entirety of his almost fifty-one year old life?  He felt like a fucking alien in a world that was supposed to be a place where he was birthed, a place where he had factually lived for all of his life.  So, why in the hell did this world feel so foreign to him and why did he feel so foreign to it? 

Uncomfortable wasn’t even a good adjective to use for how he felt constantly.  And he wouldn’t even get started speaking about the depression that he felt every day of those over fifty years of this life which was forcefully and abhorrently injected into his soul, a depression which had never gotten lighter; no, quite the adverse, it was weighing him the fuck down to the point of breathlessness.  He couldn’t fucking breath properly any longer.  Panic attacks, palpitations, mania…

  So, as you can plainly see, he was tired; real tired.  The one question that constantly went back and forth within his mind was, “Do I belong here?”  Because it sure didn’t feel like it.  The fuck no!  And that led to the next question, “And if I do belong here, then what is my fucking purpose because my Black ass is tired of being so fucking depressively lost!”

(…to be continued…)

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.

Shall We Fly? (Forty-Six Years Old, B. R. Little Sr., Muskogee, Oklahoma) January 01, 2020

I love to fly.  

At first I stand upon my perch looking out at space, 

A little more downward 

I see the earth and everything which lives upon its surface, 

I want to be one with the environment; 

So I drop off, 

Descend at a rapid speed, blinding in scope; 

But, just before the matter begins to thicken, 

I level off on a dime.  

Getting my orientation, life is clearer.  

I smile then I dive into the action!


(Created while listening to: Maxwell / Lake By The Ocean)

The Lord Is My Shepherd II (The Beginning Dialogue of "Mother, Jugs and Speed II") (Albert "Mother" Johnson, EMT, In Transport to Methodist Hospital, Indianapolis, Indiana with Possible Drug Overdose Victim, Matthew Thyce) 2014

“Shit man we got to hit him!  Nothing’s worked and we are still a good five minutes away!”  Speed said.

“Man I don’t know!  You know how they doin Speed?  They firin motha fuckas over this shit.  I mean shit man.  The motha fucka pro’ly gone brah.  I mean he’s been foamin like a soap dispensa for bout a minute now.  We’ve done all that we’ve been trained to do, and if we pull those paddles out and this motha fucka don’t make it..shit, they down two stacks and they can’t bill no fuckin body, cause of our fuckin decision makin?  Come ohn brah?” Mother said, “Yo Jugs, you hearin this?”

“The fuck Mother fucker!  Of course I’m hearin this shit.  Your shits always mic’d up!” Jugs said.

“A man can’t be too careful, yao ming?” Mother said.

“Speak on it, Mother!” Jugs said.

“What’s your vote?” Mother said.

“Tag that ass!” Jugs hollered, “We’ll all make it to that mother fucker alive! Begin the electro-fuckin-cution!  E-T-A, two minutes and some change!”

“You heard the boss, let’s fire this motha fucka up!” Mother said.

“Man, I really wish the fuck you wouldn’t talk like that in this type of shit!” Speed said.

“Oh, man boo, Motha fucka hit him!”  Mother said.

“Clear!  The fuck…” Speed credulously said.

(to be continued…)