The Butterscotch Lady

Butterscotch complexion with the butterscotch dreams
Sweet to the touch topped with an oz. of mean
Sugar sweet demeanor with the dolce de leche cream
Boy how I love my butterscotch dream

Smiles like a model, sexy lips in between
A cotton candy nose with a chin so serene
Silky smooth forehead with the moisturizer cream
Boy how I love my butterscotch dream

Coca cream skin with a shape so clean
Drizzled with beauty, slight pinch of Maybeline
I want to eat you up, hate to sound like a fiend
Boy how I love my butterscotch dream

Freedom Song: A long ass poem from 33,000 feet

Right or wrong, who could ever state that they know the truth.
This world is so embedded in lies who can provide the truth

Stories are told about elimination of ignorance great and small
When the greatest ignorance is eliminated, trust me, Kingdom’s will fall

Set standards for yourself, work towards being all you can be
Make a better understanding for yourself, mutha f* the army

Enlist yourself in the freedom and liberation of self
Possibly you might find you were meant to be someone else

Shape the present to be your guide to the future
Read a book, gain some knowledge, make your mind as strong as pewter

Wipe away the rust and the tarnish that revenge can create
Look beyond the linings of your skin toward something more great

What you have in you is small compared to the great scheme of things
What you let your mind absorb outside of you is what makes you supreme

Associate yourself from the descendents of the greatest of kings
Wreck havoc on the ignorance materialism brings

Make symbolism out of the things offered to you on God’s green earth
Never settle for what WE’VE built, it will surround you with false mirth

Build empires in your mind and you will find
The impetus of existence is the edifice you climb

Put limitations on limits until you make your options limitless
Even if your body moves nowhere, don’t allow yourself to be motionless

Bouncing from realm to realm, my mind doth fly
To a power more strong than any point most High

Live amongst the clouds and let the devil worry about this earth
When your life comes to an end make your land the heavens first

Man times woman times the multiple of itself
Equals 144 soldiers combing the heavens at best

Concern yourself with getting a slice of the American Pie
Will end your life where you stand when we all die

Be as universal as a chocolate cake if you want a piece of wealth
The cocoa from Africa is symbolic of health

Choose if you will the pie over the cake
When placements are rendered life’s overtures you’ll forsake

The end result is the truth amongst a sea of fake
You will rise while the nay Sayers will fall and break

In My Humble Opinion

You cower away when you see me. For what, I do not know.
You hide from the air we both can breathe, the force that makes us grow
You shun my appetite for you, beneath the calm and still waters we still flow
When you get angry with me, you treat me as if I’m your biggest foe

I only want to love you more than any other man has ever, ever done
More than your father, uncle, boyfriends and lovers, more than any of those one
I just want to protect you from harm like a hat protects you from rays of sun
Bring you peace and sanity, comfort and loyalty like the beat of a rhythmic drum

You question vulnerability and how it has stifled the growth of us
Without the thoroughfare of weakness, you’ll never open without a fuss
Like light rays in dark rooms, you must trust what the eye sees beyond dust
Beyond foible, beyond missteps, beyond feelings of inadequacy is a must

In my humble opinion, we can be something greater than the limits we now both have
Bring pieces of ourselves to our fractions creating two wholes instead of two halves
Steering in different directions, amicably we part, but remaining on each other’s paths
Creating a sustainable relationship that through the years will forever last and last

I love you despite you, I love you despite me and once moreover above all others, if I may
You ask that as a next step, allow you to put it in God’s hands and he’ll show you the Way
In my humble opinion that is the best decision at the beginning and at the end of the day
Until that answer is understood, let’s remain friends, I love you and that’s all that I can say

For now. . .

Are some Rappers terrorists?

I know it may sound funny to you, but truthfully, are rappers, terrorists?

Think about it. They get on television and in videos proclaiming their allegiance to their one true God, the God of wealth.

They talk about how many people they’ve killed, harmed, will kill or will harm, recklessly. And will be paid thousands or even millions in income for what they do by some group of people who’ll approve of and fund speeches about said activities.

Sans Lil’ Kim & DMX, they seem to abide by a set of laws that differ from the common public.

Rappers are the center of conflict. They’re targets of people who do not like what they stand for. They don’t care that these people don’t like them and use this ‘hate’ to generate a stronger following of people who emulate their status.

Some rappers walk around in bullet proof vests, have bullet proof cars and a slew of bodyguards. In their lyrics, they’re always ready for war.

They used to sell drugs and tote guns. Some still sell drugs and still tote guns.

Rappers degrade women, keeping them in an American version of a subservient role forcing them to wear less clothing than their male counterparts, gyrating and not visibly contributing anything of worth to this spectacle we call the video genre. Instead of woman, lady or career girl, they get titles like “Video Ho” or Video Vixen.”

What rappers purport on camera is probably nothing like their real lives.

In the aftermath of decisions involving violence, poor taste or ignorance, they take credit for the wrong-doing. We call it ‘Street Cred.’

Sometimes I feel terrorized when I hear an extremely bad song. I feel misrepresented when I hear a bevy of ignorance spewed through a speaker by someone who “looks like me.”

Bad music played really loud in vehicles with huge speakers and huge sub-woofers is the audible equivalent of a car bomb forcing terror on anyone within earshot.

I probably get racially profiled because of some of the music and visual images purported through the media, labeling people who look like me as "threats."

And all of this takes place despite conscious and moral fiber.

So I ask again, are some rappers terrorists?

A conversation with George Bush

I spoke to George Bush today!! Well, not really, I was just speaking to a close friend. But according to recent reports, Bush was on the phone listening to our conversation.

So I took the opportunity, while I had Bush's ear to tell my friend about how fucked up our country's administration has been.

I told her that some of our best laid international policies, including NATO and NAFTA, were some of the greatest fairy tales ever put to pen, sans Aesop and Disney.

I told her that it wasn't any fun working to pay for the right to food and shelter and not able to afford much else.

I told her I detest knowing we're pumping money into world security when our social is in such dire straights.

That a gallon of milk and a jar of honey now go for about $8 at the grocery store, nevermind the going rate for land. What does that all mean? It means that the land of milk and honey has gone sour and back to the bees.

I told George Bush, I mean my friend that on these days, a strong education seems optional. Meaning you have the option to pay for it or not. What remains of education after those who can afford it is a babysitting service for bad ass kids who learn little more than what hopelessness will feel like for an adult when they get older.

I told her that I guess for some, a Presidential salary is not a large enough income, so WE must start a war that has resulted in increased gas prices of 33% over the past year, all in a effort to ensure the President’s great, great, great, great, great, great grandchildren could afford to go to college all at once, if they were all alive at the same time.

All the while, someday soon, a gallon of gas will cost more than an hour of minimum wage will earn you. Well truthfully, that wouldn’t be a problem if we just took the bus or train, right? Sure wish those weren’t terrorist targets though.

I told her that I'm sick of it all! But I'm scared to go to the doctor to see what's wrong with me because I'm expected to pay a New York month’s rent in healthcare expenses before the government will help me out,

So not only do I have to work and pay the government 34% of my salary for the luxury to work, but I also have to pay for my health with what's left after taxes. No thank you!! What I don’t know can’t hurt me, right? Well, there is that sharp pain in my lower back and this incredible headache, but if I can find the perfect over-the-counter drug, I can make those go away. So who needs a doctor??!!

I told my friend that I look forward to going overseas and getting an international experience under my belt. But that my mother is scared shitless, because sending an American overseas is the equivalent of sending over red rover. Neither an American shrouded in American diplomacy nor red rover is welcomed. So my American skin (hahaha!!! Sorry, I had to laugh at that for a second) becomes a target because someone, some group or some country doesn’t like my government.

And amidst the backdrop of all this, I want to have kids someday and have them inherit this world. Sigh!!

I spoke to George Bush today. I mean my friend. I hope SHE heard me!!

Screening. . .

I sometimes screen my calls. Funny thing is most of my friends know I screen my calls. I don't think there is anything wrong with that. I mean, what is a phone call anyway? At its base root, a phone call is an impromptu meeting established by two or more parties in which the party doing the calling has time to talk to you. Well, just because the caller has time to talk to you doesn’t mean you have time to talk to the caller. And after all, isn’t the caller catching you off guard anyway? Wouldn't it be more appropriate for me to take a call when I can engage the caller? I think so.

It's Official!!

This is slowly, but surely becoming one of my favorite photos of all time. I hope the Robinson's don't mind me using it, but to me, it represents such a powerful piece of life, love and relationship.

The details:

To your immediate left is the minister who conducted the ceremony. Next, in the background is Justin Fairfax, the Best Man and witness to the union of Tynesia and Keith Robinson.

In the foreground and in the center of the picture is Tiki, Tynesia's sister and Maid of Honor. She is signing the piece of paper that bore witness to the marriage.

One over is Tynesia, the bride. Look at her as she looks up at her new husband with a glowing smile on her face. Also, take note that it looks like there is some sort of light source beaming directly onto her. Though she is not in the center of the photograph, the light source makes her the focal point of this picture.

To the far right is Keith Robinson, the groom. He is looking at his wife. It appears they are exchanging words that might be secretive. You would believe the words are secretive if it were not for the minister and witnesses present. However, perhaps lending credence to the notion of a secret is the fact that the minister and the witnesses all have their heads bowed appearing as if they're trying not to hear the conversation between Keith & Ty and/or not be apart of the picture all together.

Lastly, judging by the scene, you would never be able to tell that less than 24 hours prior to this moment was a very perfect, very destructive storm. To have such a perfect calm come out of that perfect storm is very poetic and gives further character to an already splendiferous occasion!!

In the midst of this happy and joyous moment, you get the feeling that the picture taker should not be present during this very private scene. If you've ever been a Best Man or a Maid of Honor, then a scene like this is familiar: The signing of the marriage certificate. Mark Simmons frames this scene perfectly.

In my Photo Album, I've labeled this picture appropriately:

"It's Official!!"

Did I miss anything? As you look at this picture, tell me your thoughts.

Hell if I know what I'm saying. . .I just wrote it

Cast out to the world, Brooklyn's boy, a black man
I hustle and bustle 'cross this land.

Enigmatic, pragmatic, I stand to attest
The ascension of humanness above all wealth.

The nature of friendship, I trust is true
Beautiful consciousness mired in hue.

Hue can be beautiful, created by mixing all colors
And only the whitest of white and the blackest of black could exist by segregating mothers

With fathers of the same race, like this, we could never move
To higher heights and stronger lights, through less dense air, we peruse.

Infused. My night's day can't come out to play
I must sleep to wake up and work my day's night away.

The story of me's

One day I sat down in the grass and tried to spiritually ascertain my purpose in life. As I did this, these multiple me's jumped from my body creating fanciful visions from my past. At first, the multiple me's began acting out the positive experiences of my life; my first kiss, graduations, promotions, the first time I met my closest friends.

Then things began to turn crazy. These multiple me's all disappeared, only to reappear with slumped shoulders and dragging chairs behind them. I mean all types of chairs: folding ones, rocking ones. Upholstered ones and chairs covered in plastic. You know, just like those coverings grannies usually have to protect their furniture.

Well, all of these me's pulled their chairs close to my ear and sat down in them. These multiple me's leaned in, all of them at once and began speaking. I could see their lips moving, but no words came out. Were these secrets? Though I couldn't hear the words come out of their mouth, I could feel the stories come out of their souls.

I could see the pain they felt as these stories, which had become prisons to them, flowed through their bones. I watched as their little bodies. . .excuse me, as my little bodies would convulse, convulse, convulse. I thought they were dying. They were not. They were releasing. And as each one released his story, I could see his body shoot erect. And then they were finished. They stood up, grabbed their chair and walked away disappearing into the shaded darkness positioned slightly outside my scope of vision.

One by one, they all began to leave. I couldn't understand what was happening. The impact of it all was shadowed by this spectacle I was witnessing from my semi-conscious mind. But as the stories revealed to me, made their way into my mind through my maze of understanding, they attached themselves to my soul. And in one split second, all of these stories started shooting through my spirit like a dozen tiny pin needles. I began to hurt. My body started to convulse, convulse, convulse.

While it wasn't the most pain I'd ever felt, it was certainly the deepest. Slowly the pain began to subside. Oddly enough, I began to feel stronger. I felt more connected to the source of living through that pain.

I can not truly confirm if I found my spiritual purpose that day, but a spiritual purpose did come to me. No one man should have pain the world doesn't understand. For like all energies in this world, both positive and negative, their origins started here. . .in this world. And that would include energy that drives pleasure and energy that drives pain.

Though I felt closer to death that day, I felt more alive than I ever had before.

Stories of being abused by a parent or another family member. Stories of being abused by a boyfriend or girlfriend. Rapings, mistreatment, inadequacies, ineptitude, liability, stupidity, drabness, depression, loneliness, heartache, disease, incompetence, thoughtlessness, carelessness, aging, pity, incredulousness, incorrigibility. It was all there.

From that moment on, I knew I had the ability to feel and my greater purpose was to transpose the pain of others into feelings of completeness where there were fragments. I accepted that fate and to this day, I still accept me.

God is good, all the time.

Happy Birthday, Faye!!

Fayoola Chinwe Nadege Eustache, I wanted to wish you a very Happy Birthday, today, on this July 3^rd of the Two Thousand and Sixth year After Death, 27 years after your moment of birth. You are truly one of my best friends and confidants.

So here’s my public declaration of how I feel about you. I love you to death. Keep growing and becoming a better person and blossoming into the wonderful woman that you are.

Take care and I look forward to seeing you at the party! ! !