Writer's note

I will always take credit for my writing. But that doesn’t mean I always understand what it is I write. Most of what I write is not written through the perception of the mind I use to interface with people every day. Often times, I must shut off my conscious in order to allow my subconscious time to express ITself.

The best way I can describe this situation is to akin this “switching off” to when Grandy-ma used to tell us to turn off all the electricity during a thunderstorm because the Lord’s talking. Sure as shit, lightening trumps electricity. So the Lord’s words should trump all other sounds. Sometimes, my Grandy-ma wouldn’t even allow us to talk loud, if at all when the Lord was talking.

Well, I’m not the Lord, but I do recognize the powerful voice that is my subconscious. I recognize that IT also needs peace and quiet when it is time for IT to speak. And after my brainstorm is over and the subconscious communication has ceased, my conscious, too, comes back alive and has fresh fodder to devour and interpret for MYself. That's just how I see things.

I know I’m weird. . .I’ve accepted it and that’s okay.

Consciousness

I sit in silence trying to remember the last time minutes felt like hours. I look up at the midnight sky and angle out wincing at the light gleaming from the gibbous moon. It has been a long time since I've availed myself to such torture. Left alone with the rotting gravy that is a mixture of my thoughts and emotions. The amber veins placating my eyeballs, no doubt, give off signs that teardrops have exited my ducts; if for no other reason than to highlight the misery within.

I am. . .dying. . .again. The stench of melancholy is enough to make me sneeze in wanton desire of fresh air. My membranes coil tighter and tighter looking to try and take form of something new, or at least, something less old as these feelings that pervade their every growth spurt. No one or no thing wishes to grow into a stagnating situation. And so it goes without saying that my tireless efforts to bring forth the light within, must merely be a candle that can be blown out by the simplest of winds.

I have found out that I can no longer trust my innocence. That is the new death I speak of. And though it causes many a weary nights, I dip my tongue in vodka gimlets, anxiously awaiting the birth of anew to come. And that anew is less innocent; less vulnerable to the impervious, manipulative nature that is man. And in that instance, I suddenly remember that darkness does not exist; it is only the absence of light that brings the concept into fruition.

And so my new intelligence is the light that takes the concept of my innocence out of fruition. That is the previous thought. The next thought is that I am now blessed; blessed with a new consciousness that opines my relation to the Earth was never one of innocence, but of education yet to be learned.

And so it is with these thoughts that are minutes, but feel like hours, that I am regurgitated back into the world; into the fray of life and limb, toiling with the notion that perhaps the greatest part of me is my mind and not my body. I let that simmer for a while, but it feels fresh like day old buttermilk, tree picked granny apples and grated cinnamon sticks. I know where I come from. And it’s not from a place, as much as it’s from a PLACE. That PLACE is my intelligence that grows by leaps and bounds and allows me to continuously die and then be reborn. Because in the end, I know. . .we all know that this world is within us all and only develops as we too, develop the world within us. My consciousness is alive.

Wait-loss

As fate would have it
I have lost some wait
It was good wait
Necessary wait
Heavy wait
Wait that was dragging me down
And making me sluggish

For years now, I have tried to
Drop this load, but to no avail
Or your lack of availability
I had to gain some wait
And some more wait
And some more wait
Until I was over-wait

As long as it took me to add to this wait
It has taken me a much shorter time
To shed it
And all I had to say is
“I will not continue to add on to this wait!”
So as for you, I’m no longer concerned
With your distractions
Which put wait on my conscious
Your put-offs
Which put wait on my mind
Your rain-checks
Which put wait on my time
Or your something-betters
Which put wait on my heart

There was a time I waited for you to
Finish all of those things so that I could
Stop adding on wait
Now that I have released myself
From your queue
I have, in a sense, released myself from you
And I have dropped the wait
And life feels easier now
I don’t dread looking for things to do
Because I no longer am waiting on you

As fate would have it
I have lost some wait

Metaphysically You

As I canoddle with my thoughts
They wrap themselves around you
or perhaps, just a representative metaphysical hue
I cogitate what I dare not say aloud
For fear that if someone else here's it
Then I'll have to adhere to it
"I cannot live without you!!"
And what's worse, it's not my choice
If I do or if I don't
If I will or if I won't
You already exist to me; always with me
In metaphysical form that is
A part of me has actually become afraid
Afraid of the real you; the real thing
Because you just may not live up to
The expectations of my metaphysical you
You dine in my mind all the time
eating my brain cells alive
My words may say different things
But they always mean 'you'
My body may show I don't care
But my emotions can't lie to their creator
Funny thing that, I spend my days daydreaming
And my evenings eveningdreaming
And you are always there
Visiting me in the same exact outfit
Nothin'
And then we assume our positions and I go hunting
You in full flight, me in full pursuit
Ain't that a hoot?
That we live our lives metaphysically
Well you anyway, and I somehow remain real
To me
See
Sometimes I wish I knew me
But weren't me
So that you could see
That I wish to be
What you want me to be
Currently
That's an impossibility
So I go on living how I live
Giving to you how I give
Never requesting, but always needing
What you got to give
You fall through my sieve
Each time
Unable to be held
Really
for real
In case you didn't know it
You hold something I want
It is life
My life

Why I Write

I turned to the first page of THE BOOK and to me it read,
“I know my Son is alive, but I want him dead!”
For what?
“For all the wrongs of the things he never said!”
Like what?
“Like speaking out against the injustices that swarmed about his head!”
But is that a fair assessment of what he really did wrong?
“Turn the page of this BOOK, for I want you to read along.”

“I gave him a Mother who I knew would lead him in the right direction
So it is not his ability to think that I bring in to question.
On his path, I put men of irration and disrepute
He bypassed all of them so arguing his association is moot
I gave him a family full of women to ensure he would know the meaning of respect
And for all that he was given sensitivity too, something I came to expect
In his back I put strength and a full length body between his head and the ground
He has demonstrated his ability to pick anyone up and carry them around
But for all that I gave him, I expected one more thing
For him to live in my name and not whisper it in vain
To understand my words further, listen to advice from a sage
Take a deep breath first before you turn to the next page

“He has created the biggest misjudgment of justice I can ever give sight
He did not fight for my righteousness with all of his might
He did not conclude with his gift who I designed him to be
My Sheppard in death-filled valleys to carry out my faculty
He stood black as Earth and unnaturally
Sat down when he should have stood up for me
And I ask you, if you think the air you breathe is free
When such a man should understand he's indebted to me?
He's indebted to you, his family and friends
To be a beacon of light when darkness begins to rescind
I made him that way, so I expect nothing less
He has given less, so no longer can I offer him my best
If you think I sound vengeful then I ask do you understand
What life would really be like without my invisible hand?”
And I paused on this page, wasn't sure if I could read on
This book had become a mirror; my soul written in Psalms
But I never stop what I finish, that can be the cause of my rage
So I blinked my eyes and focused, then slowly turned the page

“You worry me, My Son, it’s almost as if you've seen a ghost
I am the Lord, your savior, and I offer you this advise at most
Let me live through you and shine my divine Grace
Speak my words ever so gently and let my glow radiate your face
Move mountains before you, should they stand in your way
Right your righteousness in line with what you've known me to say
I am here for you, not because of you, never forget that
And if you feel separated, know you descend from me, FYI, I am black!”
And to that I shrugged-sighed, he was talking to me all along
It was his way of heeding my redemption, should I choose to live on
Should I choose to ignore his Grace, I would surely fall from it
And cast stones at myself from the highest of summits

I closed the final page of this read, this was the shortest book ever
But it had the longest message that would last me ‘til never
‘Til never again will I forego the path that has been cleared for me
For it is through Him, I can do all things; that is my destiny
Amen

She Wears Springtime

She wears springtime colors like Mother Earth does.

April showers glisten on her back from the oncoming heat.

Dew drips down her smile and just like that, I'm caught in her early morning spider's web.

Nesting in her flesh, I lean back in her curved arms that feel like inverted rainbows should ever a thing like rainbows have a feel.

I look up at her face. Her smile and highlighted hair remind me of the sun and horizon at dusk.

I fall deeper into her cocoon waiting for springtime love to bring forth butterflies.

I can't help but feel the newness of the moment like childbirth or indecent exploration or landing in a previously unvisited country.

Or like a brand new thought. She remains half naked because her dress, made of springtime flowers, has yet to bloom fully. And yet beauty never felt so raw, so real.

Our hearts beat in tandem like the sun's rays on the Earth as I think of something random:

What if this is it?

What if I have found the one?

No more seasons change. . .in my love life. She will forever be my springtime all year round. The thought consumes me like the aromatic springtime air. I, you, we are there.

And just like that, I am wearing her.

Hate

I begin to question the impact 'hate' has played in my life. I hate as much now as I've hated in the past. And though I have trained myself not to utter that word, that does not mean I do not feel it; do not embrace it. That I do not internalize hate and use it to represent emotions I have for and/or towards someone. And that makes me just as guilty, if not more guilty because I try and outwardly disguise what I feel inside. Or perhaps, what's worse, who I am inside. At that point, I'm fooling and deceiving myself more than I am fooling and deceiving the outside world. How tragic. . .on a Shakespearean level. Because the tragedy is more mental than it is physical, which means that I must suffer living with it. Almost as worse as Raskolnikov in Crime & Punishment, 'cept my murder is of spirit rather than flesh and my prison is knowing that I cannot accept this hate I must live with. And what I suffer is self-inflicted. Oh, whoa. My complaints are larger verbally than they are in true existence.

Pretenders

Why are some of the worse liars in this world, pretenders? They go around pretending to be who they are not? Make problems out of no problems and pretend that the problems they do have don't exist? Essentially making a mockery of themselves and a mockery out of your relationship with them?

I just figured once you reach a certain age, that type of stuff or those types of persons go away; yet, quite the contrary, it only gets worse. People only figure out elaborate schemes to conceal what they feel they don't want the world to know. And why shouldn't they be able to conceal? Pretenders are sent out to the world just like everyone else and they find out early and often what works and what doesn't work.

The more they figure out what doesn't work, the tighter the cocoon around their bodies must be. And that's a shame; a person in a tight-fitting cocoon reveals more of themselves than they think is possible because instead of having a soft outer shell that may hide some of the details, the shell is tough and unwavering and oft time, unflattering.

If this is indeed the way of the world, then will someone please point me in the opposite direction? Dealing with the hindrances of someone else's insecurities is more than one person should have to bear when they're not the insecurities of your significant other or immediate family. And so it goes without saying, without hearing, without touching, without tasting that we must conglomerate with those so simple in their logic of what the world is really about that they have turned a non-existent sense to the world. If not for discovery, then what is this world for?

Forgiveness? 50% of the time, we're too late for that boat. The average person's tolerance doesn't allot enough time or patience for that ship to be an acceptable or accessible mode of transport. And what we're left with is bitter souls broken and tarnished wrapped in too tight cocoons.

It is indeed a sad state of affairs when you realize for these set of circumstances, that you will lose someone you considered a friend forever. And all because you simply refuse to play ball in their field of existence; i.e., you refuse to pretend. . .with them anyway. What a shame.

Underwater

I dreamed I was under water taking deep breaths of unassurity nestled in between birth and death. And though it took me over a couple decades, I finally realized that I did have the option to walk on land and float on air; it just so happens that in order to do that, I would have to travel deeper below my current state of understanding. And that I would need to brave the undercurrents that swept me through existence; all to live for the unknown. Because living for the known was cheating me out of time.

I'm not a craftsman who delights in getting better at the same thing day in and day out. My life is more optimally lived as a discoverer who prefers fornicating with space and new adventures to fill it. Though moderation is the key to a steady life, some doors can only be opened when you knock them down. And aren't some parts of life better when you barge in? Unexpected and brand new like leather or breathing normally after unsubmersing your head from under water?

The vast unknown requires a lion's heart with an eagle's eye and the swiftness of a fish. Prior to this revelation, I was simply living as a fish, expertly navigating through life which is that of a fish; never soaring too high nor traversing the deep, dark jungle below.

From that dream, I awoke to the sound of morning and realized my first breath of air ever. It was new and so was I. I got out of my bed realizing there was "it" to conquer. That was several years ago. And since then, it has made all the difference.

Vacation

Sorry for the long break people; my mind didn't take a vacation, my body did. So I do have some stuff stored up. By the way, Australia is beautiful! Without further ado, let's blog!!