Stalks of Incandescent Thoughts (SIT)

Life. . .

2009-07-30T00:08:00.002-04:00

I owe each deceased soul a piece of my life.

Heart wrenching creases slice my dry heart as blood pumps to live another day. My father, a father, a king passes in the day leaving knights and bishops left to roam this chessboard we call the moment before home – or life before death; a resting place for those who've completed their torment. Emotional limits breached by our own in-securities, favored deeply by insanity and oft-leveled in-stability.

I know not the knot wrenching in my chest speaking volumes to my vocal cords that’ve since lost the ability to express what's inside. I am overcome with silent motives to bellow out my intentions; my heart's dire straits. Cold, calculated, numb feelings in a heated room, scoping out initiative and intent as if those two things are the same. I’m intent on my initiative to initiate my intentions.

Sleep. An impostor hiding behind hope and despair as I reason the meaning behind those who live and those who do not. I try to put it in a rhyme, but come up a bar short of a full stanza. So I'm writing instead. But I can't help but feel like, the running chicken with no head. In a state of panic, beyond understanding the reality of the situation. But firing off synapses to my nervous system telling my body to react to the situation a tad bit late. I figure out my clean slate, is a headless victim of circumstance and nourishment. I lament. For the day has come when we understand what we should have done years ago. So now we stand under TARP umbrellas and stagnating riches waiting for the world to change. And not just a black United States President either. But a deeper change that stops the hungry homeless from begging for change outside of million dollar condos at dinner time.

I'd be lying if I didn't say I wanted capitalist riches. But I'd settle for an equal place at the start line. Embellished egos stand guard at the timer making late my beginning. So I'm left trying to answer questions to the full story before I've had a chance to read it all. That is, if I can read at all. I've been told I'm better at dribbling a basketball. Or running a football. Or catching a baseball. Apparently better at understanding the dynamics of circles, split second timing and trajectories, ergo physics, rather than the straight edge of a book. But you mistook my physical for athletic instead of having the mental capacity to control my gluttony and extend my body beyond natural limits or limitations. My lamentations are due to the death of a foregone conclusion devised to systematically debilitate my ability to understand who I are.

I'm a star amongst the comets. Just ask Hailey. Better yet, ask Haley. He's chronicled my meteoric rise to human-dom. I’ve been prophesied in Banneker's Almanac. Quipped about in Aesop's fables. Foreseen in King's dream. Unveiled by Du Bois' black soul. Scripted through X’s rhetoric. Emblemized in Mandela’s imprisonment. Stood up for in Park’s sit down. Ushered forward through Tubman’s freedom train. Engendered “stoke” by Carmichael’s black power. Introduced to thyself by Garvey. Birthed in 1906 by Alpha.

I stand among the accused. Guilty of succeeding; striving to succeed all those who came before me.

This is my life.

Clarity

2009-07-29T23:16:00.001-04:00

If told today
My life would end
I'd see a clearer me
I'd stop believing
I have forever
To be what I want to be

Imperceptibly You

2009-07-13T13:36:00.001-04:00

Deny it!
Try it!
Celebrate what you think
I’ll celebrate what I know
Yes we all have room to grow
Life seeds to sow
In the cavity that is our lives
We reside
Yet some hide
I simply look to provide
A catacomb for our deliberate transgressions
Against our better selves
Which may not be our best selves
Yet. . .
So I coalesce
Your reality of me
With my perceptions of you
A metaphysical hue
Culminating into a deep, melodic blue
Like Jazz
Like percussion
Like a well played sax
Sending tingles down our backs
Back to Earth
She is my mother
Like no other
I see her in all her splendor
I see her in you
You are my glue
Sticking with me forever
No
Holding worlds together
Amidst a sea (see) of everyone
I know what you are
You’re my everything
That of you which I understand
Comprehend
Better than
You may think I do
Imperceptibly You

Horizon (a.k.a 2009)

2009-02-04T15:21:00.002-05:00

Look out past the sunlit skies to an oasis

Far and wide as the land is long

And as the sea is deep

And as the air is thin and transparent

Past the emotional bent of human existence

And the existential nomenclature

Sizzles the repressed, organic substantiation

Of Life

And Living

And Dying

And Death

And Rebirth

And the ever ebbing and flowing of circles

That move and torture the soul

Once more

It is the horizon

It is the “what’s next”

It is the belief that beyond what you can see

Is something majestic

Something worthy of glorification

Like. . .

Like tomorrow

Like awakening eyes

Like childbirth

Or like stepping foot off of a plane in a new location

Basking in the ever-present belief that each moment

May be our last

Or just the step before the next

In a long list of steps that is our being

Taking control of what’s in front of you

Within reach

Right before the horizon

Right before the blue meets yellow, orange, red

Right before present presses against future

In a hug so grand that you feel it as heat

Cooling heat

Isn’t it refreshing?

The horizon is among us all

And we have the power to believe it to be

What we want it to be

The next best thing to today

For in this moment

In this time

In this hour

We have maxed out our beliefs

And the horizon is the only thing

That will take us further beyond our

Realism’s understanding

To our imagination’s creations

To the core of everything we know

Life does get better

When we look out upon

The horizon

Election Day (A reflection)

2008-11-04T23:44:00.002-05:00

Eerily similar to the
Brow they beat
Carves the
Sweet smell of victory
From the
Foul stench of defeat
Build catacombs for my slumber
Cuz muh
Mind needs sleep
I dream of long summers
Cuz our
Lives are winter deep
It's the CHANGE
That I speak of
To redirect our course
From politics as usual
From the cart leading the horse
From races feeling remorse
Because they're not in the lead
Handouts are drying up
Takes a true capitalist
To succeed
Hungry mouths with
Mouths to feed
We're deep in deep need
Lactose intolerant babies
So breast milk goes to waste
Government funds to feed the war
Starving neighbors
Bombs have no taste
We must make haste
To the voting booths we go
We have a chance to clear up now
What we should've done
4 years ago
These are not the words of a Democrat
But a realist tired of fate
Laziness can be overcame
Our vote will SATIATE

Congrats President Elect Barack Hussein Obama!!

Nerve Endings

2008-06-24T06:47:00.005-04:00

Man
You remind me
Of Black Love
That old school
Black Love
Like I knew it once before
Or
Like I was born with it innately
That Great Black Love
That smells like
Hair grease and soap
When you're sitting on my lap
Cocoa butter and Strawberry Chapstick
When you're rubbing against my skin
That Black, Black Love Where
Lutha, Anita and Teddy
Play back to back to black
Frankincense and Vanilla candles
Scent the air
As you push your thigh
Between my thighs
And I cup the back of your neck
With one hand
While caressing your waist
With the other hand
Your breasts
Lay heavy on my heart
As I feel you breathe on me
I wanna blow you like a horn
And hear you scream out my name
musically
Give me what you got
Give me you

Woman
You Remind me
Of Black Love
That Sensual Black Love
That grooves through my blood
Blurs my senses
And kneads my body to a purr
That hot summer Black Love
Sneaking kisses on the porch swing
As we escape the heat
That makes us sweat
Drip
Melt
Pool
Our minds into one thought
One feeling
One being
One Love
That Blistering Black Love
Scalding
Branding
Possessive Black Love
That holds you to me
In me
On me
Under Me
With Me
In tandem
In rhythm
In Love
That gripping Black Love
From which I do not want to escape

What she said

2008-06-20T20:08:00.001-04:00

What I won’t be:

Conforming, redundant, malicious, subversive, sycophant, despotic, irrelevant, conniving, futile, baseless, banal, fretful, fearful, grieving, regretful, belligerent, abusive, caustic, punitive, judgmental, brisk, frigid, simple, shallow, transparent, guarded, deceitful, tormenting, or ugly

What I will be:

Deliberate, passionate, nurturing, loving, kind, fearless, fertile, adventurous, tempestuous, spontaneous, sexy, kinky, kooky, quirky, darling, beautiful, brazen, laid bare, boastful, brimming, bountiful, frank, honest, open, protective, loyal, affectionate, witty, flirty, willful, wanton, laughing, and lovely

And that's just off the top of my head

----------------------------

I can dig that!

Assuage

2008-06-16T09:38:00.001-04:00

Through the daunting perils
That is love and sacrifice
I sauntered about
Until I came amidst new ground
Expecting all I've known to disappear
And be replaced by expecting greatness
Or Great Expectations
Greater made by the dandy springing forth
From my face
Intrinsically valuating the merits
Of a life led right
Around the corner from a life led wrong
And yet, we all belong
On the same street of happiness
Where I find myself
Drenched in the downpour of your attention
Of your intention
To bring richness to a pauper spirit
Caught up with shaking his head
At the ways of the world
We're worlds away
But at night, our voices play
For me anyway
Setting parameters around discussion
So as to escape from our escape
And give the world, what we will give each other
A way to be better
A way to build fortresses of Love
Made magnetic by the state of our persons
Or, better still, our personalities
We touch down like tornadoes
Leaving peace in our wake
I awake. . .you awake
This isn't a dream
Our actions, now have meaning
I am better
For relating to you
Assuage

Pure (An Homage)

2008-06-12T07:12:00.001-04:00

I looked out my work window today
And saw the cascading fall of raindrops
Cleanse the Earth of all that was past
Refresh the character of those awaiting new
And I immediately thought of you
Sleeping
Dreaming
Breathing
Hoping
Looking for brighter days
You are the Earth after it rains
Now that the rain has stopped
I see you everywhere

Message to Racism

2008-04-07T20:25:00.004-04:00

I AM NOT, I AM NOT WHO YOU THINK I AM
COURSE MY BLOOD, YOU WILL KNOW THE TRUTH
YOU WILL BELIEVE IN MY FUTURE, UNDERSTAND MY PAST
IT’S MY PRESENT THAT STANDS BEFORE YOU AS PROOF
THE BURDEN OF PROOF, IN CASE YOU ARE BLIND
SITS HUMID AND MOIST BENEATH MY SKIN
IT PERMEATES THE EARTH, THE AIR AND THE LAND
IT RADIATES FROM WITHOUT, TO MY CORE DEEP WITHIN
I HAVE LIVED IN THESE LANDS FOR THOUSANDS OF LIVES
I CONTROL NO BOUNDS THOUGH I KNOW WHAT THEY ARE
MY MIND IS AS NEFARIOUS AS THOUSANDS OF WARS
YET I WALK WITH GOD, THAT’S HOW I STAY ON PAR
I HAVEN’T EXPERIENCED ADOLESCENCE IN HUNDREDS OF YEARS
I SPEND MOST OF MY DAYS RECOLLECTING MY PAST
I KNOW WHO YOU ARE IN YOUR VARIOUS FORMS
FROM THE FIRST TIME I SAW YOU, UNTIL THIS THE VERY LAST
I HAVE TAKEN YOUR ABUSE, YOUR LABELS, YOUR ANGST
YOU WILL DIE AT MY DOORSTEP, NO LONGER WILL YOU ROAM
YOU’VE DELINEATED MY PEOPLE FOR THE VERY LAST TIME
I WILL PUT AN END TO YOUR EXISTENCE BY THE END OF THIS POEM
RACISM, I BESEECH YOU, NEVER TROUBLE US ANYMORE
GO BACK TO THE DARK AGES FROM WHENCE YOU CAME
NEVER LET SPIRIT, NOR POWER, NOR MONEY RESURRECT YOU
YOU HAVE HARMED WAY TOO MANY WHO HAVE FOUGHT IN YOUR NAME
YOUR CLOUD OF JUDGMENT HAS BANGED ITS LAST GAVEL
YOUR SPECTER OF TRUTH HAS TRANSFORMED IN THE LIGHT
YOU CAN NO LONGER PORTEND THE ILL FATE OF MY PEOPLE
YOUR WEAK HAND OF WRONG PALES TO THE STRONG HAND OF RIGHT
KNOW ME FOR WHO I AM, FOR YOU WILL NOT SOON FORGET
THE INDIVIDUAL WHO STOOD UP TO YOU AND SPOKE YOU AWAY
I PLAN TO GET MY FELLOW MAN TO COMMIT TO YOU THE SAME
I PROMISE RIGHT NOW, YOU HAVE SEEN THE LAST OF YOUR DAYS

My Mankind Story Abridged (In 150 words or less)

2008-04-07T20:22:00.001-04:00

I have no words
I just have my heart
To tell you a story
About worlds apart

How worlds collide
Yet create some space
For peace and love
One human race

One race against time
To build a life
Of enormous consequence
Of men and mice

Of mice and men
Who strive to coexist
With power and money
Ideologies amidst

Ideologies adrift
The Bible over-interpreted
Leader of Church determines
Vice and sin satiated

Insatiable appetites grow
Communities built to slave
First land then consumerism
We were better off in caves

Cavitous minds need filling
Though now decay inevitable
Sleep aids just to dream
Approved narcotics edible

Disapproved cures for healing
Nations continuously unwell
Pump more money into R&D
Acknowledge Healthcare failed

Society has failed
Fix analogous to one
Global Warming is to Ice Age
My mankind story now done

Water-Break Prayer

2008-04-06T19:49:00.004-04:00

Mirror Mirror, on the the wall
Tell her she’s the fairest of them all
Tell her her beauty is marred by none
Not Childbirth, not abuse, not anyone
Tell her she’s a flower that never shall die
Tell her I love her and that’s no lie
When you show her, herself, please make the reflection smile
Even if her makeup has left her in denial
Tell her that sometimes our best defense
Is vulnerability, but exercise a little common sense
That our negative self-consciousness can only grow
If we succumb to the beliefs of what other’s tell us so
Tell her to enrich her being with truth and love
And the stars in her eyes, once twinkled above
Lastly, Mirror Mirror, tell her she’s the sun and the moon
And please do it today, before I exit her womb

Amen

Author’s note: Pregnant women, you are all beautiful to me.

Life Under Siege (Perhaps Unfinished)

2008-04-03T19:44:00.002-04:00

Fragile minds
Being educated on the government's dime
So my books were tattered and torn
Like I was
Smug
In my belief that
Might makes right
So black being power
Meant I sat on top of the world
Until it unfurled
And we started to go to jail
For aggression
What's my lesson then?
Par down my dreams?
So it seems
To mom and pop-sized allegories
While my nightmares
Conglomerate
I sit
For fear
That someone
May see me stand
And realize
I'm a man
Ah damn
How did we get here?
Recognition = fear
Oh, I know
Day became night
And night became day
And while the Earth produced all this movement
We didn’t do enough to change
Who's to blame?
They say I'm not
But I believe I am
You fight wars for what you believe
And when you're defeated
Or change comes
That's when wars stop
In that vein
I should be no different than Iraq
Or Barack
We're not fighting a war
And the changes we need are not in place
For every race
So that must mean we're defeated
Among other things
Uneducated
Unsatisfied
Intolerant
But un-unionized
Sensationalized
Through sport
However, gold trophies
Don’t hold down no fort
Maybe a court
With one rim on either side
Breakaway
Because they got tired of Gorillas
Bending them
“Leave it to them
“To bring athleticism
“But take away finesse”
My jump shot’s a mess
So I’ll just be big
And they’ll pay me to be that way
I had a dream the other day
The golden gate had barb wire and a keep out sign
It said “reserved for those who fight for it”
I woke up breathing heavy as if I just got back
And said
Damn, what a shame
Or was it
Damned, what a shame
Because I felt damned
I’m in no man’s land
Put it in front of my face
Couldn’t recognize my own hand
I get dressed
To go to work
My life is under siege

To Be or Not To Be

2008-04-03T19:38:00.001-04:00

What I won’t be:

Inconspicuous, inconsequential, irrelevant, enigmatic, standoffish, impossible, ignorant, stagnant, dangling, straddling, sycophant, irrational, needy, tardy, impervious, brutal, cruel, inhumane, benign, paltry, small-minded, dead, shrewd, closed, asleep, dim, stunted, simple, complicated, foolhardy, wayward, dissident, pontifical, depravitous, systemic, put-off, brainwashed, deplorable, heinous, hermitous, frugal, naive (anymore), subversive, capricious, malignant, stingy, repulsive, stalking, under-appreciated, overstaying, spiteful, jealous, insignificant

What I will be:

Dynamic, friendly, important, family-orientated, rational (most of the time), sincere, informative, supportive, positive, optimistic, racy, judgmental, pre-emptive, inventive, heartfelt, thinking, piquant, cogitative, palpable, vulnerable, edgy, fire-starter, confrontational, balanced, sagely, uplifting, complicated, simple, dominating, charming, relaxed, inviting, prognostic, deliberate, absorbent, dispenser, connected, connector, proof, substantial, heard, read, tasted, felt, dug, understood, remembered, impactful, boastful, Black, African, American, cogent, renowned, Jaramogi, Kareem, Mr. Adams

And that's just off the top of my head.

Moments

2008-02-27T18:41:00.001-05:00

Moments locked in time don't stay there. They come -- attached to memories, songs, poems, scents. And all at once, what once was, now is. And that's how we live. We live in the past, present and future -- at all times and points through the day. A commingling. It is how we laugh when we're sad. Forgive when we hurt. Make up when we're put out. Compromise when we're unrelenting. Life is a stage, with actors and actresses who(m) as long as they don't die off, have the potential to resurface -- either in the flesh or through memories. Through daydreams. Through nightly fears.

We CANNOT choose what to rehash, no better than we can choose what to suppress. It's not natural. It's not healthy to keep the words attached to our thoughts inside. Because even though we may feel like we're putting our best face forward, masks don't hide eyes. And they very rarely hide lips. And if we're lucky, neither will our face. Because it's called being human. It's called suffering the indelible when all else in this world, though alive, can seem as forgettable and as fake as a 50 year old fern plant.

Stolen moments resist time. Time is ever constant, ever moving. Stolen moments produce the effect of living twice at once. It is so because we breathe for the present while we think about the past. And our heart pumps blood to ensure our future, though let's not get ahead of ourselves, because the future physically is not promised, like standing buildings or parents. Or like the ceiling of the Sistine chapel. One day it will not exist, no matter how hard we try to preserve it.

Moments. Just moments. Cast ironed by fate and a lackluster determination to exist in the past, long before the past can be reasoned so. Each breath we take can be immortalized depending upon what we do during that breath. Is it just like any other? Were you jumping? Were you feeding the hungry? Were you self-absorbed? Or were you contemplating your next moment?

Thought to paper

2008-02-24T20:41:00.002-05:00

Paper lay flat
Pen in hand
Thought in air

I position all three
To culminate
Into words here

I miss who you are
What we were
It remains there

Stuck like bees
To a honeycomb tree
More to bear

My sole to bear
I resuscitate life
As it existed

Just thoughts written
But never escaping
Like a tame kitten

Forgetting where I am
I lose conscious
To my present

Swim mental distances
Time before land
When mind indifferent

Time makes a difference
You’re so sweet
The way you come

Each visit like new
In the moment
I fall undone

No song left unsung
I whisper lyrics
Just for fun

Until the tears roll
Down my cheek
Another lesson learned

Futile as they come
20/20 hindsight
Present blind

I extract my vision
From my heart
Memories hard to find

To you I return
Served cold on platter
To a world unkind

Suicidal moments gone
I return home
To my subtle mind

Posthumous Alive

2008-02-10T20:00:00.000-05:00

Blessed are those who know no realm of light
To blind them to death by the good hand of right
To save over the world, when the floods delivered by rain
Come swoop into the valleys and bring hell a-gain

Blessed are those who seek no realm of truth
Who sit idly by, and let themselves be lied to
Who live each day as if they have no command
Put false belief in renting and don’t own any land

Blessed are those whose family knows no good health
And won’t ever have it because they’ve accumulated no wealth
And spend 99 cents on burgers instead of fresh fruits and veggies
Can’t run without wheezing because their bodies have gotten too heavy

Blessed are those competing in a time-full race with death
Who’ve given up the fight early though they have something left
Who’ve thrown in the towel and exited the square rings
And woken up early because they hate to see dreams

For you see, I consider these types of people to be blessed
Because the pain they feel now pales to what they’ll feel at rest
I struggle with life now because I want to give it my all
Though feeling ignored, my blessings will come when I fall

And though I have come to understand I cannot change the world
I can change my behavior and illuminate my wisdom pearls
For every human being, living surely comes before dying
So while alive, I must look to heal; never be defeated; keep trying

I have a question. . .

2008-02-04T18:36:00.001-05:00

If 2 parts of a whole has 2 separate halves, then does it make them one single piece?
If a jungle has no lions or tigers to hunt and no antelope to eat, does it matter in the least?
If a person can get full off of 7 almonds and a glass of water, does that make it a feast?
If “love thy neighbor” was “shoot thy neighbor," despite morality, would life’s existence cease?

If I knocked, knocked, knocked on Heaven’s door and God doesn’t answer, should I wait?
If I knocked, knocked, knocked on opportunity’s door with no answer, should I accept that as fate?
If I stocked my life with pillars of Love, then the Parthenon, could I make?
If I bet the devil that Love conquers all, then turned on the news, would my soul, he take?

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then how many pictures until we reach infinity?
If I cloned a white version of myself, then sent him on the other side of the world, is that equality?
If I took my time to speak, but your clock kept running, would I be missed and you come back for me?
If I swam on dirt and walked on water, would it be a miracle, or would sea be land, and land be sea?

If I took the heart of every man and every woman, would I have the world’s biggest drum?
If I took a piece of bread, and tried to feed the world, would everyone at least have a crumb?
If you take all of these questions, and read them individually, wouldn’t each sound dumb?
Truth is its questions like these that keep me alive and hopeful, with the dawning of each day’s sun.

Oppps, that wasn’t a question.

An idea. . . (rant)

2008-02-04T18:35:00.000-05:00

This latest ESPN article has given me an idea:

http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/news/story?id=3228748

I'm willing to make a donation of my hard earned, taxable money to any foundation willing to set up Club ATHLETE.

What’s Club ATHLETE, you say? It'll be a club. It will have a terrific DJ, strippers, 25 bars, each of which can be for sale individually, pick-up and drop-off service from homes and hotels. Club ATHLETE will hire some of the writer's currently on strike and their sole purpose will be to create alibis.

And here's the catch: The only people who will be allowed to attend this club are Professional Football and Basketball players!

Why? Because it has been proven over and over again, that rich black people with money cannot party with poor black people with no money and guns. So if these black millionaires are so bored that they’re incapable of staying out of troublesome nightclubs, then we'll create one JUST for them and perhaps – just perhaps, these ignorant fucks who happen to represent the top 2 - 3% of income makers in the world can stop giving black people a bad name.

Can you tell that I've had it? ESPN, can you please stop reporting on this garbage? It’s not sports. And if the athletes don’t have enough common sense to keep themselves out of the eye of danger, then they don’t care about sports – so let’s do them and me a favor.

Time Taken

2008-02-04T18:33:00.001-05:00

I can't believe it’s been over 10 years since we first met. You came dutifully into my life like Egypt’s Imhotep. Like the-little-engine-that-could's conductor, like a dry piece of bread's butter. Indeed there are many women I endear, but there could never be another.

You erode all of my sanity, like it’s a dusty, sandy shore. And while that may sound negative, to me, it couldn't mean more. You forced me to move and moreover, to learn how to deal with change. That time should be married to growth and so life should never be the same. That life will never be sane -- as long as we deal with each other. I rank your level of importance up there with my sister and my mother.

Now that's deep -- deeper than my thoughts or your angst during your menstrual cycle. I try to bring you peace, but you reject everything that I do. It’s just like a Haiku, written complete, but lacking in understandin'. It would have all been so simple if you would have let me be your man back then. But I was just a friend then as I'm just a friend now. So it didn't hurt me much when I traded my dollar bills for rupees, then British pounds.

You said you needed space, so I gave you half the world around worth. Didn't think it would take all that for your true love to be birthed. For your true love to show girth. And wrap itself around my substance. Never been a shallow dude, so it’s my heart that feels pain, hence.

It’s been a long time since we've taken time to express our feelings. I've since gotten better with words; you’ll no longer find me reeling. Back for explanations of why my emotions make me feel like less than a man. It wasn't my masculinity, it was my Love undefined that had me hurtin'. I'm in love with you! There I said it. Acknowledge. For I only speak the truth. I shouted from my pen; don't need a mountain top or roof.

To be loved, to be loved! That's what Eddie exclaimed. But I'd just be happy to know each night you think about my name. That you utter the same. And our thoughts move in rhythmic plains. It’s only in your eyes that I am looking for fame. And perhaps, a warm kiss when home, I came.

I trust these words mean something to you and will not go forsakened. So please be the one and let's stop wasting this time that we have taken.

The first can’t be last, if the last is the – second

2008-01-31T20:40:00.000-05:00

Meaning? Two posts in January 2008. It has been a busy month indeed. And I haven’t had much time to talk to my mind, i.e. write. I feel really bad about not posting, because I don’t want this endeavor to fall off. So in spite of myself, I am writing down a “now” thought so that I can have more than just one post in January of 2008.

What’s a “now” thought? A “now” thought is as it sounds. I don’t necessarily know what I’m about to cogitate on, but I type relatively fast and so I’ll try to type out what I’m thinking – on paper – now. Here goes.

Man, it’s raining pretty hard outside now. Those cars are driving relatively fast considering the magnitude of the rain. They should slow down before an accident happens. They already can’t drive worth a damn in the UK.

I can’t wait to get home. I know I have to go to the gym; I hope this rain won’t be a deterrent. I just gotta let it do what it do and make sure I don’t spend too much time lingering in my house from the moment I get in the door, to the moment I need to be leaving to go to the gym.

I’m happy it’s Thursday afternoon already. The time is just flying. It’s ridiculous. I guess I should look at it as a blessing because I have more on my plate at work. And they always say good work begets more work. So I can use it as a non-verbal communicator that my manager likes what I’m doing. Hell, I know he does anyway, he just told it to me in an update we had a couple hours ago.

I don’t know why I try and psyche myself out so much. If only people knew how much of a cocky SOB I am. Sorry Mom. I think I have a right to be. Not saying that I always get it right, but if where I am now is an average of all my successes and my failures, then I must be above average. I don’t know why I feel it behooves me to play the modest game so much, but politics are everywhere.

My concession to the greater powers that be that how I am and what I am is not all because of me. But I am my own spokesman. Commingling modesty and self-promotion seem to be one of my really good strengths. I know this, because I do it without much thought. It’s a part of who you meet and who you come to know. Though not conscious actions, it’s no accident that I present this way. What am I talking about?

(Singing) I’m in the mood for loveeee, simply because you’re near me!!

HAHAHAHA! I love that song. I need to start reading more. I tell people that reading picks right up after football season. I hope that remains true. I’m not doing nearly the same amount of mental growing that I feel I was doing this time last year. I guess I had more time each day to myself though. No cook, cleaner or driver here. I have to prepare my own meals, clean my own place and walk to the damn train. That alone zaps up more time than I have to myself these days.

(rapping)

Bum stiggedy bum stiggedy bum, hon,

I got the old pa-rum-pum-pum-pum

But I can fe-fi ya fo, diddly-fum, here I come

So Peter Piper, I'm hyper than Pinocchio’s nose

‘Cuz I'm the supercalafragilistic tic-tac pro

I gave my oopsy, daisy, now you've got the crazy

Crazy with the books, Googley-goo where's the gravy

So one two, unbuckle my, um shoe

Yabba Doo, hippity-hoo, crack a brew

So trick or treat, smell my feet, yup I drippedy-dropped a hit

So books get on your mark and spark that old crazy ish

Drats and double drats, I smiggedy-smacked some whiz kids

The boogedy-woogedly Brooklyn boy's about to get his, dig

My waist bone's connected to my hip bone

My hip bone's connected to my thigh bone

My thigh bone's connected to my knee bone

My knee bone's connected to my hardy-har-har-har

The jibbedy-jabber jaw ja-jabbing at your funny bone, um

Skip the ovaltine, I'd rather have a honeycomb

Or preferably the sesame, Let's spiggedy-spark the blunts, um

Dun dun dun dun dun, dun dun

I’m thirsty. (Take sip of Diet Coke)

Man – Das Efx were ahead of their time. High-larious.

I wonder what it would be like to live her longer than a year. Up! Meeting, gotta get ready for it. I can’t wait to go home.

______________________________________________________

That’s it. Sorry it couldn’t be more awe-inspiring, but it was just a couple of “now” thoughts. They can’t all be profound.

2008

2008-01-01T17:01:00.000-05:00

What a huge difference 16 days can make
I’m back where I started
Hello dearly departed
My plane dearly departed
From the location where I all started
Brooklyn Baby
Always in my heart it
Seems we have left 2007 behind
A new year is upon us
It’s time we stare beyond us
In 2008
To created a world that’s great
We must continue to build us
Or start with a clean slate
I’m thankful for the things
That 2007 has created
New friendships and opportunities
Baby boys and baby girls
And newly weds
Love unconditionally
Stronger bonds with my friends
Tighter bonds with my family
With a broader network of connections,
We are poised to win
And again
My iPod that sings to me
For those times when I get sick for home
And I feel no one knows me
I kick back and create my very own
Musical being
Thank you all for the love that you gave me
Back home
From Greensboro to Alexandria
Chicago to Astoria
Manhattan, Jersey, Brooklyn
Family and friends
Long dinners out
To quiet nights in
Sit back, recline my seat
And let the plane get me there
Oh yeah
2008 is going to be another very good year

World View (A piece/peace)

2008-01-01T17:00:00.000-05:00

Do you know when the world really seems out of sorts? The world really seems out of sorts when your future reality is only someone else’s dream. And in your mind, you see possibility, but they see plausibility. You see long term and they see under no certain terms. You know what it takes and they take what you know and hang it on their wall like a digital reprint of a famous painting. Texture removed and obscured by the inability of its own unoriginality; a copy if you will.

Isn’t that what dreams are sometimes? If it’s fathomable, then a dream is nothing more than a digital reprint of what somebody else has already done. Very rarely do we dream unique; as adults anyway. A kid who dreams to fly will one day understand that either they can become a pilot or it won’t happen. And that’s not sad, that’s reality. Kind of like, the person who can’t see the reality in what they only dream of doing; what you can see being done. . .if only. . .effort were applied.

Endangered species. That’s what realization is. It has become an endangered species for those so stymied by fear that they refuse to try to make real what they only dare dream. That’s like having wings, but not flying. Like having fins, but not swimming. Like having feet, but not moving. Having feet, but not moving. Crippled dreams are far worse than failure to succeed at something attempted. Sometimes – just sometimes, I wish all my people would realize this and just pick-up and move.

Black Locks

2008-01-01T16:50:00.000-05:00

She locks her arms around me
Makes me feel warm and safe
Like her locks on her head
Deliberate but woven with haste
Her lips taste
Like apple juice paste
Brown sugar skin when wet
Chocolate mist
Hershey’s kiss
Beneath my sullen eyes
Tired sinks in, but energy rise
I’m alive
Locked in her locks
I die
Then awaken reborn
Only to find myself free
But hating it
Locks

Black Thought World Anthem

2007-12-02T18:47:00.000-05:00

I sit at my desk and allow my thoughts to coalesce,

As I reckon with my inability to force some sort of change

I fight to limit my regret, though I know I shouldn't fret,

But I can't help but feel like I'm what's black alive remains

And so this pain in my arms and shoulders are a lot more serious

Than "I told ya so"s, ergonomic chairs and carpal tunnel strains

They’re from my "he's-not-heavy" brother and my "battling-to-be-petite" sister,

This perplexing and superlative level of acceptance, I can no longer feign

It’s from the black part of me that fights for a reason to unite

With my brethren hanging on corners being blinded by street lights

But we keep being misogynistic to our daughters and numbing the sensitivity of our sons

No wonder our relationships are all base and built so contrite

I’m searching for the genuine in my gentlemen and sentimentality in my lady friends

Those who have been educated enough to discern wrong from right

We’re tossing our “world” oysters back into the sea and over-sleeping the phone ring

It’s like, being black is a never-ending role call and we got stage fright

The part of us that once made us the strongest thinkers in the world,

Is what I'm looking for like U2, but yet I still haven't found
If Halloween lasts a day and black history acknowledgement a month,

Then why am I scared of ”what we’s gon do” 365 days; all year round?

And I ask why can’t we just trust in ourselves and maintain who we are

But, we can no better retain our value than the dollar against the British Pound

We have the leaders that it would take to lead us all to a higher plane

But we can’t convince the young to take advice, from an elder, that is sound

I can't help but feel that our train has fallen off the track

That was once destined to lead us From Slavery to Freedom-lands
So I feel like Johnny-on-the-spot, amidst a sea of Hope-less people

Who’ve been taught that life's about little else than just banking Franklins

We no longer feel comfortable to reside, in this Divided Economics of America

In this skin, in this blackness swelled with languorous pus we're in
I'm not talking complexion, though I am, I mostly mean spiritous ignorance,

That has created a hole by wearing my patience to a thickness paper thin

I'm battling 50 cent pieces and Games putting on shows

And Fat Joe Shmoes for a piece of my black child's so called soul
But in the end, I'm losing the battle, against the self-sustaining pallor

I’m glad we ain’t got money to gamble, lest each hand we fold

How can I get folks to stop calling black women out they names

When they’re still auditioning for a chance to become video ho’s?

It’s this type of circuitous behavior, coming right round the bend

That leads to these same putrid stories being once again told

I can’t get my people interested in college, let alone an electorate college

The driving force behind zapping hypocrisy into the democratic process

You’d think a black presidential nominee would get us hyped, but it’s hard

With all these politicians having to jump through hoops, to see past the nonsense

And I’m sensed – I’m sick and tired of hearing about how the poor get poorer

When there are more and more success stories of people making it from rags to riches

But the media steady promoting role models that are drug dealers cum rap artists

Trying to un-vilify a black man with a bastard child, a gun and a bulletproof vest

I keep on 3 string necklaces and I rope them together to represent

This new world course we're on From Slavery to Cultural Suicide
It's crazy what a society without the proper means of community

And self-developed worth will do, unawares, to a black man's silly pride

I did what I was told, including learn how to make my own decisions;

I went and got my education so I could get over that economic divide

And now my thoughts roam free, but I’m jailed up in this corporate office

Dressed like an ape at the zoo, with 4 corners and nowhere for my face to hide

And lately, I’ve been trying to listen to today’s music to self-identify

But the artists only leave me with more questions like, “why?”

I know about the world we live in, but even the Love songs are about mistakes

If it ain’t about a woman gold diggin’ it’s about a black man in need of an alibi

Sometimes I just wanna cry, or perhaps just holler like Marvin Gaye say, but I can’t

I have little time left to live and make a difference before it is time to die

But I must first make sense of this world I must live in so I don’t feel out of place

Like a fish in one of Dali’s paintings, floating hedonistically through the sky

And the Ghettos ain't heavenly; they’re more like heavily weighing us down

Like quicksand that has the grips of death pulling us all in to hell

And I gotta be careful when I walk out my door for fear of being robbed

Or what’s worse, smelling stinky piss in the apartment building stairwell

Preservation isn’t only for museums and archeologists and highly-ran societies;

It is something that we all must learn; lest we run out of water in that well

And our culture, once ripe and replete with wealth, will similarly become desertic

Because we didn’t fight for what we know, burdening us all, ‘til we fail

Maybe it’s best if we keep living in a fairytale and sit and wait for a savior

Or perhaps that magic bean that can nourish all the insipid hungry

In the end, wealth will no longer matter for black folks anymore
For the rich and the poor all now read from the same damn story

And if you don’t believe me, just check out any sitcom or movie about us

Or look at the court shows, the news stations or shows like Povich’s Maury

I wish us all the success in the world, in abundance, but until we turn that corner

We’ll be trudging between Sodom and Gomorra ‘til we find that righteous glory

Oh bore me, with your stories of keeping it real, by going to school

Getting a degree, then getting a second degree to put it all to good use

And you found a mate and she’s everything to you under the sun

You trust each other and spread Love to everyone; not suffering abuse

And you strive forward despite the black marks on your past or your family

For the housed and the vagrant all live under the same hot tin roof

The reality is, I’d prefer normal any day of the year to what we have now

I feel like what we have now, ain’t real; just living life as one big spoof

And see the funny thing is with each conclusion come illusions

Of sustainability by a tribe of people caught-up in capitalism savored

The decisions we make come second to the decisions we don’t make

Our fears compound if we don’t take a hold of these contrasts layered

We need to stop ostracizing ourselves sending our worst foot forward

Like say for instance, hmmm, let’s see, perhaps, Flavs that are Flavored

If those become models of roles we put on television, it’ll be no surprise

If in the 2060s the Black Panthers come back to fight a future-past beleaguered

So I close my eyes and then open them again, take a deep breath

Wishing all that I know about us, was conjured up in a dream

When I pay reverence to myself, I can often be found shaking my head

I feel I shouldn’t despise my own race because that would be blaspheme

Sometimes my desk feels so lonely, even though I carry all of the weight

Of black men on my shoulders to each business meeting of teams

And perhaps I’m just too hard on us, but we can’t seem to stop

Committing these transgressions against each other that should be foreseen

So I, like you, must confront what we know about this world

Created and still in constant creation for my race of black men and women

There’s no way to be whole if we keep breaking ourselves apart

We must get the needle, the thread and the bandages and begin to mend

For we’re way past the point where we can look each other in the eye

And say this too shall pass; we’re only facing a generational trend

For if every new chapter is the Genesis, it must spring forth from an “end”

So for my part, I give to you the reader, my Black Thought World Anthem

Eloise

2007-12-02T18:28:00.000-05:00

She said she knew French
But she looked Black to me
My Eloise Chavaise pinch
She was Creole, can't you see
And I didn't know twice
What I knew once before
She was a wretched and a bit nice
But I couldn't ask for more
To me she had given
Exactly what I wanted
My old ex I bid good riddance
My Eloise I had vaunted
To the top and only one
There were other's then there was her
She kept me atop my tiger
I was He-man, she was She-Ra
I was her Osiris, and she my Isis
We went together just like that
Though at times we would argue
She always had my back
A little hug and a little kiss and I
Had her on her back
But it was this relationship we had
That kept it interesting, in fact
We knew exactly what we had
Before it even had begun
A French and an American
So many battles to be won
But in the end, I’ll tell you what
And this is said with intended pun
My Eloise Chavaise pinch
We had a lot of French fun
French kisses
French fries
French wine
French lives
The Louvre on the weekends
Dinner on the river Rhine
It was quite an experience last summer
And I’ll never forget the time
And so ends this short story
About my Eloise told in rhyme

The Absence of Time

2007-12-02T18:18:00.000-05:00

I once believed that time was real. Now I know that time is just a way for us to earmark the emotional strain we put on our minds and hearts that lets us know that we are alive or have lived through something. For all things exposed to living will one day be exposed to death. That is – something time cannot define for us, yet we pay homage to its passing as if it is the very thing that makes us get old. No. Time can be used to date moments in history for recollection, but should not be used to date a human soul. A human soul lives forever. It does not suffer the fate that is being born or being passed on. It always is. And it can never suffer the passing of time if fortified by the one thing that keeps us all in existence despite the awakening of the sun and the slumbering of the moon; that one thing is Love.

When this notion came to me, I had lived my current existence over 30 years. For some strange reason, I cannot help but feel that I knew this about myself 30 years ago; back when I was first brought here again. And though I knew these things, these notions of time were false in my head, I was constantly berated with being dated by bigger me’s so much so that I came to believe in its relevance too. What we adults don’t realize is that with modern medicine, children have a higher rate of staying alive, much higher than there was a long, long time ago. Back then, you dated children because for the first couple years, it was touch and go if they lived passed infanthood. Nowadays, little concern should be put toward this end and so I believe adults should concentrate on the continuity of living – the continuity of Love than what we assume is “new exposure to life,” ergo a baby.

Strangely enough – oddly enough, if we excuse the use of time as just a marker for coordinating our days, its belief does more to hurt us than to help us. Time has a way of putting limitations on when we should get things done. I.e. I should have my undergraduate degree by 21. I should be married by 30. I should not compete for a gold medal at 35. Our bodies and the way we take care of them, does enough to create limitation on what we can or cannot do. We do not need phantom time helping us towards those decisions.

In a day and age where my mind continually fights to hold on to what’s left of humanity, I find myself creating makeshift wars with this notion of time. And as calendars and clocks remind us that it keeps moving even when we’re not, calendars and clocks also remind us that if ever there was a battle against time – regaining it; slowing it down – we can never win. So there must be a different way of thinking about time so that it does not sell us falsehoods of losing. The absence of time means that, for all things we’ve come to believe, they can only happen as subjugated by a timeframe. Let’s rid ourselves of those confounds and live, forever more, as infinite, as time immemorial, as time continuum, as absent of time.

Krazy

2007-11-12T22:22:00.000-05:00

You kiss like--
Spring nectar, delivered from space
‘Tis a shame how I didn't want
To wipe your taste off my face
My heart fluttered to the beat
And I didn't know why
Like ships from nether worlds
My goodness, you fly
Seasons change all the time
Just to keep up with me
Helps me swivel in and out
New and old, respectively
The depth of my usually
Has lost rock, paper, scissors
To the intrigue of my spontaneity
I’m thankful for the quivers
And the shivers and the moans
And the groans and the homes
For ya whispers on the phone
Ya neuny on perm loan
For your approach and your landing
For your never-ending pit stop
So that we could soar together
‘Til that package from the stork drops
And I can call you wifey
And you can call me hubby
And the children, house and us
Well, we all look so lovely
Man, I’m feelin’ so bubbly
And alive amidst the day hazy
It’s so hard to satisfy these British chills
When you're feelin’ like you’re krazy

Inspired by Purple Rain

2007-10-30T19:16:00.000-04:00

You ever listen to a song from your past at the precise, perfect moment in your life? You ever feel like the world is conspiring against you? And it seems no matter how long and hard you trudge uphill, the terrain never levels out? Nor do you reach heaven? And you keep coming up short only reaching cloud 8? And it gets so tough because you feel like you’re doing it all alone? And you want to cry, but you can’t because in order for the world to perceive you as strong, you must look strong? And you can’t complain because nobody gives a shit; it’s your problem? And no matter how infuriating a set of 24 hours can be, you have no choice but to wake up and do it all over again? Has your breakfast ever tasted bad because your stress made you smoke so many cigarettes the night before that they have temporarily branded a funky taste in your mouth that somehow coats your toast like peanut butter? Have you wished you had brushed your teeth before going to bed? Have you ever looked someone in the face? And have them understand from your gaze that you’re having a rough go of it? So that person looks away and walks away too? How much do you appreciate that person? Have you ever loved and not been loved back? By something tangible? By something intangible? By something simple? By something esoteric? By something metaphysically real? By something physically unreal? Have you despised making yourself not love what you once loved unequivocally? We’ve all had to do that at some point. And if we haven’t, then we’re damn lucky. To one or all these things, have you ever?

I’ve seen Purple Rain. It glimmers from the midnight sky and induces tears not felt until you see it. It’s a sadness that comes un-reprimanded by the human emotion, generally engaged in fighting back moments like this. Worse than the bearer of bad news, purple rain is the bearer of bad memories. And once the bad memories come, so do the bad feelings. Uneducated. Educated. We’re all victims of the same life lesson. The same life lesson that teaches us we don’t control our emotions, especially when they come strung together as above. The one great understanding that comes from all of this is the following: To know purple rain is to know sunny skies; though they cannot exist in tandem, they exist in contrast. Thank God for both.

Things have changed. . .

2007-10-30T19:14:00.000-04:00

Do you remember those old sitcoms from the 80s/early 90s? Invariably, they’d all do some sort of episode where in the star goes back home, or someone comes back to their old surroundings. And someone says the now infamous words, “you’ve changed!” Hell, even first season of the Boondocks had a similar episode.

Well I’ve been the victim of this retort over the past few years. Whether I’ve gone back to my neighborhood in Brooklyn, NY, or have gone to hang out with some high school friends or even some college friends, I have heard this phrase uttered in my direction. Well, I’m here to say once and for all to all those inquiring:

You damn right, I done changed!!

And why shouldn’t I? I don’t dress the same because I have more money. I hang out in better places to stay away from riffraff and folks that USED to frequent the places I visited; I got tired of them not changing. I got older. Wearing sports jerseys is no longer adequate social attire for me. I prefer the tedium of putting on cufflinks any day of the week to sliding on a number enveloped in funky colors. I’ve traded in my Nike’s and Diesel shoes for Adidas Originals and Coach Shoes.

When and if I dine out, chances are the restaurant will be expensive. Drinks will be expensive. So unless you’re a teacher who I completely understand is overworked and underpaid, don’t ask me how much an evening is going to cost. My answer, unlike me, will not change: A lot!

Though I wear my hair nappy, don’t confuse that for me not getting a haircut. I do—and generally that gets done the same day I get a manicure. I’m in corporate meetings all day where people stare at my face when I talk and stare at my hands also because I use them to talk.

I dry-clean about 90% of my clothes, so if you spill something on them, damn right I’m going to look at you funny. That’s not me changing. That’s me being upset because my clothes cost a lot and I don’t spill things on them myself.

I like Alvin Ailey, not Restoration events. I like Loews in Lincoln Plaza, not Loews on 42^nd Street. I prefer trips out of town to trips cross the neighborhood. I prefer a home cooked meal to McDonald’s. And I prefer close friends to large crowds.

I have changed and I don’t apologize for it. What I do recognize is that by me changing, some people will understand that and continue to be with me. And some people will not understand and cease being with me. I am comfortable enough with both scenarios to accept them as they are. And I love you all, all the same.

This public announcement has been paid for by the JG Foundation. All words and opinions expressed here are those solely of JK Adams. Nothing said is anecdotal, but are true stories piloted by his very own self-pride.

KIM – Keep it movin’

Taste Buds

2007-10-21T12:11:00.000-04:00

It tastes—
Tastes bittersweet
Like orange peels
And sour apple green candies
The hubris of love
Falls tenderly
Like jackets over weary shoulders
Or like melancholy
Over grieving hearts

His name
Once said in vain
‘Cuz we ignore the message
Fearing we know not how he came
But he’s here and we’re here
And space does not exist betwixt the two
Spiritually aware
They are
We are
One

I reheat my witches brew
And drink thirsty the elixir of you
You taste—
Taste bittersweet
Like pumpkin seeds
And tamarind treats
The jungle heat from your body
Soothes my aches away
Leaving me restless
Though I don’t want to play

I’m serious this time
I thought I was serious the last time
But this time I’m for real serious
And I need you to be
Where I believe myself to be
And we can believe ourselves that we

Need to taste this
Together
Like—
Like a kiss
And hopefully
Just hopefully
We can have similar
Taste buds

Conundrum Woman

2007-10-21T12:07:00.000-04:00

I don’t pity you, because I don’t understand you, see?
And I fancy myself smart so I can’t be the only one
You tell me you know what you like and that’s me
But when I begin to reciprocate, you just up and run

You speak to me candidly and ask for my opinions
When you have no ideas, is when you make up your mind
You speak of needed new experiences, control of your dominions
You experience freshness when the rest of the world feels un-sublime

At points in our lives, from your speech, it appears you’re detached
You're wide awake, when the rest of the world thinks you’re sleep
Your make-believe reality is a perpetrated state of being unmatched
You hate all manner of desserts, but want your life to be a treat

You are a conundrum woman, a walking contradiction
Of what you do and what you say that you are
It is often hard for me to comprehend the energy you’re deliverin’
When not only physically, but mentally we’re separated by ‘far’

I know I could be good to you, I know I know what works
I know I know I know I know I know I know I know I know
But without your generous and necessary commitment to lurk
There is no way for me to take my knowledge and allow US to grow

So for now, I have become contented with these very solid facts
That what I have to offer will always make you come undone
My signs, convoluted by your impalpability to discern freedom from pacts
An inability that will forever make you my conundrum woman

M&Ms

2007-10-21T11:55:00.000-04:00

“Incredible,” I say
That we can live this way
“Incredulous,” I say
That we allow it to happen anyway
It’s impossible that we could allow him
To confuse minds with mines
Or maybe it was us
Maybe we heard minds when he said “mines”

I speak of Bush
He’s a radical of the highest kind
Because he’s figured out how to speak a word
And have it mean nothing of which it is spoken
We have manage to let him
Take our kids
And rather than blowing up minds
He’s using them to blow up mines
The roving kind

Strapped to bodies of people so zealous
They do not see other bodies
They see a country un-personified
As oppression
But they are indeed persons
They are our children
Get them from over there

But then, once you get them from over there
Don’t bring them back here
They’ll be uncelebrated
They’ll be like the other kids here, un-educated
If they’re a minority, they’ll be unappreciated
Though done with that war, they’ll be elated
Coming home to fight this war, they’ll become exasperated
Like I am, hearing them speak and realizing the ignorance
Of a brain left untrained

Not knowing the difference between mines and minds
We walk into one; we walk away from the other
What’s the difference?
M&Ms

Cleansing Rain

2007-09-13T08:36:00.000-04:00

In the backdrop of
Night fights with sleep
I refuse naps until my
Meditations spells are complete
And the filthy, dirty nasty
That I feel inside
Feels coated and my facial inhibitions
Begin to subside
So let it rain from the heavens and
Its waters wash away the pain
Until my tummy settles calm
And my vision no longer wanes
Until my story becomes a real one
And my existence, I no longer feign
Until history is nothing but the truth
And my deeds no longer in vain

As a day beats me up
with its work and its heat
Too tired to eat
I slave when left over feats
Of passion and duty
When I walk among the elated
A steady diet of cig breaks
And my stomach keopectated
Helps me excrete the stress
That's overtaken me of late
Close my eyes to gain a reprieve
But all I do is dream out my fate
I’ll keep my eyes on the watch
Until my tiny pupils dilate
I’ll keep my eyes on the watch
Until my spirituality forsakes

For health and beauty I wait
I’m shielded from the sun
Maintain my composures
‘Cuz I don’t want to seem undone
And like this life ‘o mine
I know it ain’t all no fun
Some days I wanna pick-up
And just run, run, run
From this place and myself
I see nothin’ more left
So like a wandering nomad
I leave to go and find what’s best
But I know I can’t see naked
Until my eyes are undressed
So I remove my sunglasses
To reveal to me what’s blessed

I got a family to consider
No they ain’t here yet
But, I feel the living inside me
Like my heart in my chest
I want to earn to be dead
Nonetheless, I spearhead my life
I want more than status quo
I want more than children and a wife
I don’t want no inner strife
But I use it as motivation
All I want is to find inner peace
Now I’m preaching to the congregation
I wanna feel whole again
I’m sick of human segregation
‘Cuz if we continue down this path
It’ll be I seeking separation

I want, I want cleansing rains
To cascade over me
Remove the rust from my eyes
So I can finally see
Though the world ain’t great
What I think is bad, can’t be
Because no culture of people should
Have to suffer while the rest are at feast
Daily, like my warm showers
Or my cool, calculated thoughts
‘Cuz peace of mind comes internally
Can’t be store bought
So linger in your mind, I will. . .until you say,
"Thank Lord Almighty for just this one more day!"

Brooklyn (no where near finished)

2007-09-13T08:35:00.000-04:00

Under the Brooklyn moonlight, I try to get my mind right for the dusting of visuals about to overcome me.

I throw on my baggiest jeans, air max 95s, grab my clippers to sharpen my edges now it’s time for me to hit the streets

It’s difficult to describe a day in Brooklyn, it’s just something you'll have to come to any neighborhood and allow yourself to see

No place I know is so beautifully violent with all my peoples hanging on street corners, playing cee-lo, rockin' sporting jerseys

And we set in our ways, we work hard through the night, exciting fights, low lights and then morning arises and we’re okay

But that’s when we sleep watching the sun seep and burn away like incents or a candle in the middle of the day.

And when the moon awakens, so do our minds and like scavengers, we hit the streets to find our next living prey

It’s not always food sometimes it’s just a fix that we need to sustain us as we spiral through time and exist our lives away

We’re ignoble and emblematic of a state of mind that is tough and trendy like Scarface or any other sweet and turbulent snafu

So we chastise our own selves because we can’t believe that our lives are long, yet list of accomplishments short like some deranged haiku

And our children? They’re spearheading the way with a patience unknown as they search for their own comeuppance

Unpalatable static, enigmatic and we try and understand the “Stubborn” in them with their suggestive attire, wish they’d give that up for Lent

Can't tell a young cat that 87 degrees is a reason to not rock a hoodie in the dead middle of summer

Can’t tell him it’s too warm to wear Timbs on his feet, especially when he knows that mid-lows come in springtime colors

We would spend a “hunned” dollars a weekend for disposable cars if we could just to say that for a small spell, we own ‘em

Ain't tryna clown my people, that's just our mentality in the hood and we know it so with each generation we begin to clone ‘em

I reach into my pocket to see what I possess, four dollars cash just enough to get exactly what I need

Walk to the bodega window, “yes sir, let me get a turkey/cheese hero, some Doritos, a Pepsi, a sour apple blow pop and 1 loosie

With a nod, he makes and collects what I ask for, carrying on a conversation in Spanish with his compadre at the Plexiglas windowed store

We exchange goods and services for money, tuck the loosie behind my ear, steppin’ fast, making sure not to let the good Lord split me with the door

This probably could go on forever and will one day, so I’ll stop here

A Love, Love Letter

2007-08-27T06:14:00.000-04:00

While the rest of the world was asleep, you awoken in me and became the source of my heart’s nourishment. My dreams, once saturated in reality, became dreams again and it is at that point in time, I knew I was in love with you. And it’s by no fault. . .or default that we met. I was destined to meet “someone” and each day I kept hoping for “the one” and while my nightmares visited me every eve, I saw in them, the glimmer of a brighter tomorrow; if only I could survive the moon’s lonely shimmer again.

And for timeless moments in time, I rewind to understand the DNA of its compulsory. I rewind to understand how to do it all over again. . .yet this time differently. This time fresh. This time new. This time Love. Not all things start off loved, but with self-effort, all things can be Love. It is the stitch that must always remain unraveled; unmoved. For one tiny snag, and life as we know it, will cease to exist as we know it.

And then there’s always you. There’s the “you” in you that makes the Love in me; the Love in us. I am smitten by your design. You are whole amongst a sea of fragments. . .myself included. I swim to you daily, looking for exactly how my piece can forge with your puzzle. I want to be with you in a way that shows I want to be a part of you. That’s manifest shit. I’ll work at it because I want it. Let me.

This is not your ordinary Love letter. It’s more like a come clean letter. On this paper, I expose my soul in a way unviewable by the naked eye. I can never show you how I feel. You must close your eyes and open your heart and receive me. Desires be me. And they will not stop existing until our Love locks. You are. . .forever etched into my soul. I Love you to no end, which is the end. Love.

Besides gray hair, do you know. . .

2007-08-27T06:13:00.000-04:00

What’s getting old? Getting old is when you watch a baseball game and the players, whose rookie cards you collected as a child, are now coaches.

A forward and a thought. . .

2007-08-27T06:01:00.000-04:00

A Great Little Story !!!

de

<>

An interesting little story.

Hello There Nice Person
Did Anyone Ever Tell You,
Just How Special You Are
The Light that You Emit
Might even Light a Star

Did Anyone Ever Tell You
How Important You Make Others Feel
Somebody out here is Smiling
About Love that is so Real

Did Anyone Ever Tell You that
Many Times When They were Sad
Your E-mail made Them Smile a bit
In Fact It made Them Glad

For the Time You Spend Sending Things
And Sharing whatever You Find
There are No Words to Thank You
But Somebody, Thinks You're Fine
Did Anyone Ever Tell You

Just How Much They Like You
Well, My Dearest Friend
Today I am Telling You

I believe that without a
friend you are missing out on a lot!!!

Have a nice day, and I'm glad we are friends!!!

***************************************************************************************

The funny thing is, I could easily see a situation like this happening to my sister. Except the difference would be, a chance to say a kind word wouldn’t have passed her by. By the time the stranger would have eaten the second cookie, she would have looked at him with her now infamously, dramatic lips parted which to us should suggest that her jaw has dropped to the ground. Then she would say to the guy, “How dare you, Sir!,” with a straight face. When he tells her that she has been eating his cookies, she would check her bag to see that he was right. Then she would flash that smile and say, “I’m so embarrassed!” The guy would smile back and say, “don’t be.” A conversation would follow and my sister would make a new friend. That’s what I absolutely love about her: She has always had the ability to turn her raw honesty into a good situation. And I’ve striven my whole life to be the same exact way. Just a quick forward and a thought about my sister. I love you, Anika.

JayGee Quotable N

2007-08-07T11:28:00.001-04:00

Confidence is the ability to know when something's wrong and speak out against it.

State of Being

2007-08-07T11:23:00.000-04:00

I put on my be cool and match it with my stay sane.
Mask all of my bruises and put ointment on the pain
Squeeze my heart real tight knowing blood pumps a-gain
Rush through my volatile life like floods carrying rain

My emotions flow through me like toxic energy to a field
My perceptions eek away and let me see what's real
Can't be inside the matrix because I returned both pills
Walk miles across these awkward valleys trying to reach hills

Leave my conscious mind behind, ‘cuz it’s marked by fears
Hide my solemn face from mirrors, ‘cuz it’s marked by tears
Rest my weary body slowly, ‘cuz it’s marked by years
Shrug my shoulders and walk away, ‘cuz it seems no one cares

Cross this great landscape of ours, my embodiment of self
Leaves my pockets feeling empty, however I’m surrounded by wealth
I’m a loner, vastly represented, and do you wanna know what else?
Sometimes I feel as sick as this world, yet I’m surrounded by health

‘Tis true that in this state of being, I ain’t being a human being
‘Cuz this knowledge that we quoting, wasn’t started by Europeans
So if the lies must continue apropos, then my falsehoods you’ll be seein’
Till the day we acquiesce, I’ll work hard towards whence I’m leavin’

What I saw

2007-08-03T17:39:00.000-04:00

The world was beautiful today. I saw riches in what us Americans would consider poor. I saw more colors than I thought imaginable to see in any one given day.

I saw bunches of palm and mommy roots birthing baby trees. I saw growth spurts one second at a time. I saw an enemy smile. He couldn't help it. The rains came and washed away all signs of anger and distrust; the same rains that normally frustrates us Americans.

I saw humor in the form of irony; degradation in the form of lusciousness. I saw rules broken, yet laws of the land still adhered too; in this place, they call it driving. I saw buildings being built, sand being mined, coconuts being grown and a huge town with only one central road.

I saw beauty in unfinished constructs, concocted in a brain designed to see beauty as something complete. I saw beauty in non-preservation. I saw some of the most amazingly, prettiest women in the world living their day-to-day while I lived my holiday.

I saw Cathedrals for prayer made precious by age and utility. I saw clothes being hung out to dry during Monsoon season.

Then I closed my eyes. And I saw peace. I saw the smell of greenery unable to be tainted by the debris of humanity. I saw the taste of ginger in a fresh picked leaf. I saw backwater stills. I saw umbrellas up to block the sun and down to allow for the touch of rain.

Today I saw "God's own country." Tell me. . .what did you see today?

Backwater Rains

Vegetable Stand

House on the Backwaters

Riverboat Carrying Ladies with Sun-brellas

Kathikali Theatre Performance

View from hotel room window

Sand Miners

Problems

2007-08-02T16:40:00.001-04:00

My problems;
No bigger than the next man's
But they still my problems
Problems are problems
So if you expect to hear about my day
Expect to hear about my problems
Because all day I go around telling people, "no problem."
When they ask me to solve their problem
Now that's what I call a problem
So if you have a problem with
My problems
And the solution is far
So the issues still remain problems
Then don't consider it a problem
When I tell you those problems
Or else we'll have a new problem
And that problem is us
Problem?

The Prayer

2007-08-02T16:28:00.000-04:00

Dear Heavenly body, I pray for your serenity
To guide my mind and rule my heart and do these things correctly
To be the eye that sees not life, but probes a little deeper
Make clearly seen what drives our souls so that I may be the seeker

Of truth and just, might from right, the things that drive and hinder capitalism
To move my mind away from foolish things and keep my desires free of sin
In a bastion of light, majesty and self-worth is where I wish to lay my head
To the skies is where I metaphysically wish to be way past when this body’s dead

I know no other way to be, so I consistently challenge my motives for Love
In your graces is where I strive to fly peacefully as if represented by a dove
My sanguinity leads me to places visited by many but inhabited by few
I draw comparison to completeness when I strive to be closer to you

With rue my heart is burdened with injuctive thoughts and pleas for humanity
Restrictions on fairness and freedom, to overcome will bring out the man in me
And though my simplicity is riddled with bolted locks, complexities and layers
Each day I must promise to look for you, our union embodied in prayers

Reflections

2007-07-24T16:15:00.000-04:00

Edification takes more than building blocks, mortar and pestle. It takes more than a plan and monetary investment. Edification takes more than landmarks and machines, milestones and tailoring. It takes more than sunrise and sunset and people willing to work betwixt the two. Edification takes more than books read and challenges surpassed. There is no denying the need for illumination, but edifying takes more than that too. Edification takes more than people whom simply call themselves your family or your friends without a stronger meaning behind it.

You see, in the end, you can have all these things and build the most beautifully solid fortress in the world, but in the end, if you do not build this fortress with Love, its walls will crumble alongside its foundation and brittle into the murkiest of seas, if only to prove that no house is as strong as a house built with Love. This fortress will not last because it can be torn asunder by hate for it; hate for the people who built it.

Ladies and gentlemen, at 31 years of age, I feel as strong as ever, because I know I am edified by Love. I give it, I receive it, and therefore I am it. Self-loved and loved by those whom, though I may be as much as 9,000 miles away, still find time within their hearts and their minds to remind me what I am made of. I am fortified by what is given to me daily, whether I am mentally focused on Love or not. You make me want to be better so that I can represent you better.

It is on this notion, I reflect.

I would like to send a huge ‘thank you’ out to those who despite speaking on July 23rd, called me on July 24th anyway to wish me a happy birthday. To those who I have not spoken to in nine months, but contacted me to wish me a happy birthday. To those who synchronized a watch with New Delhi’s very odd nine and a half hours time difference and called me around midnight my time; I thank you too. To those of you who gave me a birthday shout out on their blog, you have indeed become very special to me CincoSeis & Rusty. Thank you to those who sent me scheduled eCards. Thank you to those who shared a kind word with me and told me what I meant to you; everyone needs that type of encouragement. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Partingly, I say:

As I am Love. . .

I “am” you all. . .therefore. . .

I Love you all!!

1.5 Seconds

2007-07-18T16:40:00.002-04:00

When we’re confronted by a light rain, or a gentle breeze, we have the tendency to overlook the power of nature. It is not often that we’re confronted with winds traveling over 100 miles per hour or waves 105 feet high. When such encounters with nature’s absolute power occurs, they are brief, but disastrous.

1.5 seconds. What would you do if you saw you had 1.5 seconds to live? This person, who resided on Sumatra Island, decided to take a picture of the impending Tsunami. I guess when we have time to think about death, we probably would look to do something more profound. But when confronted with the moment of seeing your death in the immediate future, perhaps you would continue to do, what it is you were thinking to do, at the moment you were to do it.

Then 1.5 seconds later, Puff! The memory of your last memory, stored on a memory card, only to be retrieved 6 months after the captured moment was known to occur. What would you do if you saw you had 1.5 seconds to live?

Albeit

2007-07-18T16:30:00.000-04:00

Your intentions are pure, but your intent is malice and that's what makes things so bad. You fight for what you believe and you're good at being persuasive and that's what makes things so bad. You're a thought-provoking head case whose vocabulary knows no limits, and that's what makes things so bad. You're the most caring person in the world, when you want something in return and that's what makes things so bad.

I won't claim to have barriers or erected walls to what you do, even though I know this because I have seen it all. Your capabilities are many and you have succeeded at plenty and I know this because I have seen it all. You're sassy and sweet, but lose dainty when you devour meat, I know this because I have seen it all. To be with you is guilty pleasure, because you're not good for what we become, I know this because I have seen it all.

Tantamount to my existence I run with resistance, but I always return because that's how it should be. I never fall pray, because God made me that way and I know this because that's how it should be. But when in your limelight, I'm blinded by reminders of wrong-doing because that's how it should be. So despite my lazy pleas to have you release me, I won't go because that's how it should be.

A contradiction, my dear, of thought and of emotion, I cannot figure you out to say the absolute least. You have been the best thing ever and the worst of all kind, a conundrum to say the absolute least. And as I embark on "what's next" I rule out your favor, though I know you won't go to say the absolute least. So I move without steps, a classic misdemeanor at best, against life to say the absolute least.

Practicing C

2007-07-11T16:45:00.000-04:00

It’s the other way around
The baby delivers the stork
Like good meat-eating
Off my sterling silver fork
I'm made of plastic ribs
So there is no real Eve
No woman for conception
To deliver my proper seed
I bathe in fresh air
Dry off in sanctified tides
Live off morsels of thought
Take this life of mine for a ride
Make edible my lust
For non-compulsory riches
No matrix to speak of
So I live between the glitches
My words come like hiccups
Unexpected, yet true
Sprinkled with a little growth
Represent my actions in lieu
Forever I will mean
Exactly what I do or what I say
It’s the only way insanity works
To all things abstract, I pray

You get it right

2007-07-11T16:36:00.000-04:00

You know what?
You’re like that tea with the perfect tinge of honey
You’re like that wash that smells like that perfect mixture of detergent and fabric softener
That bouquet of flowers that bloom all at the same perfect time
That parking spot that opened up 1 minute before you got home
You get it right
And what’s more, you get it right the first time

You’re that unmistakable first impression that lasts someone a lifetime
You’re that movement perfect for the moment, like afros and dashikis in the 60s
You’re that perfect last bite of food on a plate, carved into the right savoring size
You’re that divot in the mattress that only fits my body
You get it right
And what’s more, you get it right the first time

I love you because you know how to love me
You know how to make my cereal in the morning and I’ll be damned if that ain’t important
You size me up when I come through the door at night
Know if I’ve had a bad day
Know if it’s been good
And know how to treat me for both scenarios
You nurse my ego
And toughen up my spirit when I’m acting weak
I never taught you how to do these things, but you know how anyway
You get it right
And what’s more, you get it right the first time

And so I send you these words that no one should ever be privileged enough to express
You bring out my best
Because you radiate your best
We are both blessed
I think you for all you do and there’s one simple reason why
You get it right
And what’s more, you get it right the first time

JayGee Quotable M

2007-07-11T16:33:00.001-04:00

You never realize just how cool a breeze can be until you're in a place that's really hot.

You do, I do

2007-07-11T16:26:00.001-04:00

You trip. . .
But I don’t trip
I sip
But you don’t sip
You reminisce
But I don’t miss
The sweet chocolate taste
Of your cocoa kiss

I dare
But you won’t dare
You fear
But I won’t fear
They snare
But we don’t snare
When we walk hand in hand
With our afro hair

You delight
But I won’t fight
I plight
But you won’t do rite
You gripe
But I won’t gripe
'cuz I won’t let it ruin
This warm mellow night

We got so many differences
You and me
It’s no wonder we act
So vehemently
Towards the existence
Of each other
Black sister
To black brother

But I love you always

Impatience

2007-07-07T11:08:00.000-04:00

I am. . .impatient. . .to most; not to all. I can't stand to wait, so often I sit down for it. I wait on you, I wait on them, I wait on me. For what? I haven't the slightest idea, but I have grown impatient from waiting on it. I am looking for the next best thing; the next big thing and I know it hasn't come to me yet because I'm not moved yet. And so, I sit here, impatiently waiting on what will undoubtedly come. Hopefully it will beat death to me, but I can't be too sure. I just know my blood pressure is getting worse from fingernail biting and anxiety. Calcium and worry don't go together in case you're wonderin'. But I need a release from this bind that forces me to want to rush what's coming to me before it is ready to get to me.

And so self-introspect has only created more self-introspection. Prayer has only created more praying. Hope has only created more longing. And waiting has only created more impatience. I don’t want to be this way, but I cannot help it. For anyone whom has said ‘time’ is not real, has not wanted badly enough.

Time is the referee between two boxers. I am boxing against patience. And right now, he is winning. He is dictating the fight with measured jabs and terrific clock management. He has trained for this fight better than I have. My impatience never wants me to fight for something more than 1 or 2 rounds. So I come out swinging hoping for the knockout. But alas, when that ‘thing’ does not come so easily, I can be frustrated. I can lose. I become another notch on my opponent’s belt. I become. . .impatient.

And though I know that all good things come to those who wait, I long for those good things to come to those who have waited. I have waited; impatiently. But I have waited. I am tired of not knowing what it is I’m suppose to know about this life; this living. I wish to be satiated and no longer look to create the plans that add another 24 hours of age to me. I want to know unequivocal love. But I guess. . .first. . .I need to know patience. I am. . .impatient.

30th Birthday Speech

2007-07-07T11:02:00.000-04:00

Some of you don’t know this about me, but I am fascinated by speeches. I like to write them, give them and read them, as well. Two of my most prized books are Say It Plain: A Century of Great African American Speeches by Catherine Ellis & Stephen Drury Smith and Lend Me Your Ears: Great Speeches in History selected and introduced by William Safire (Thank you GW for lending me this book that I’ve never returned). They give you a wealth of speeches over various topics, genres and timeframes relevant for understanding what spawned each word.

Throw in Brotherman: The Odyssey of Black Men in America--An Anthology, by Herb Boyd and Robert L. Allen, and you’ve got yourselves quite a collection of reads. Though this particular book is not just speeches, it gives you an inside glance at the messages black men have conveyed over the years, in many different forms, whether it be poetry, long prose, short prose or oratory. I believe the ability to give a speech is a very powerful tool to have and probably more importantly, turn your emotion into words that instill your emotion in another person. One of the greatest things about speeches is that, in addition to having a mastery over your words, you must have a mastery over cadence. I work on it almost daily because it is a skill that I truly want to master.

Well, I’m nowhere near the playing field of the orators/authors cited in these three reads, but I want to one day get there. I’ve attached a toast I wanted to give at my 30^th birthday party, but never got/took the chance to. It was to be given prior to my leave to go abroad for a couple years. I came across it the other day and as I sat here and reflected on all of my family and friendships and the specialness of that evening, “truer words have never been spoken.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank you all for coming out tonight. I'm absolutely giddy with excitement this evening. You have to understand, that you all are my celebrities; a who's who of the future leaders of the world and representatives of my comfort zone when the rest of the world feels too daunting to face.

On the brink of his deathbed, a famous baseball player once quipped, "Today, I am the luckiest man on the face of this earth." for me and on this day, truer words have never been spoken.

Birthday parties are often used to celebrate the life and times of an individual. On today, I argue that supposition. Instead, I offer that a party like this can be used to celebrate those individuals who and whom have played an integral part in the making of that individual; those persons who have crafted and cared for me. Taught and schooled me. Scolded and molded me, are as much to be celebrated for as myself.

I am truly, truly grateful to have you in my life and to be a part of your lives.

So as I look to embark on the next adventure in my life, I implore you all to keep doing what you're doing. Be the guiding light in my life that keeps me moving forward to my greater destinations. And continue to be the centrifugal forces that keep me forever supplanted in your lives. Because the further we all move away from one another, the more thoughts and prayers we need to accompany us on our journeys.

So, I ask that you all raise a glass and join me, in a toast to yourselves. The single most important part of me. The part that makes me proud to call you my family, friends and confidantes. The part of me that makes me live another day, each and every day.

To my family: (You know I have to tell you all that I was reared by nothing but women) To the women of my family. Thank you, for coming together and figuring out just what it would take to raise a man. I owe you all a huge debt of gratitude.

To my friends. Thank you for grooming me to become a better friend and peer; colleague and integral part of your lives.

To you.

6 Words

2007-07-07T10:43:00.000-04:00

I received a Myspace bulletin that read:

Ernest Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. The result was "For sale: baby shoes, never used."
(http://smithmag.net/sixwords/)

Here's an interesting and challenging activity. Try to compose YOUR story (the story of YOU) in EXACTLY six words (no more, no less). For some, this may be painful. (It's very hard to tell your whole story in six words.)

So I did attempt to compose MY story in exactly six words. It is. . .

Invisible man finds self amidst humanity.

So, tell me. . .what’s your story?

2007-07-07T10:40:00.000-04:00

Here’s a question: If one of the sweetest oranges I’ve ever had came from a peel that looks like this, then what is the US government doing to make our oranges look. . .well. . .orange?

As is normal for me, I went online to do a bit of research and came across this website on the history of oranges that seems to know it all. Apparently, oranges start off as green, when they’re mature.

It will turn orange only if the cold temperature destroys the green chlorophyll pigments, allowing the yellow carotenoids underneath to show through. In warmer climates, oranges are always green; but, in the US, oranges are green only if they are picked in the fall before the first cold snap or if they are picked early in the spring when the tree is flooded with chlorophyll to nourish the coming new growth. Green oranges will also change colour if they are exposed to ethylene gas which, like the cold, breaks down the chlorophyll in the skin. Oranges are often dyed to attain the orange colour that consumers demand.

~Innvista

Let’s tag this one up to foreign exposure. For one, I didn’t know that the orange originated in India. Fun. Second, why is it more appealing to us if our oranges look orange? And third, what is this ethylene stuff they’re mentioning? Does it cause any damage to the human body?

Well, I have found out all of my answers. Turns out that you can’t spend your whole life being paranoid over every little thing, but this was an interesting lesson to learn while being lazy on a Saturday afternoon.

Ellipsis

2007-06-25T14:11:00.000-04:00

I have learned. . .

To see the beauty. . .

In everyone’s world. . .

In everyone’s heart. . .

Lies the majesty of life. . .

And love. . .

And kindness. . .

If you allow them to show it. . .

I have seen the miracles. . .

That makes pain seem shallow. . .

And laughter seem deep. . .

Wide water’s seem narrow. . .

And crevices seem insurmountable. . .

And they are all one. . .

And the same. . .

Coming from the same source. . .

That is. . .

Life. . .

I am. . .

A believer. . .

That what I have. . .

Is what I have to give. . .

And not keep to myself. . .

It wasn’t given to me. . .

To own. . .

But to share. . .

With those whom are far. . .

To those who are near. . .

And dear. . .

To me. . .

To humanity. . .

To life. . .

To love. . .

It is truly a magical. . .

Place. . .

Thing. . .

I have seen. . .

I never want to leave. . .

So I must. . .

Build a home. . .

Here. . .

And learn. . .

To breathe. . .

Between every word. . .

As if to give. . .

What I say. . .

Life. . .

And meaning. . .

My ethereal self. . .

Acknowledges. . .

My universal self. . .

We are one. . .

We are you. . .

We are me too. . .

. . .

7 Wonders of the World

2007-06-23T11:18:00.000-04:00

View from my hotel room in Kuala Lumpur of Petronas Towers

Question: How many of you know what the 7 Wonders of the World are?

Okay, some of you may have gotten correct and some of you may not have.

Here’s my next question: How many of you know what the 7 Wonders of the world will be as of 07/07/07?

If you tried to guess, chances are you’re incorrect. Technically, no one knows, but maybe a few committee members. On July 7^th, 2007, the 7 Wonders of the World will be announced in Lisbon, Portugal.

This n7w website will give you the opportunity to vote for what you believe should be the new 7 Wonders of the World.

Whether you care about which 7 spectacles make it in the final selection or not, it still would be cool to do a little background study on each of these places and come to understand the rich history within and what drove each civilization to build these structures.

Here are two must visit websites for information on these wonders:

Of the 68 wonders listed on the second site, I’ve visited 7.

Considering, it’s a very unimpressive list, I know. But I am interested in visiting as many as possible; some don’t exist anymore so would be impossible to see. I’ve got a lot of work to do!!

Busy Day

2007-06-18T15:22:00.000-04:00

I had a busy and exhausting day at work. I couldn't wait to get home to rest. I sat my laptop bag down by the front door of my house. I opened the door and as I walked in, I sighed. Just a few more minutes and I will be home. I kicked off my shoes and undressed. Standing there in my boxers, I lied down in my bed and closed my eyes. 2 minutes later, I was home, locked behind the doors of the deepest recesses of my mind.

I can't recall what I thought about, but I felt safe. These worlds, even when dangerous always feel safe to me. I trust my mind. I trust the places my mind takes me. . .the depth, the challenges the non-nomenclature. I trust that in my subconscious, a knife to the abdomen does not mean death for me, but is probably a metaphor for something deeper and more profound, like, like I’m a pushpin attached to the surface of the earth and I can’t move because pushpins can’t move; they stab. And though I am the pushpin, I am also the earth of which the pushpin stabs, kind of like stabbing yourself in the abdomen. . .yeah. And the metaphor? The metaphor is that as long as you’re strong in mind, you can never die. . .perhaps.

And yet, I can’t help, but feel that there’s work to be done when I go to sleep. Sometimes, I feel like I wake up more tired than when I went to sleep. And I’m not tossing and turning all night. My subconscious has just had a very busy night placing my metaphysical in this world afflicted with detachment disorders; they do just enough to keep us all detached from one another. Keep us from realizing the potential of a world community not angered to see one man go down in order to see yourself rise. Whose they? You know. . .they.

The busy work that encapsulates my sleep is worth it to me. I don’t mind it because I’m building metaphysical worlds within metaphysical worlds. I’m building true, true knowledge to pass on to little boys and to little girls. Because someday, someone’s going to look up to me and it won’t be just because of my height. I’ll have to answer. I’ll have to answer to the circles. No one escapes answering to the circles. The circles that brought my childhood to some person’s adulthood, inextricably are the same circles that will bring someone’s childhood to my adulthood. And I don’t claim to know who or what that will be; I just need to be prepared.

So each night, I get real busy and spend my nightshift cogitating on the infrequent juxtapositions that show themselves while I’m awake. These juxtapositions that don’t mirror how life should be, but show us how life is. And I want them to all be one and the same. So each night, I close my eyes real tight like I’m about to dive under water and shut my inside in and leave my outside out. Even my breathing becomes minimal, all in an attempt to ensure the purity of my subconscious world. I dare not let the outside world into its world for fear that my subconscious might start to believe some of this reality that is happening to us today. Some days, I wish I could walk away. But I’m not built for it. Not. . .designed for it. Not. . .equipped to be that man that doesn’t own up to what he owes.

And after much convincing, I wake myself up and do it all over again. Longing for the time when I can come back to that sacred and safe haven and just be. . .me. What’s me? Well, I’m just a thought.

For 8 years, she went uncompromised. . .

2007-06-17T00:19:00.000-04:00

Reflecting on a post written by Nikki on perception of black women on television, I have become deeply saddened by the prospects that perhaps, the world is not interested in positive portrayals of our black women; that perhaps, a troubled black woman makes for a more “realistic” and interesting story than a non-troubled black woman. That perhaps for black women, struggle = “struggle always” as oppose to struggle = “success.” What a disconcerting equation we’ve devised for ourselves, and furthermore, have allowed to be devised by the television producer.

But again, Nikki has covered these bases on her blog far more poignant than any way I could tell it or have seen it previously done. My point here is quite simple. I want to actually give praise and thanks to a particular individual.

For 8 years, this woman played the mother of Sondra, Denise, Theo, Vanessa and Rudy and a host of others not born to her. For 8 years, she was a lawyer who successfully made her way up the ranks to partner at her firm. For 8 years, she relished close relationships with her parents; with her husband’s parents; with her alma mater; with the doctors who helped her to bore her children. She attended parent/teacher conferences. She attended Church and sang with the choir. She cooked, cleaned and gave out healthy allowances. Her kids never begged for money for Jordan’s. And they respected her to no end.

I say all of that to say, thank you to The Cosby Show for the consistent and persistent, positive portrayal of a black woman on television; thank you Claire Huxtable; thank you Phylicia Allen and Phylicia Rashad!

Fwd: Fwd: Fwd: READ THIS!! (just me ranting, ignore me)

2007-06-14T17:26:00.000-04:00

I’m sending you this forward
It’s original in text
So you won’t know exactly
What I’m going to say next
I want you to stop forwarding me
All of your stupid requests
To send out more forwards
‘Cause of some jolting behest
To save somebody’s life
Or a bad blow will be dealt
And if I ain’t praying for myself
I’m sure no forward will help
Don’t want to bother my friends
To get a million dollars from the Gap
And if Bill Gates was offering all that money
By now his pockets would be tapped
How many F-W-Ds in your subject line
Before you know to call it quits
Or do you feel it’s your sworn duty
To broker inbox crowding next
I have had it with the forwarding
No more sending your jokes of the day
Them ishes ain’t even funny
And that’s all I have to say
My request is quite simple
My experiences quite horrid
But please I beg you please
Let this note be the last forward

Notes from my Grandy-ma told by me (WIP)

2007-06-13T15:54:00.000-04:00

History books? Ha! Fuck history books. History books will have you believin’ that in the 1930s, niggas were bungee jumpin’ from trees with no elastic in the rope. It’s terrible the way the truth is known and we still continue tellin’, teachin’ and preachin’ lies.

It’s a shame that with death comes the end of a true story. From then on, it’s no longer your story, but his story; his story that is up to interpretation. His story that is subject to finagling and change. It changes so much that it becomes history. History as we know it will never be our story. Only a fraction of the true taste remains in the flavor of the story; leaves you feeling disappointed and dissatisfied. . .kinda like salmon cakes with too much cornbread in 'em.

Kind of like being black, but not wanting to be black. Not wanting to associate yourself with the deviant culture that represents our race; our complexion. I mean, we couldn't have always been this messed up could we? Behavior is learned. That means someone taught us this shit. Who in the world depicted such a decrepit view of Black Americans that we have learned, nay, accepted that this is how we should be? How we should be toward each other?

Well, that's history. And if we don't find a way to pull ourselves out of His Story and back into Our story, then history textbooks of the future will tell His Stories about the extinction of us.

And so then what’s to become of us? Stuck in the muck and mire of false absolution. Meaning even those who do well are to suffer the same fate of the overall race. It’s sad to think that this is the path. It’s not the path to salvation, but a path; one which we have accepted. I can no more forego the taste of acknowledged existence than I can piss on flowers to water my garden. Everything dies in the end. There’s no life in waste. Reckon I know better than most, that the interpretative stance on life and living is that one is not the other. Life is what we have. Living is what we do. But beyond that, once born, life is no option; living is.

And well. . .I’ve had life and I’ve had living. I lived for my God and for my family. And tain’t nothin’ else important but them there two. I set in motion, the wheels that say each one of my kin generations will be better off than the last. If I did little else, I worked hard enough for that. So my history will never be forgotten, because my history as told by my future kin, only gets better with age. Like the seeds of a dandelion, each time one of my kin travel further away from South Carolina, they’re taking with them, a piece of me further away from South Carolina. So you see, I’ve been to many more places than South Carolina. That’s how I knows it.

Me Stew

2007-06-13T15:38:00.000-04:00

10 parts Leo and 5 parts July
8 parts insanity and 4 parts fire
3 parts unity and 6 parts hue
A huge pinch of brown with a little bit of blues
3 hints of shy and 20 stalks of black
7 sprinkles of a little this, 6 of a little that
5 curds of attitude, 3 sections of uplift
10 drops of triumph, 1 brain-full of resist
Oration of Martin, bluntness of X
Defiance of Frederick with Medgar Evers’ text
206 bones, lots of nerves and sinew
1 beating heart, a combination of all of you
1 slice of humble pie, 13 scoops of struggle
Infinite pieces of cogitation, 1 veil to juggle
1000 cups of love, one black mom’s prayers and plea
This is what it took to make a stew out of me

Lutha. . .

2007-06-12T14:41:00.000-04:00

Goodness gracious, what a great memory!! Let me tell you about something I thought about today:

On my way home from work, I put on Luther Vandross’ greatest hits album and turned to “Since I lost My Baby” on my iPod. The melody hit me like a ton of pastime; or perhaps bricks as the colloquialism goes. I closed my eyes with a smile on my face and at that moment I was sitting on my couch at Ditmas Ave. Brenda Adams brushed by my body on her way to the kitchen with her hands in the air dancing and singing to the song. As was customary, I found myself at the record player DJ’ing my mother’s favorite Sunday ‘dinner making’ songs. The smell of garlic and Lawry’s seasoning salt rose to the sky. Well maybe it was just the ceiling of our apartment, but I was so overwhelmed by the moment, it got me feeling like my place was the world; so overwhelmed with the feelings a son at that age has for his mother. She was God incarnate to me; or at least god-like. And nothing got the heavens singing halleluiah like Luther playing in the living room.

"The bad boy's singing!" What they singin’ about, Ma? I asked customarily. “Nothing you need to know about, Jara, now come cut up these vegetables!” That was her reply with that beautiful smile on her face. The one where she’s half smiling, half biting her lip. It was the most beautiful smile in the world to me. So enchanting. And most of all, I loved it so much, because it signified that whatever our problems were. . .whatever my mother’s problems were, was not so important at the time she smiled that smile. It was at that moment, you could call me a record player, because whenever she got in those moods, I took mental snapshots of all that was going on and I’d try and prolong the sound, the visual, the activity, the smell, the conversation for as long as I could hoping that continuously recreating this moment, I could permanently banish the problems right out of our lives; wishful thinking for a kid. However, those were happy times.

Now for those of you who don't know, there's no good time like a good time with someone you truly love. No video game, no vacation. No celebration, no nothin'. This is what I had; this is what imbibes my mental. A time real gentle to the memory. Gentle to me. It’s the type of memory that softens a hard pillow when you're trying to sleep at night. And you fall back on this memory to make you forget how terrible your day was. Back in it.

And nothing can disturb this feeling, not even the shame of having to go to the tenants next door to ask for a cup of sugar. I hated having to do that; extended pantries as I like to refer to them. Because there was very little interaction otherwise. . .at least between the parents. I was too young to understand this activity as anything else other than not having the money to get what we needed. I would later grow up to know differently, but back then, to ask for a “handout” was not the move.

"I wanna be loved. There's nothing better than that” . . .”Jara, go turn that up!”

I never really liked Gregory Hines. He always had this pompous, egotistical look on his face. Maybe it’s just the face of a tap dancer because I see the same look on Savion Glover’s face. Plus I hated the movie White Knights starring him with Baryshnikov. But there was something about this song that made me change my tune about him. Truth be told, I should have always respected him. He was hustlin’ Hollywood trying to tap his way in to money. . .in to mainstream. But from what I remember, he was always a supporting role.

My mom uses her butt to bump me out of the way as she pours the scalding hot water off the potatoes that will be used for making mashed potatoes.

I guess, no matter how much better than Fred Astaire he was, like Bojangles, he'd never be Fred Astaire, if you get my meaning.

“A chair is still a chair. Even when there's no one sitting there.”

If you grew up as a child with a parent who listened to Luther then I shouldn't have to explain to you that by FAR, this is the most profound love song ever recorded. If you grew up immediately after the era of Luther Vandross, then there's a strong probability he was present at your conception singing grown folk lullabies that had nothing to do with falling asleep while in bed.

By no stretch of the imagination could I say I had the model family growing up. But I’ll be damned if no matter where I was, if mom was there too, my apartment didn’t feel like a home. And that was my biggest take away from this song. Furniture doesn’t mean anything. Asking me everyday how my day went, meant everything. Asking me to see my spelling tests and graded papers meant everything. Giving me a curfew meant everything. I lived in a home because as Luther says, “I had someone there.” Brenda Adams. And though I know the context of the song is a bit off for a mother and a son, but as the only man in the home, there were plenty of days that I couldn’t wait to get home to find the one woman I knew loved me unconditionally.

My car jolts to a stop and I’m broken out of my trance. I turn my iPod off, but leave my smile turned on. For the past couple weeks, he has made his way back into heavy rotation.

I find it only appropriate that I end this blog with the following clips. Enjoy! Thanks, Noey, for sending this to me!

House is not a Home

Superstar

Dream-state

2007-06-12T08:09:00.000-04:00

Some days I fall into a dream-state and think about late Spring in Harlem. If I could click my heels together 3 times and be anywhere in the world, it would be sitting out on a porch watching people walk by. Smoking a clove cigarette and sipping tea. I have my sunglasses on staring up at the sun with my eyes closed listening to the bass line of “Umi Says.” Mos Def’s voice feels so liberating to me.

I open my eyes and look down at the back of my hand. A smile comes over my mouth in approval. There are many, many more days than not that I am extremely happy to be the complexion I am. I am proud to be the struggle that I am. I am proud to be the health that I am. I am proud to be the person that I am. I am happy to be the thinker that I am. I am proud that I have learned that the “Game” can be switched off, if only I can locate the places where that is safe. And I smile again.

I think about my family and my friends. I think about afros and firecrackers. Speeches and peach cobbler. I think about my favorite spades partner and wonder what she’s up to. I grab my phone to give her a call, but decide against it because I don’t want to stop the satisfaction this current thought is giving to me. I think about a point in time when I didn’t care that kool-aid wasn’t healthy for me and it quenched my thirst like no other drink; especially that orange or purple.

I think of the 7 train out to Shea stadium to watch the Mets. Particular happy moments were when my mother got tickets when Doc Gooden was pitching and I could put a guarantee on the fact that she’d get the seats out by right-field so I could watch my hero, Darryl Strawberry do anything.

I think about cartoons that felt like cartoons. Alf and Galaxy High and how much I hoped high school would be just like that. Transformers and G.I. Joe. Pound Puppies and Gummi Bears. I think about when I was young and played with my sister’s big dollhouse; didn’t have to worry about what people thought about that then, it was natural.

I take another drag of my clove cigarette and blow smoke in the air. I smile because the smoke starts to take on the form of church hats. My mother’s collection of church hats and my Grandmother’s collection of church hats. And all the church-hatted women standing in the veranda of the sanctuary at the Presbyterian Church sharing recipes for baked beans and honey ham, looking like a garden full of flowers with all the colorfully rich brims atop their heads. And it reminds me what I liked about Church as a kid.

My heart begins to flutter a bit faster. From my heart’s beat, I pick up a rhythm in my head. The rhythm becomes a melody and I start freestylin:

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Check it
I beats rhymes, check that
No I beats time
Gotta feelin that this life
Is too genuine
My ghetto’s a ballpark
And I’m ridin the pine
Out enjoying the sun
But leaving the game behind
I sign. . .or co-sign my blackness
My nappy headed mind sees
Life and reacts to this
Simplistic view of what it is
You and me
Got white folks believing that
Black's the thing to be
So I sit on this porch
While my mind climbs trees
Swinging through the branches
Like it’s a monkey
And I see, that the intolerable
Nature of grown-ass men
Has me feelin like I’m left
A void within
‘Cuz I’m without
And I talk ‘bout
Being better than the rest
But I dare not travel that route
That. . .ah, ah, ah, ah

I pause and take a sip of tea, because I realize that my mouth is as dry as that freestyle I just kicked. But I smile nonetheless, because why not? Why not smile? Why be angry? Why be discontented and settle for being contented? I take a deep breath and savor oxygen. I’m feeling rebellious though at current, I’m doing nothing that is deserving of this adjective.

I take another pull of the clove and fade out. I’m now in a dreamscape as my body slopes back on the steps reclining in the best way possible against a set of rigid, concrete steps. At once, my metaphysical self, stands up leaving my body behind, just laying there. It stretches and yawns and begins to peruse its surroundings.

Nothing out of the ordinary to record for the sake of my dreams, so it steps off the porch and walks down the block. Though my metaphysical self can’t see, it uses recorded values of my physical walking self to know how far to go to get to were its going. Monochromatic magic, it reads the code in colors and knows its happy greens from its mellow blues. A tree grows in Brooklyn, but a black soul grows in Harlem. Refinement of my people nourishes my metaphysical self as I continuously think of. . .better places for us all. Location-wise and otherwise.

. . .to be continued. . .someday.

Venting: Absurd. . .

2007-06-08T11:56:00.000-04:00

Today, I saw absurdity that usurps all things absurd before it. As I was walking to the pantry in my office, a director blocked my way. He was pacing back and forth and not paying attention to what was in front of him or behind him. Said manager was staring into a blackberry reading his email. What’s so absurd about that you ask?

That idiot was pacing back and forth in front of his desk where his work laptop is located!!

Sit down and get the hell on, playa!! Nobody cares that you have a blackberry, dude!

It's in the numbers (just playing around a bit)

2007-06-06T15:58:00.000-04:00

I once knew twice, that three times a lady, four me was frivolous, so I pled the fifth about my 6^th sense that 7 is golden. And an 8^th of who I am, 9 times out of 10 is real. So I sit on top cloud 9 giving 8 reasons for why 4+3 equals you and me or seven (spiritually). With nothing but a sixpence to my name, I attempt to buy 5 more minutes than I have time four. 3 of which I plan two give to you; the only one for me. It’s in the numbers.

Love To Be Had

2007-06-04T14:01:00.000-04:00

Crazy days
Lazy days
Door keys lock the world out
At the end of the day, we shout
"Weekend's here"
"Glad you're near"
We catch a second wind
Work work's done, but "us" work begins
Briefcases in the foyer
Bodies tangle, show my love for ya
My arms envelop you
You are my package too
I deliver to myself
This kiss is to our health
Another week gone by
Another weekend high
It is time we spend relating
Our union, no more speculating
We undress and get ready for us
Running water calls to unleash our lust
We lay into one another
Bodies smellin like bath water
Engaged in each other
To each other
I hasten to call you, "my dear"
Whenever you are near
Not showing ownership
Showing compassion, that's it
As we face each other
And I lick my lips
Pardon
I lick your lips
Understanding what brew
I got cookin below deck
Give it a few secs
Your love below's wet
And my sail is setting
And together we'll travel the waters
Deep
My boat, your ocean
I've got a notion
Maybe relationships ain’t so bad
When there's love to be had

First Blogs

2007-06-04T02:01:00.000-04:00

So at random points in time, I always go back to my very first blog to see what started it all. Going into that blog, I knew that I wanted to write something special that signified me at the time of its writing, but also looked to express my path; a link from the past that speaks to where I’d like to see myself go.

I still find what I wrote intriguing because I can look at the words and understand some things about myself during the time of that writing:

I was hobbiless and in dire need of self-expression
My job had become a bore on my soul and stripped me bare of my creativity, or so I thought
Overdue. . .it’s amazing the things you could get done if you did those things that were just long overdue
Time. . .inaction multiplied by time equals regrets; personalized formula, but never has a formula been more simple for me to understand, adhere to and avoid its effects
Ownership. . .I always stress that the only thing I own is the information to my past. From it, you can deduce many things, but no individual meeting me for the first time now, would never know me, because you’re missing the most important and developmental part of me. I am a culmination of all of my mistakes, successes, and just plain judgment calls. To meet me and immediately say you know me, frankly, is an insult. Oddly enough, this gives away some of the ownership and perhaps rid myself of any control freakishness too. Emphasis on the word “perhaps.” :-)

It is clear that something drives us to these things. . .these blogs. There is an outward pouring of our soul’s vision on to these pages and it gives us all a stronger glimpse into what motivates; sometimes its fear, legacy or lack thereof, excitement, do-gooding or loneliness. Self-expression, insomnia, attainment or spiritual alignment. Whatever the case, we’re all here sharing our thoughts, feelings and emotions with one another through these magical tongues turned keyboards. It is truly a gift.

So let me start off by saying to all of you bloggers, thank you for sharing your gifts. Thank you for opening up and broadening me. Getting me to say, “Ahhhhh, I remember.” Forcing me to stampede down roads less traveled and explore forgotten territories. Special shout out to Setta B. who brought me to this place called BlogSpot.

Second, my intent is to go to everyone’s first blog entry and comment, as I think it would either further strengthen or weaken my argument above about the first blog. Either way, I will become more knowledgeable because of it.

I Can't Cope

2007-06-03T03:07:00.000-04:00

I can't cope with the fact that there’s no hope tomorrow. I'm so wired, no wonder every morning I wake up still tired. I've battled with the demons and most days, it seems they've won, ‘cuz every day I live life like I'm staring down the barrel of a gun. It’s insane, that this humanistic disdain for the illusions that these smoke and glass mirrors feed our eyes through contusions; we losin’. And any day now our world’s gonna bust, spontaneously combust and all surface areas will begin to rust. But it’s a must, that I convey this message to you today. We pray, only before our heads we lay. . .down, but we should be praying while we’re awake because we need God’s protection then too. I flew, over the coo coo’s nest, but found no eggs at rest. They must have found their way into my breakfast frying pan, which is absurd because I’m still claiming vegetarian. I travel this land like a nomadic man, can’t sleep because I’m still searchin’ for home. So I roam and I traverse, but I know that I’m well versed in the droves of the wretched and cursed, who don’t know if they’re coming or going like a swarm of lotus. Before this poem starts to coalesce and make sense no less, I’ll end it so you can have it and search for your own meanings. In case you’re confused, don’t take this as demeaning it is simply designed for you to play verbal Sudoku. I purposely left out some of the real understanding for you. . .to insert your own and create your own PEACE of the lyrical puzzle.

Being Whitney Houston Brown

2007-06-01T16:30:00.001-04:00

I was listening to The Bodyguard soundtrack the other day (don't ask). I became completely saddened by the thought of where Whitney Houston's voice was and where it is now. This woman could bring people to tears with her voice a la her rendition of the National Anthem.

It is a sad commentary on the power of addiction; addiction and over-indulgence. I promise not to become so enamored with something that I cannot exist without it.

What if. . .

2007-06-01T16:16:00.001-04:00

If you had the opportunity to see 5 minutes ahead of your life at all times, would you take it? Would you avail yourself to always know the truth before the truth knows you? To always know the future before the present has an opportunity to sneak attack? Would you use this power for good or for evil? For personal gain? For sacrifice? Would you try to reverse the affects of on-coming danger? Could you ignore the excitement of knowing what you’ll get before you get it? The anxiety? If you saw that in 5 minutes, you were going to die, would you try and stop it? Possibly affecting the centrifugal force that is pulling you into situations you’re supposed to be in? Would you cower at pending risk and stick your chest out at pending reward? Would you live in fear of those 5 minutes or would you relish them?

If you had the opportunity to see 5 minutes ahead of your life at all times, would you take it?

JayGee Quotable L

2007-06-01T16:08:00.001-04:00

Every woman wants to be treated like a woman. Trick is understanding what they think a woman is.

Baptized in Fright (unfinished)

2007-06-01T16:07:00.001-04:00

Mingled stories of a religious Deity spills on my jacket and stains my lapel like the grape juice I drank in Church. Abnormalities beg for forgiveness as they ask to be just like you and me. The conquered and the conqueror ask to switch places hoping for greener pastures on the other side. Only to find out that the tango takes two and there are no other partners and as they've practiced the same dance, life reflects no more than a mirror image of itself.

You see, as a kid, I didn't always quite understand why people egregiously showed up to Church. "To feel bad," I used to think. And partly, that's true. But what we fail to realize as kids is the business of being an adult. It carries with it, a weight unsensationalized by the mind of a child.

And yet for such a simple task as creating both faiths in a parent and in a God, a child might not quite get what it is they must dedicate to the latter. Yet, He is there; He is always there. Emblematic or otherwise, you're taught to pay homage to the life and times (including our own) of someone or some power so great that He can bring you death, just as quickly as He brought you life. That is. . .Fear.

In the small town of Rock Hill, South Carolina, I was baptized in fright. It sounds more negative than it is. But there is a burden to carrying God around in you. I would never let my Grandy-ma here me say that, but it is true. As a child, if you did something wrong, you learned, quickly, the extent of a parent's punishment; verbal, physical or otherwise. As I got older and my potential for wrong-doing became greater, it was expressed to me more and more just how much, God don’t like ugly. It was frightening to know and learn the lengths a merciful God would go through to teach you a lesson; so said my Grandy-ma, so said the Pastor, so said the Bible.

Consequently, if you did the right things, you had little to worry about; little to fear from God. 'Cept as a child, you also have little knowledge of what's right. And if a sea of adults came to Church to be forgiven for things they may have done wrong, then what hope had we as children to get it right? An eagle-eye opener, for sure, for any adolescent being contemplating the extent of his future existence amongst the adults, let alone, amongst the Heaven’s. . .or if you were me, amongst the Cosmos as my studies of Benjamin Bennaker took me to far off, little black boy places. I digress.

So I say that I was baptized in fright because this is what I came to understand about my life as I knew it. My childish existence was one spent attempting to always be right or righteous by adults who, for better or for worse, could accurately assess my behavior levels and praise or reprimand me as they saw fit. I saw no one reprimanding them, so I thought it was odd that they would go to church to have a Pastor do so, in the name of an invisible, dead Man. As I got older, my knowledge of what's right had grown significantly; concurrently, so had my knowledge of what I could do that was wrong. And frighteningly, ironic enough, it is 'what's wrong' that oft times has the greater appeal.

That is to say, being frightened of the spiritual unknown is even greater as an adult, which then begins to lend credence to my notion of why I feel many people attend church. My assumptions may be wrong, or they may be spot on, but whatever the case may be' they are opinions, things I feel and have come to understand inside of me. The lessons I learned as a child, to be frightened of consciously doing the wrong thing, remains with me today. As we’ve gotten older, we’ve seen many a God-fearing individuals fall on hard times and it is then that we say to ourselves “that person must have done something wrong!” or “where was God for that person?” The answers, let alone the questions, lend very little solace to the daily situations at hand that at any moment have the ability to consume any one of us or all of us simultaneously.

My point is simply that the fright remains with us, consciously or subconsciously. Even those who do bad things are cognizant of the oft spoken of spiritual, after-death consequences of living a bad life. . .whether they choose to believe it or not is the faith. I won’t speak on my belief that we all live our lives into fruition for fear that I may spark a heated debate with some folks. I have given some background behind my “statement of personal fact” and I will end this blog, where it began:

I was baptized in fright.

Writer's note

2007-05-31T16:38:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-28T15:09:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-28T15:04:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-25T14:42:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-18T23:45:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-18T23:10:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-18T23:07:00.001-04:00

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

2007-05-18T23:05:00.001-04:00

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

2007-05-18T22:59:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-18T16:39:00.000-04:00

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!!

An Ode to My Spades Partner (An Ode to Joi)

2007-04-23T16:53:00.000-04:00

I can tell by that twinkle in your eye,
You know what I’m thinking
And just like magic, you and I,
Together, make wonderful books
That tell stories of victories won,
Trains ridden and friends lost
Because there’s no room for hate at the table
And 500 don’t take all night
So let’s show ‘em what these Spades can do before twilight
You got 4, I got 4 and a possible
We so good, that sounds like 10 to us
No, our math ain’t perfect, but the cards we make dance
Around the table are
You trump hearts, I trump clubs and nary 3 diamonds between us
‘cept that deuce
And, baby, we all know that’s a Spade
We cuttin’ like a blade
Our opponents, once with chicken wing arms
Now don’t even bother to reach out for books
We give ‘em that look
It’s hopeless after that, we laugh to our own soundtrack
As we match up suits, back, to back, to back
Our voices get so loud across the table, we might as well
Be screamin like we’re 5 miles apart
I’m talking so much junk, a turd falls out my mouth
And clear off the tip of my lip onto the table;
Now that’s some good shit talkin’
We’ve all got 3 cards left, you flip all of yours over
Big, Little, deuce of Spade
And just like that, the last train has left the suburb
And you, you my dearest Spade partner
Are the conductor

JayGee Quotable K

2007-04-21T10:38:00.001-04:00

The past is for memories, not living.

Where have you been all of my life?

2007-04-20T15:09:00.000-04:00

Me? I've been in the stew pot marinatin' in that good shit. That paprika shit and that lawry's shit. That garlic shit and that black pepper shit. They put the lid on me thinking it would hide me, but it only served to. . .you guessed it, let me marinate and come to a slow boil. But like much steam when it accumulates, something's got to blow.

I popped my lid and. . .well. . .here I am!

Indelible Mark

2007-04-18T00:26:00.000-04:00

Etched deep in my skin
Like a beauty mark
Like stage fright
On opening night
Like. . .like cotton candy sweetness
Made soft and fluffy for eaten
Lost in the memory of my youth
Like stretch marks turned
Beautiful paintings
Telling the story of childbirth
Deep like hair follicles
Coiled and napped close to my scalp
Like my favorite book
That forced me to see the invisibility
In us all
Like red wine and sunshine
They go hand in hand since one helps grow
The grapes for the other
Like. . .like rubbing earth on to my skin
And not seeing the difference
Like undefeatable strength developed
Because of your woman’s Love
Like your favorite bowl of cereal
For dinner
Like leaving home and dreaming of
Your return
Like my sister, helping her brother
You have left an indelible mark
On my soul

My Advice While You Sleep. . .

2007-04-16T04:12:00.000-04:00

Dream
Dream light
Dream bright
Dream moments could be better
Dream you will make them better
Dream happiness
Dream health
Dream Sex, ‘cuz it’s natural
Dream lullabies for adults
Dream string instruments
Dream beauty
Dream honey-sweet
Dream lucidly
Dream radical
Dream free
Dream endlessness
Dream

Then awaken and live those dreams

Open air

2007-04-14T13:47:00.000-04:00

I sit ‘cross from you
Mirrored minds
Dream wonders of
Daylight in the night
Biblical drip drops of
A sane man gone wild
By the statistical Revelation
That it ‘tis what it ‘tis
And you is what you is
And Iambs what Iambs
Without the pentameter
To complicate things
I swing low off your high brow
Never needing confirmation
For my existence to you;
In you; I live one breath
At a time, we sip wine
Until we realize it is the blood of us
And knowing that one day
We will remember someday
And someday we will remember
Every day for the rest of our lives
Sunrise, brings newness to old
And oldness to memories
As we chant it down making stories
Of a past made obsolete by
Time changes. I change the time
On my other clock never forgetting
What time of day it means to be
Sitting. . .centrally located in the U.S.
But US? No time nor distance can
Separate a homesick mind in need
Of homecookin’ or at least, homebrewin’
I don’t make a fuss, I just rush
Back home, get undressed and make
A mad dash to my bed, to sleep,
Then dream, then join you there.

Alive

2007-04-14T13:46:00.001-04:00

There is a delicate balance between the alive and the living; hardly noticeable by most, but very pertinent to those who spend their lives living and not just alive. There’s an application that must be accessible to each of us that says breathing is the mode by which my body lives so that my brain may exact the living. Every notable person you have ever come to know started out an infant, born unto a Mother with little more skill involved than the ability to take their first breath. Fast forward to how many ever years you’ve been on this Earth and know that if you’re still only breathing, then you’re no different than the baby you began your life as.

A lot of times, we sit and stultify our growth because we choose to believe that the best of us has past. Not to say this is conscious thinking, but we look back at our youths when we were graded daily on our performance and see that as the successes we have realized or have had to realize. As we become adults, there are no more grades, there is no more exact study, there are no more teachers unless we go out and seek these things or become these things, whichever one.

And all I’m saying is that there’s no living in the past. The past is the one thing that ekes away from us like water through a drain. We can no more utilize that water than we can utilize a 10^th grade math medal to speak to our potential at 30. And yet, this is where we put ourselves; scared to face the future. Scared to predict successes because we forget how to set goals and not be too tired to accomplish them; because no one is grading them. We forget to dream and relegate our future to little more than our pasts.

Instead I tell you this. There is nothing wrong with being an adult and dreaming. Every course is navigable by change and so your course of life can too change. If you’re using your past to help propel you through your future, then there is nothing wrong with that, but use it as a model, not as how things could be. Don’t try and make a return to youth because you’re no longer young. Figure out the next stage of your existence and become it; that should be your goal. And in the end, you cease living in the past and begin compounding on it.

Let your "dare to" dreams and your "I remember" past tango.

Ummmmmmmm

2007-04-14T13:44:00.000-04:00

Ummmm

Damn! Give me some!

Give me some of that what-you-got

I need it because it makes me feel like me

Back when I was handlin’ things

When I was in control, when I was in my element

Give me some of that what-I-need so that I can stand to

Live another moment. To live another day; another point in time

Give me some of that what-you-say, because I like replaying it in my mind

All the time, I see why grown men cry at you because you make

Them feel so sweet.

Give me some of that it’s-so-good, so that I can remember what good felt like

What good is like, what is good.

And just when you think you’ve given all you can give?

Please allow me to give you some of that you that you gave to me

That some of that what-I-get, so I give in return

Some of that right-on-time, sprinkled with a bit of your what-you-say

And then. . .and then. . .and then. . .

Let’s give it to the World.

I'm Just Me

2007-04-12T15:14:00.001-04:00

Every day. Each day. I live. And I need you to understand that. My detriment is to be in this world, but it’s not how I live in it. My existence is one mired in disbelief, but every day, each day, I must curry favor to that which allows me to breathe. That which guarantees you hear a "Hello" on the other end of the phone whenever the mood hits you to call.

That what I know doesn't come from study, but from real life experiences that make me as much knowledgeable as you are. That you don't attain 30 years of existence on a wing and a prayer without applying the skills that is to listen and learn.

I have learned. I learn, I am learning. I will learn what it is to be a better me amidst the sea of "like" me's and choose the right course of demeanor like my outfits I choose each morning to go to work. And yet, I understand my dimensions. There are more than 3 because I see that which is not tangible. And those said things are outside of the 3 dimensions my corneal lenses can refract to me.

My world is of one that seeks ignorance abstinence and I cannot. . .I repeat, I cannot let myself down. Why? Because I was taught better. Therefore, I learn better. This is not even just me talking right now; this is the better part of me, which knows when it is ok to let the worse part of me do what it do, while pulling on the reigns when things appear to be on the verge of getting out of hand.

I fear failure, not because I believe I will fail, but because we all, at some point play a not so friendly game of duck-duck-goose with failure and sometimes, we're tagged the goose.

Coincidence? Never. But we should know that to fail is not the end of the world, just like to be tagged "goose" is not the end of the game. Instead, we must become the lion on gazelle legs that is both hungry and scared of being eaten. But each must remain alive until that point in time when earthly we are no more.

Or at least no more alive than whence we first started to understand we could not live forever. . .physically. I've already solidified my non-earth existence. I do so every day. Each day. As I live.

This is a piece of who I am. Please Love me.

Moonlit Love

2007-04-12T02:55:00.001-04:00

At night, I fight make-believe wars in my head
Trying to conjugate verbs with no actions
Feeling black, but glowing bright
Against the pale moon light
I stare straight, but my thoughts bend
Towards the wind that flutters west of my existence

My insomnia is caused by hydrogenated thoughts
Floating out of me taking pieces of me
Up to the sky where I truly feel I was born to be
But maybe, it helps to be grounded and remain
Humbly concreted to the Earth’s surface
As I use the leverage to subdue mental contraband
I hold in my head and I hold in my hand
As I touch myself wishing it was you

The hue that clouds my face like a veil or like
My veiled existence, poppin’ hot like Crisco
Cooking biscuits in a frying pan because
The stove won’t light
Well lit maturation of a slave turned free thinker
Pulling my future through a funnel
My past has become a tunnel and with each passing day
I write

Words to paper, I beseech you to visit me through this pencil
As I collect you through my mental stimuli that
Sets my body on fire, blowing blue flames across
The wicked terrain that shakes and rattles on
Ungreased wheels propelling the Earth around in
One circle every 24 hours
I devour the paper, once the words create her and I know
Through it, through you, it is black Love that keeps me. . .
Awake

Chocolate Sex Appeal

2007-04-11T06:59:00.000-04:00

Chocolate & spoon-fed
Oasis in her eye
Deep-dive dimples
Make death come alive

Regimented silence
Enter room with a view
Table nightstanded lilies
Blue lights, dark hue

Tilted slight glare
Slim waist, thick hump
Smile that encages
Sweet sunshine, heart pumps

Fantastic notions
Optimistic world sights
Androgenistic potions
Capture me, by nights

Grab you, hold me
Love you, show us
Made you, do me
Breathe heavy, rest us

Fixated exhaustion
Replicated movements
Leave 'cuz you must
Know this; I'll lament

untitled WIP. . .

2007-04-04T07:12:00.000-04:00

The mystery of inequity is buried deep within our prose
When we stand and we talk about things that we don’t know
Like dogs and garden tools, excuse me, I mean bitches and hoes
And we act mean towards our friends, and act kind toward our foes

My absolution for all men is wearing slightly paper thin
I have lost the keys to the kingdom that used to reside within
My creation is folly until I see my purpose and then
I can begin to act on those actions to hopefully better our men

But currently I am lost; I have fallen clear off the stage
And stumbled out onto the streets where lies my inner rage
Waiting for the day, I’m picked up and locked inside a cage
Forever closing the book on me and thus losing the once known page

My insanity has grown to an uncontrollable bulge
I look at human existence and don’t understand our fold
We make mention of righteousness based off stories told
By the Bible, but many of us never revisit our souls

I shutter to think what life would really be like
If instead of picking up a book I had decided to be like Mike
A rich basketball player who’s fallen silent after the game
Which goes to show there’s more to this life than just fortune and fame

We all have a power inside that surges within
If we encourage ourselves we can be more to our family and friends
We must build ourselves first from the anti-matter to our next of kin
Then we’ll all be siblings in the same battle; sisters and brethren

The difference is. . .

2007-04-04T07:10:00.000-04:00

I am a writer. One day, I hope to become an author. “But aren’t they the same thing?”, you may ask. No. The difference between a writer and an author is that a writer just knows how to write. An author knows when to stop writing. An author knows when a story has run its course. An author will leave you waiting for the next time s/he writes.

Writers give you no such luxury. They write and write and write and then when they think they have written too much, they begin to fade their story. A great story should never fade. Like human life, it is the difference between withering away and dying an honoree death.

Your value is greater when it can be remembered how great you were, than to pretend your greatness can defy the inalienable diminishing returns of time. Unless those returns are great memories, there aren’t any returns; they’re droppings, if you get my drift; or perhaps, if you take a drift on what I am saying.

An author’s story never ends. No matter how many titles s/he may come up with, it is all from the same story; the story inside your head. It has neither beginning nor end. It is a part of the continuous stream we call life, but is so much more than that. The ‘line’ we live on that continues time immemorial allows us to be but tiny specs on its existence. Blips, that if we’re lucky will be passed down the line to future generations. . .that is if our impact is strong enough.

What turns a writer into an author is his ability to compartmentalize his life. How can I give a beginning and an end to one particular phase? Don’t get me wrong, a writer can tell a great story, but it takes an author to put understandable parameters around “what I want to say. . .”, “what I am saying. . .”, “what I said.” If the reader can walk away answering those 3 questions on behalf of the penman, then it is a good authored story.

I am a writer. One day, I hope to become an author. . .(fading)

Your Passing Will Not Be in Vain!

2007-04-03T07:32:00.000-04:00

On Saturday morning, I found out from my Mother that my cousin, Shawn in Trenton, had to suffer through her Son being taken away from her by a bunch of robbers who took something much more valuable than any amount of printed money; they took away a 20 year old, black man's life. He ran for it, they ran after it; they ran faster.

Though I didn't know Naquan and may remember having met him once when he was but a young teenager, I do feel some sense of responsibility. I have tons of male cousins and their children who I don't know, nor do I have any type of contact with. Though I will be the first to admit that I'm not your typical role model, it can and has been argued that I have done alright by my self, my family and the black male in society. But there's always room for more.

I should do a better job of reaching out to some of these kids and checking on them. I was fortunate enough as a child to look at my Mother daily and conjugate her actions into what I would expect to see from a male role model. It worked. I am, as tough as Brenda Adams, in more ways than physical. I should extend myself to my family, as much as, and as frequently as I extend myself to my friends. And for that, I do feel remorseful.

No, I didn't know Naquan, but I know "Naquan." And though the man, by his namesake, is no longer with us, the man as a representation of our youth, is still alive and fighting for survival. I must do more.

Naquan, here is to you and your life cut down entirely too quickly. Shawn, my dearest cousin, my condolences go out to you as you go through this difficult time.

My mother sent me an email this morning asking me if I might prepare a few words, a poem or some prose that can be read during Naquan's funeral. She prefaced her note by saying "I know you're very busy. . ." Her words hurt though very justified. I prepared a poem that she may read and though quick and rough, I thought I would share with you.

I'll end by saying here, before it's too late, because tomorrow is DEFINITELY never promised, I LOVE you all!!
-------------------------

Your Passing Will Not Be in Vain!

In life, there are circumstances which we cannot control
There is an evil that resides amongst us that we must all behold
Though tireless our efforts sometimes we’re not allowed to reach our goals
And it is at those times, as a family, we must look to God to remain whole

Naquan, you are a blessing though your life came and went far too soon
We cherish your life in the physical form, though now only mentally your life resumes
And though we mourn, on this day, for the passing of a soul evil has consumed
We rejoice in the light of your life that has touched us internally like both the sun and the moon

We promise to take good care of your memory; two wrongs will never make anything right
We believe in the paths the Lord holds for us all, and so your passing was due to his insight
We wish we could have you back in an instant, for this reality we would all gladly fight
But it is out of our hands, so pray as we may, we now look to you as our angel to shed to us light

So rest my child, my Son, my black brother, for God has called you home in his name
It is not always only those whom are important to him who live a life of fortune and fame
For each one called home will live in eternity, though physically they may never rise a-gain
And know that each of us dedicates a part of our lives to you; your passing will not be in vain

May God Bless the spirit that is your life, Naquan, so that someone, anyone can learn a valuable life changing lesson from this unfortunate, unfortunate loss.

It Breathes. . .

2007-03-28T16:15:00.000-04:00

Life spans the earth in infinitesimal matter raging across the wind’s back dipping through the earth’s core swallowed by the carioles that pushes and pulls the tides. Day’s end is marked by dusk and night’s end is marked by dawn. The roster crows for he knows not the light of day or the light of dusk.

What lives. . .

Do we live? Do we exist? We conceptualize so many other things, could it be possible that we conceptualize our own lives? If I thought that a sharp knife through someone’s heart would hurt, then if it happened to me, would I not say ouch as a reaction? What do you think?

What gives. . .

Not me, the capitalist pig I am. I take, and create, and most importantly generate. I generate other human beings, other dollars, other cents. I accumulate like an old dusty attic, never truly inheriting the worth of all that I’ve seen and heard. But making a deposit on history and withdrawing from what I’m to be paid, not what I have saved.

What is. . .

We are not. We are ideas, figments of our own castration that we all have suffered, as we’ve been severed from the innocence we’re only entitled to as children. No gender biases here, just species. Sleeping, eating, fucking, procreating, lactating, sleeping, eating, fucking, procreating, lactating. Do I speak in circles? It sure as hell feels like I’m traveling a straight path. History repeats itself, but I won’t!! Instead, I’ll do something blindly similar and repeat after history!

The Beggar (A second piece)

2007-03-28T16:05:00.000-04:00

Well, in order for this next blog to make sense, you'll have to go back to December 5th, 2006 to see a piece called "The Beggar." It is a small story that I have started writing. I eventually got back to it and wrote another little small piece. If you can, go back and read the first piece and then fast forward to below:

My first reaction was to deny her assessment of my poor faith. I wanted to tell her that she was wrong and not because she was wrong, but because how in the world could she know what my heart was telling me about this India? I was flabbergasted and what’s more, incapable of fibbing. My heart began to speak its pain:

Of course I have no faith; look at this place! There are poor people everywhere! The children are not protected and given a fair shot at education. The buildings, they are eroding and not because of age, but because of dirt. There is dirt everywhere! Tiny little particles that spend all day being kicked up on top of each other, hoping for the opportunity to be kicked up so high that they can float to your nose and clog your sinus system.

I have had it with this dirty place. And when I drive along, I can tell. You all have had it too. But you don’t show it in a way that let’s me know you’re ready to fight for better. You all look as if you’ve given up. And it tears me apart. I have no faith because even though I look at you and see Indian, and you look at me and see American, we are all one and the same. There is little difference from who we are other than where we’re born. And what pains you, pains me because I have to witness it. That’s why I have no faith.”

“We are not the same. You have no faith,” she replied again. “You see what you think you see because it is what makes sense to you. We struggle like you struggle like everyone in the world struggles. Our home is our home and we live by the rules governed by our land. Our land has dirt. We must learn how to live with the dirt. You can’t clean that which is. You can only push it aside or pretend it does not exist. But it is dirt. I may one day come back to this Earth to be that dirt. And to me, that doesn’t sadden me. That is. Faith is. You have no faith that what guides you is bigger than you or your decisions. We live by our Faith and let our faith guide us, because we know that what is meant to be will be.

“That look that you see upon our faces is not one of giving up. It’s one of acceptance that each day we live is another blessing from God. And each day we see the dirt and feel the dirt is another day that God has blessed us with life. If the dirt irritates your skin, wash it off. That’s it! Nothing profound. You want the dog out of your way, then shoe it away. But don’t be mad at the dog for existing. You are angry. I believe you are angry because you have no faith. I come to you begging for change. And instead of being happy to have the ability to give, you are angry to have been bothered by a beggar. Why is that so? I must live like you must live. We must live together. Yet you speak of you and me being one and the same, but you deny me my existence by frowning upon it as if I should not exist. Why is that so?”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t exist. . .”

“And your mouth didn’t have to, your eyes said it. It is the look of contempt. You want to help, you want to encourage. But you cannot give out what you do not believe. We need people to show us the faith, not 5 piece rupees for food. Each human that gives to another human is showing the faith and in the end, that’s all we can ask for."

Circuitous Nature of Life

2007-03-27T01:04:00.000-04:00

It is indeed the circuitous nature of life; the palindrome of our existence, to repeat, then to repeat again the faults of restless men, too busy to correct the wrong. To knowingly settle for the sublime when bigger and better lie encrusted behind a mixture of sweat, hard work and mental persistence. Faults so old, they sit inside our skin like DNA. Bridges neglected by lazy builders too caught up in trying to cross the bridge before they can finish erecting it.

I've seen it all. Well, maybe not all, but enough to inform me of specters of truth. You see, the reality is we don't create reality; reality creates us. And we think so lazily that we cannot see how that plays out. We wear dormant attitudes like bubble geese coats in winter and like flip flops in summer.

You never know when lightening may strike until your hair rises. Problem is, we put so much grease in our hair that it never raises. Strike! And there we are; lying in a pool of stagnation, bleeding complacency and coughing up nerve; blasted into oblivion, only to further exist as particles floating in the wind and dangling off of empty matter.

What’s worse is we speak. We speak without action. We speak without movement. If we didn’t have to get from one place to another, I doubt some of us would move at all. But we sure can talk about it. As the theory of change facilitates our metamorphosis into subcutaneous beings, we forget that our outer layer of skin is the first mode of contact with the world. But, boy, can we sure talk!

Our movements have become pitiful. We walk in circles and we talk in circles; sometimes clockwise and sometimes counter-clockwise. We don’t know if we’re coming or going, but it doesn’t really matter because we’re always sure to find someone “there.” And to us, that’s all right; that’s enough. To know that no matter the final destination, someone will be waiting “there” for us. I take no solace in that. I take no solace in traveling the road so known that at each turn rests tourist signs and Starbucks couches.

I take no solace in going to places where locals hang on relics of Americana like living exhibits making martyrs out of their ancestry because somehow someway, you know they fought for cultural preservation a little bit harder than those of today. Yes indeed, it is the circuitous nature of life to divulge secrets of our histories to the commander and chief whilst giving him the pestle and mortar necessary to pulverize the remaining shreds of connectedness. We marvel at the ability. We marvel at the sight like car crashes before our very eyes. But no matter how amazing the sight, there is only destruction resulting. So much so that we can forget about going back to the drawing board where the blueprint has turned to dust.

In its stead? We find evolution. But not evolution of body. Evolution of mind. We find father time aged and with wrinkles. We find mother nature, weathered and tired of the storms. We find God lying down, tired of standing upright, or for what’s right as it were. We find empty bottles of libations and caterpillar casings with dying, uninspired butterflies with skeletons for wings. We find, depravity in the form of a healthy 25 year old begging someone, anyone. . .to tell him which direction he needs to go, because he wasn’t taught and thus lacks the training to find his direction out for himself. We find copper pennies, worthless money no one wants. We find hamburgers and French fries drenched in ketchup. A pack of cigarettes next to a broken lighter. A case of bottled water next to a river with human feces and impoverished, bathing children floating in it. We find flecks of dead skin and empty bottles of sunscreen lotion. Tornados leaning up against trees panting for fresh air, too tired and sick to spin. Lady Liberty being taken away in handcuffs because she came over illegally and the government couldn’t find the paperwork on her. For all they know, her hollow cavity could be harboring weapons of mass destruction. We find clay jars and metal pots. We find a rose in quarantine on a metal table surrounded by horticulturalist performing surgery on it to reattach its beauty. We find George Bush with a shotgun in his hands shooting at apparitional demons floating about his head calling him “father.” We find angst masked as happiness. Diet masked as salad dressing. Pain masked as commonplace. 10 pills in a pillbox and a bottle of Evian water masked as one square meal. We see a teddy bear on the shelf with thread holding his button nose on by a strand of itself.

We’re not kids anymore. It’s time we stop leading these children around in our circle, and take them to a different path. We must not continue recreating how we did it for generations to come. We have not done it correctly and so we must dispose of those ways.

It is the circuitous nature of life we must overcome.

Brooklyn (unfinished)

2007-03-27T00:57:00.000-04:00

Under the Brooklyn moonlight, I try to get my mind right for the dusting of visuals about to overcome me.

I throw on my baggiest jeans, air max 95s, grab my clippers to sharpen my edges now it’s time for me to hit the streets

It’s difficult to describe a day in Brooklyn, it’s just something you'll have to come to any neighborhood and allow yourself to see

No place I know is so beautifully violent with all my peoples hanging on street corners, playing cee-lo, rockin' sport jerseys

And we set in our ways, we work hard through the night, exciting fights, low lights and then morning arises and we’re okay

But that’s when we sleep watching the sun seep and burn away like incents or a candle in the middle of the day.

And when the moon awakens, so do our minds and like scavengers, we hit the streets to find our living prey

It’s not always food sometimes it’s just a fix that we need to sustain us as we spiral through time and exist our lives away

We’re ignoble and emblematic of a state of mind that is tough and trendy like Scarface or any other sweet and turbulent snafu

So we chastise our own selves because we can’t believe that our lives are long, yet list of accomplishments short like some deranged haiku

And our children? They’re spearheading the way with a patience unknown as they search for their comeuppance

Unpalatable static, enigmatic and we try and understand the “Stubborn” in them with their suggestive attire, we should take a hint

Can't tell a young cat that 87 degrees is a reason to not rock a hoodie in the dead middle of summer

Can’t tell him it’s too warm to wear Timbs on his feet, especially when he knows that mid-lows come in springtime colors

We would spend a “hunned” dollars a weekend for disposable cars if we could just to say that for a small spell, "yes,we own ‘em"

Ain't tryna clown my people, that's just our mentality in the hood and we know it so with each generation we begin to clone ‘em

I reach into my pocket to see what I possess, four dollars cash just enough to get exactly what I need

Walk to the bodega window, “yes sir, let me get a turkey/cheese hero, some Doritos, a Pepsi, a sour apple blow pop and 1 loosie