and the cursor blinks

I had a good morning today. My meeting went well. It was rejuvenating and enlightening to feel supported by someone who barely knows me, but feels my energy and understands my truths. and the cursor blinks... I came home readhy to "tidy" up and get prepared for a joyous moment and then these feelings.... the ones way over there. They came back again and sucker punched me. and the cursor blinks... It blinked over and over again while I stared at this page and wondered what I would say.... I am irreversibly scarred... not like... not like the scar from the surgery I had this summer. That scar is a gentle reminder of how great GOD is.... it... its.... like living with a death sentence and fighting it everyday. You often choose to enslave every move forward.... those hands dig into your skin and molest every ounce of your being... over, over, and over again.... failure becomes a reminder of your useles flesh. disruptions become a reminder of how you can be overlooked. Unhealthy relationships are reminders of how dysfunctional you really are.... and the cursor blinks. It blinks. I type. It blinks. I sigh... and not want to move from this space. Shyt..... this thing is eatin at me.

Muhfugga got the nerve to call somebody...

It's been... It's been 33 years since you first loved me. Loved me in a way that was supposed to be. I was five just sleepin. To bed my mother put me... asleep I lay and your hand tugged against my leg. It's been 33 years since you first loved me. The hot semen runnin down my legs and "shhhhhhhhhh" were the words I heard you say and "come here" was an often call and I remember the closet, the one you hid me in next to the hall. It's been... It's been 33 years since you first loved me. I remember, I remember the time you asked permission for me to go to the laundromat with you. Remember? Yeah, how you got out the car after parking it next to the high school. Nevah washed clothes on the side of the street, but you washed your body against mine... I guess that counts right? Your cleansing... not mine. It's been 33 years since you first loved me and now you wanna, wanna make a phone call to daddy. Ha, ha... did you tell him how you made me suck your dick? Punk ass muthafuckka... It's been 33 years since you first loved me. Hope you bringin a condom this time, cause I can get pregnant fo real... not like the mental pregnancy you forced me into and now I gotta deal with the afterbirth. Yo punk ass relived your own misery. Was it because daddy left that you were so aroused to abuse and leave me? What was it. I'm swimmin with this feelin of fuckin yo ass up..... I cant stand you. I've murdered you in my mind long ago and now you wanna call. Please, please tell him where you use to touch me. Please tell him that you made several introductions to my body. And I heard you got five kids now.... I wonder which one got to meet you in the other room. This shit kills me thinking about it. It's been 33 years since you loved me. Was it that easy to store away thoughts of Kindergarten lips on your genitals... huh? You a sick ass muhfugga...... and yeah I'm pissed! I oughta be. Somethin gone blow... gotta figure this one out. You can't tramp around and fuck up people's lives and resurface like Robin Hood... You aint here to save nobody. You aint did shit but terrorize me and God knows who else. It's been 33 years since you loved me. But this year "nigga" it looks like I might be loving you.

?

Jet-scaping across my land. You zig zag herer and therer and now you land. Down the stairwell into my soul, swole, my heart... it beats with you by its side. Closer. Closer to my dreams. Ha,ha.... just strummin.... Goapele is playin and I'm thinkin bout chu! Funny how... how my words like to run between the lines. You know the ones I'm talkin about. The phonetically, grammatically correct lines and kiss the potpourri of letters that squeeze next to eachother when I type... da ones dat soun' like dat <---- that. Yeahhhhhhh.... I just reread that post about me givin that white boy some money. That shit was serious. I was in there. Walkin with Bigger, Bessie, Mary, Jan and the Dalton's. Walking with the detectives and the raiding of all those innocent black people. I was in there. I was in there walking with my people's pain. Damn.

Death in the eyes of a bystander

When does ignorance stop being my friend? Sometimes my thoughts are fleeting and intentioned for escape. Then I, I grab hold and let them dance throughout my mind, my body, my soul. I've never witnessed such savagery. The blows to the face, the body , the stompin. Were there weapons? I'll never know. Brown and Black children clawing their lifes miseries into eachothers veins. Swinging with hope to land on new ground. Attacking the unfamiliar and striking something that they already know. Poverty. Despair. Drudgery. Dismembered bodies thrown across the crowd. Everyone wanted to be a part of this. It was a part of their something. "Like Bigger", did they now feel free? The pulse of the campus swims into mouths that ventgure in and out ofm y office. They came in to release Jonah from their scarred cave beneath their bosoms. A delivery and theiur gone. Gone to swell again and deliver more. Anger floated above the crows. The fists beat on flesh in temp as if striking a drum. Boys hit, thump, thump, thump. Girls swung, clink, clink, clink. Boys pummeled, thud, thud, thud. Girls fell. One passed out, almost trampled.

I gave a white boy five dollars today...

I had to skip my bart connection and get off a lil early. One stop before my intended destination. I made a promise to return to that second story room, knock on the door, and leave the cash behind. I felt good about payin my dues. Makin it even. Squarin out the deal. It wasn't unusual. Somethin me and her had worked out. I guess I was just a tiny bit bothered, because me and Bigger's conversation had to halt. I knew it would be disrupted, but I didn't know how to tell him. Him clinging to his own truth of how the world had caused him to murder long before. Long before he beheaded that colorless girl. Her head dangling in her own blood. Dark locks swirling in the pool of plasma. Baptizing strand after strand... It wasn't the burning of her flesh that stripped Bigger of his own dignity. It was long before and, and as I learned of who he was, is, on my campus, in the streets, in my family... I... I..I had to cease the conversation and make my departure.

When the cage door opened I walked out... Book in hand, Bigger close by, brisk air teasing my lips. I was drunken by his confession. It took a moment to gather myself and shift my body forward with each motioning step. I witnessed the world and wondered ... just wondered. My mind was still on my arranged meeting. I suppose it would be a dull encounter. Me. The door. A knock. A delivery. A brief arrangement, but warranted. I made it down the stairs and ventured in the direction of the ATM. It's almost a gurantee that I have to go 200 feet or so in the opposite direction before I head towards my destination. I often go back before moving forward. It has become an automatic response to yearning to achieve. I could prepare ahead of time knowing that I am to make this delivery and not have to go backwards, before moving forwards. Again, my mind professes the silent "A-Ha" in this mini discovery. I.. I... I went to the ATM machine and on my way I encountered a little white boy and his mother. I saw them in the distance. A table. Items on the table and an intent to solicit. I figured they would reserve their sales pitch when I walked by. I glanced as I got closer and then hurried my eyes in a different direction. 10 steps away, 9 steps, 8 steps, 7, 6, 5, 4, .... "Excuse me." The young boy blurted out. His words snatching my attention. I slowed carefully and turned my body in his direction. "Would you like to buy a brownie? I'm trying to raise money to go to France this summer and..." I jumped in and said "What school do you go to?" He was a bit puzzled by this question. He said "What school?" I said, "Yeah, what school?". He thought about it for a minute and said "St. so-and-so" and his mother quickly followed up with, "He'll be at Oakland Tech next year". I didn't think anything of that comment until now. Now, as in 1:26 a.m. on my damn couch.... Anywho, I caught a glance at the brownies and thought they looked tasty, but I couldn't have one. I also felt a small obligation to support him. I thought I would give a dollar to his cause, but found that I needed the dollars, because I had counted them as part of the money to be dropped off during my arrangement. I dug a little deeper and found a twenty-dollar bill. My mind raced, and my race raced, and my anxiety raced, as I committed to a jokingly, yet serious statement about... shedding my winter coat and not needing brownies. I gave the young man five dollars towards his cause and asked that he donate a few brownies to a person who may be homeless in the area. He and his mother thanked me repeatedly and I was off to my arrangement. It felt good leaving the money behind. It was a small contribution that could possibly lift the burden off of many black shoulders. The sagging pants and dreaded heads, and gold teeth, and loud chatter, and daunting figures... the ones that are repeatedly drawn to attention when standing in a police line up. The one's who, like Bigger Thomas, have murdered long ago... The one's who see no way out and are forced to murder, beginning with self, because selling brownies beneath the BART overpass would be a terrible fate of their double consciousness. Not a care drifted from the soul of that little white boy as he motioned towards me and swept his words around my neck. Not a worry of what I thought about him entered his mind. His innocence showed me this. Maybe my five dollars would allow an opportunity for many of the calloused white minds to conjour up Jan. The communist. The one white man who tried to empathize with Bigger. Maybe my five dollars would edge a space into the mind of this little white boy and his mother. I can't say that our interaction made me wonder what they "really" thought of me and other "dark" folks like me... but I can't help but wonder. The Oakland Tech comment was unexpected. Maybe it was her way of saying, "Hey, I am comfortable with my kid being around your kind". Maybe it was her way of saying, "Hey, I hope my kid encounters more darkies like you when he gets to Tech". Maybe it was her way of saying, "This economy has taxed my ass and we can't afford private school anymore, so I'm sending my son to a school in your neighborhood". Maybe it was her way of trying to relate in that moment. A black woman (me), someone (me) she did not know, had given her son money for a trip in the future. A black woman (me), recieved information about a black child (sarah), who was kicked out of her homeless shelter early yesterday morning (12:30 a.m.), because her mother had to sign her, sarah, and the one year old baby out of the shelter. Sarah's mother didn't alert Sarah of this and never came back for them. A black woman (me), didn't give five dollars for this cause. How do the two relate? Well, they don't. It's my own observation of the world around me. But my last piece of this is... when I passed the table one last time on our way to BART. The young man's mother smiled at me and said "There goes our friend" as I was passing. I stopped, smiled, and said "If you don't raise enough money, then you can set up a France account and go there for your senior trip." To this he looked puzzled. His mother nodded in agreement and I went on my way. I was now a friend. My five dollars earned me a small level of acceptance. I wonder what her thoughts would have been if I ignored her and her son. What biases would have flashed through her mind. How and why were they so comfortable in approaching me? The world they live in. One that caused Bigger to keep his head down and his brow aching to hold his eyes in an upward slant. A look that a dog gives you when he doesn't know how you'll respond. A look that submits weakness instead of aggression. A look that reminds the oppressor that he is law. He is master. My head slightly lowered as I walked in the direction of that little white boy. I had no intent of stopping... giving... speaking... Like bigger did with Jan and Mary, he obeyed. I too was asked for something... and I obeyed. Damn!

Comin into my own...

Thirty eight years of... (fill in the blank)

Sittin wit a feelin...

So it's 3:22 a.m. and I'm sittin wit a feelin... It's crazy how we fantasize about a life with no worries, no ills, not stress, and no muhfuggin bills... and then we wake up to the realities of wasshappenin in our streets. The realities of our past that so eagerly and forcefully greets... our presence/our presents... the gift(s). It was her. It still is a her. The gift. The shore that my tide washes upon. Each time I withdraw, I leave trails of me lingerin... trails that leave me sittin wit a feelin. Each time my ocean washes upon her shore I stretch out and push forward with a strength that inches me closer than before. The gravitational pull attaching itself to her soul. pulling. and then I retreat. I retreat and sit with this feelin.

It's funny how your mind works itself up and tries to distinguish truth from falsehood and rational from irrational, and right from wrong, and what it means to just sit wit a feelin... Sometimes I wonder if any of this shit makes sense or is it just an opportunity for me to make goulash out of words. I dunno.Maybe someday soon I'll try and frame my communication.

Hmmmmm?

going to bed now

Im beat!!!

Bilal

SOMETIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS....
I wish I wasn't me.
SOMETIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS...
I wish I was drug free
SOMETIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS....

Bilal, Bilal, Bilal... what an awesome song....

dark morning

aint no sunshine at 2:21 and they say its a good morning. I wonder who made time begin when we are asleep... who made time repeat when eyes are closed. Isn't change best when it is witnessed? seen? experienced? 12:00 a.m, and it's morning. Would it puzzle someone if I ventured out into the world and belted "good morning" to the next lonely soul I encountered. I wonder what they would think. It's quite dark outside and the idea of morning just doesn't fit. Lights are on watching me now. I suppose its the closest to sunshine at this time. Television black, just a greyish hue from the cable box bein turned off. The air is still, cold, tingly. Even the fireplace is sleepin. The cracklin blaze of orange is long gone. The logs have fallen from their place. They're tired too. What's breathing besides me? My sweetness in the other room. The green light is shining brightly. I didn't see iton the tele just a minute a go. I'm tired. my eyes are getting heavy. The weight of my thoughts are sliding from my head and shutting down my body. My mind needs to go on a mental diet. Restricting the calories of thoughts. Lose a lil mental weight. And here it is... the close of this note. The end of morning? Yep, the end of a morning. The heater just came on and now it's really time to go to bed. Rest well world... I'll be joiing you shortly.

two lost on my watch

Climbing... exhausted once I reached the top... a clear view I had... a view of the disaster that had... had raided our camp. I thought... I thought we had the enemy in sight. Guarded, protected, well-covered, but somehow we were ramsacked... no one saw them coming. I had to flee the war torn land and climb to the top alone. I left them... momentarily. The direction of where we were going must be read... a silence feel upon the camp... the whaling calmed, the bodies lie still... the muffles ceased. I heard the silence smother my ears... a stillness rest across the land. They looked at me. The looked to me. They looked through me... wandering if I too had been hit. The enemy had stricken the bodies one by one... I witnessed it with my own eyes and at times... the stares, the glances, the need to know if I too had been stricken was given to me each time I stared into their eyes. I couldn't break my silence. My whaling was just as loud... just as disruptive... just as painful... just as overwhelming... Before I left them to make that climb... I too had been wounded. I retreated to a corner and held on to the storm. It stirred so strongly inside of me... I got lost in the thoughts of... of our soldiers lost. I got lost in the thoughts of... my platoon being sabotaged... wounded, jaded, mistakened to be unified... one voice-one body... I got lost in the thoughts of ... of being attacked and how it affected everyone... But I... I couldn't allow this storm to pin me and hold me hostage in my agony. I had to climb... I did... I stood... I led... and I will soon retreat. The troops are... are still wounded, but bandaged. The troops are still shaken, but marching. The troops have now gathered the strength to continue fighting. It is my turn to, to turn aside... and... and allow my storm to just be. I climbed that mountain and... and delivered.

Rest in Peace Cameron and Aaron...

Ms. Williams

bewitched

off the phone with my pops and it brings nothin but pain. my initial intention was to call and get an update about thanksgiving. To my surprise I got that irritating recording explaining that there shit was turned off... no ring tone, just a diversion. Called his cellie and he picked up. The story went something like this... "Well, ATT called me and..." Need I say more. Anothuh bastardized victim of this telemarketing bullshit... Them muthafuckin sycophants call the homes of anyone who'll pick up and listen to that bullshit... and ignorance answers and obeys. Leaving the welcomed left with an outstanding bill and sorry ass income to work that shit out. Somebody needs to legalize slappin niggas in the head when they call and canive they way into peoples pockets. "Pop" (sound of slappin his neck), "Hang that godtdamn phone up. Leave them uneducated fools alone. If they knew the truth, they wouldn't fuck with you". Shit, whose gone tell 'em. Is it the piles of papers and colorful adds that flood their mailboxes. Is it the barbershop conversations that often erupt in a hypermasculine jawbone challenge of who gets the most pussy? Who? Who will be the rule-following, high pants wearin, good-spirited, bible-carryin soul to carry a message of truth. Shit, everybody gets lied to. Even my unguarded, irresponsible, good-hearted parents. And they still got my lil brothers lost ass with 'em. That muthafucka should be readin disclosures. And at the bottom of the ATT one is should say... "And to the nigga who is readin this... since you can read, then get yo ass up, out the house, and slave for a dollar... bitch!" Ha, ha... wouldn't that shit be funny. I think he would stop reading when he got to the word "nigga".... Ya know, he doesn't consider himself of such peasantry. He, is a noble one. One that drinks, passes out, doesn't do shit, but feels the world owes his retarded ass a good job and high wages. What fuckin planet did he come from. I wish I could assemble this lil daydream of mine and be the fly on his shoulder while he reads the disclosufre "completely"... When he was done reading I would crawl my lil ass up into his ear and regurgitate the words that I felt were most appropriate: "get yo ass... out the house, and slave for a dollar, bitch"... over and over again until it went through the canlas of his ears, to the opening of his nostrils, dripping down to his lips... taste that shit bitch. get it. digest it. make it real and get yo ass up and out. I'm tired of these muthafuckas not doin nothin. White folks winnin. Niggas still grinnin and aint got shit. Aluminum cans is they overtime. Hell, recycling them mothufucks is like holiday pay. Who would think that there would be such liberation in collecting the empty cans that you drank and running down to turn them mothufuckas in like you dont done somethin? Backwards mothufuckin logic. Usually, we had to go out of our way to get to the damn recycling center. It wasn't the pretty lil green machines they have on the side or rear of the grocery stores today. It was grimey. Winos, druggies, funky ass muthafuckas always wanting to help you empty your cans into the bin. I suppose... its worth somethin, cause my uncle has held the funky lil muthafucka position for about 17 years now. Shiiiiiit, i need to go see his ass. I heard he was in the hospital again. I don't know if its the sidewalk dick, the liquor, or the crack thats taken precedent over whippin on his ass. I love that nigga. He has a special place in my heart. But godtdamn, that muthafucka don't listen. He has emphysema (I believe)... His breathing is labored. He was a beast in his hey-day... looking like the sexiest piece of ass any man would desire, but had the strength to clock a nigga when he needed to. Ha,ha... as a matter of fact, he got tired of being jane to the tarzans that would stroke knots on that niggas head. One day I was playin in the hood with Mona and them and I hear this ruckus. I look up the street and here comes my uncle (well, when he was in drag he was Aunt Yvonne, but I subconciously kept a fine distinction between uncle eddie and yvonne. To be honest with you, I don't think I ever called him anything when he was dressed like a women. I just studied him real close and wondered how he got those titties so big if he was a man???? Well thats another story for another time)... Anywho, the noise was loud on Columbus Ave. Columus was full of folks. Gangstas, drug dealers, homies from the hood... but it was low-level. It hadn't yet gotten as worse as it is today. Now it's the mexican gangs, drugs, etc... shiiiiit, we transfer one hood to the next. Anyways, back to Yvonne (remember he was in drag on this day). The noise rushed around the corner before Yvonne did. I saw a dress. A wig in her hand, sweat beads flowin from her face, and just a mess of a man transformed into a woman as he often did. Usually when uncle eddie grew angry, he shook his head and went into some sort of trance. The mumbling became clear and they were often curse words that were easy to decipher, because few of them were multi-syllabic. Unc's stuttering often frustrated him and the audience that strained their necks to see if they could find the words that were stuck in his throat. Mysteriously, on this day, a well-dressed, older, black man accompanied my uncle. Apparently, this john had seen the whole thing, and boy was he a storyteller. Imagine a Joe Jackon (Michael Jackson's father) type gentle in a nice three piece suit with a cane and his brim hat tipped to the side. I wondered what this fool wanted with my uncle, but my thoughts soon went to Yvonne/Eddie's (cause he was looking like both at this point)ass. So, by this time my mom, dad, brothers, etc... had all run out the house and My unc was chewin on his story. Each time his words wanted to play hide and go seek with us, rico suave kicked in with what happened. Apparently, Yvonne and Jerry (Yvonne's live-in boyfriend), got into an argument and then Jerry started whoopin on Yvonne's ass. Well, the slapping on her face like it was a drum was nothin new to Yvonne. I suppose this is some deranged form of masculine/feminine exchange that went on in their relationship. Sadly, Yvonne developed this understanding of what is was to be a woman from this type of mistreatment. Well, according to rico... Jerry slapped Yvonne. Yvonne pulled off that wig and unleashed Eddie. When she unleashed Eddie, he punched Jerry in the face, he stumbled, regained his balance after Eddie put his foot up his ass and stood him straight up. I guess Jerry was so shocked that he turned and tried to run, but little did he know that those heels that Yvonne had on were going to disappear quickly into the hands of Eddie and be tossed as frisbies towards Jerry's head. After the heels went Eddie in a full sprint towards Jerry's ass... and each time he would catch up to him he would draw his foot back and kick him in the ass. The lil ole man, rico (not his real name), rode slowly down the street following this commotion. After telling this "made for tv" story, he said that he wished he had video camera to film the events from beginning to end.... and today, my unc is barely hangin on.......

Hmmmmmm, I think I have unleashed enough. Maybe. Calling home and listening to that annoying recording pissed me the fuck off. I even told my dad that I'm not coming home on thanksgiving and that I would help pay for the phone's service to be turned back on. They can't do it by themselves. The mistakes that are made are costly. My last piece of anything that represents me is being misused, abused, and not cared for. Sighhhhhhhhhhhhhh. One other lil thing that bothered me was my sister telling my brother to call her, because she doesn't have my number. How about "seek and you shall find" or "ask and you shall receive". Sure she has my old cell number, but that does not mean that I am not accessible. I'm not runnin to call nobody. If niggas want to get a hold of me, then they know how. I mean... when sis was in trouble with her house and shit... I helped her out on three different occasions. Neither time did I receive any money back.... When my ass is in a hole, I can't call nobody. God has always kept me... my ancestors, those who have made me strong, have always kept me... My current love, Sherri, is keeping me in ways that she doesn't know. Even though I drive her into mountains... we ALWAYS go OVER them.

Hell, the lady at B&N is starting to fuck with me now... I gotta go, but I'll be back


Phyvuh.71

38

Happy Birthday to me... thank you baby. thank you friends. thank you mama and daddy for getting busy and makin my azz... ha, ha... God willing, I'll see 38 more.

Peace

Off to the "nasty" kelly concert tonight... (I'm ready baby are you?)

I survived rapes and murders

Lil "L" sat in my office today and confided.... just let it go... sharin things about day after day. Moms, deceased. Pop's, knockin on deaths door. How can this beautiful mahogany king be just sixteen and no more. 2007 is when he lost her. It was Cancer. An unwanted friend. He was hookin up the surround system that she gave him when his auntie called him once again. I saw his body relax in the chair and he became one with his memory as he shared that sorrowful moment. He said he stopped. Stopped connecting the wires, because he wanted to watch a movie in surround sound, but... but he doesn't even have a VCR, or a DVD player to watch a movie with. He was hoping. Hoping that he would soon acquire one of these items to ... to connect to mom's gift. But the call, a disruption. The system, put away. He just put it back in the box a few months ago. He let it stay there... in his room. Lost in the moment, lost in his moment of his mama, his friend, now gone.

I'm feelin you like that...

Mannnn, I aint been here in a while. I 'spose I'm tired of talkin about that me shyt and more interested in study-in that we shyt. We aint been together but a minute, but ummmmmm, I'm feelin you like that. Like that soft silky rain runnin down my face... carefully following the curvature of each lip... slippin in between and then out again. It's you. I taste you. I see you. I feel you. Your body touchin mine... If only words could be so exquisitely divine. Shyyyyyyt, I think of yo ass and crack up from time to time.... you know why? 'cause I'm feelin you like that... I'm tellin you, it's been a long ass time since I've felt so connected, so loved, so in awe of that very you. That marry you... when you marry me. When will that be... ha,ha I already done wed ya ass in my head. Sure feels like it when I put it down in bed. Mmmph, I aint gonna comment on ya skills. Might lose my status and folks stop seein me as Will. Ha,ha... only Toya then. A lil submissive? maybe. From time to time... anywho, let me get off me, 'cause this shyt's bout you. You know why? 'cause I'm feelin you like that....

upright bass

My Harlem knight... I wondered what it would be like to pluck your strings...

I dunno

I dunno what to call this... just some scattered thoughts about some shit. I wrote "Sometimes" before this post, but couldn't put my words together. Hell, I was mad and I'm still a lil pissed. Sometimes you just wanna knock somebody upside their head when they act the fuk up. Man o man if I could write how I feel.... Shit, I dunno what I'm sayin..... I'm out.

Sometimes

I thought I would... I would let it go. Just not think about it anymore. I woke up this morning. I woke up in a frenzy. I tried to rush out the door, but it was too late. I stood there. helpless. again. I stood there angry at what I felt I could not control. Inside me again, the anger swirls. She said it was rage. I think she is right. I am angry as I write this. The invisible chains that he is forcing on me. Even if it is in a "joking" way. Even if it is to get a reaction. It's not funny. I am angry.

Playin inside

I've been away for a minute. Away from this space. Away from disclosure. Holdin it all in. I've been playin inside. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed with the urge to confide, in, you, this space, but then I go hide... I just keep on playin inside. I don't want to be here for too long. I'm not yet ready to write whats swirlin inside, but I at least want to recognize ... that I've been... I've been... playin inside. my head. Gotta get it out soon. I'll be back.

she said write about the good times

So... let me recount something good. Should it be reflection of my most memorable times in the hood? I wish I could, maybe I just should... write about the good times. Times that seem to get lost in my dash to the past. I can... I can quickly revisit those spaces that I still have. The ones I somehow hold onto. Let's see, the good times... Ummmmmmm, hell - it's all a muhfuggin mystery. I don't know whats so good about the "good times". I mean... I'm grateful for a lotta shyt. But ummmmm, what may be seen as good are the times of transition.... Like, like when I was sleepin on the floor in my brothers kitchen. Yeah, I was like... ummmmm, like 10. Well, when we left that muhfugga, it was good! Or.... ummmmm, when we stopped sleepin from hotel to hotel. Yeah, we gotta a one-bedroom apt. Me, my lil bro, my moms and my pops... crammed in that muhfugga... Hell, when my ass went off to college and finally had my own room (shared wit a roomie)... I no longer had to sleep on the living room floor. Hmmmmm, that was a good time. Mannnnnnnn..... not to add a hint of scarcasm, but these are my good times. Well, I'm off to bed now.

I'm out

What yellow brick road(?)

I was thinking I would see her today. Sittin down on the front porch with a cloudy haze of smoke playin in my face... It all began to to turn white. The edges were smeared with white and the circle closed in. For a moment I spoke to her. She was there alone. Still standing there with her pants down. Not a frown, but lost. Watching him walk away. The fence seemed to be getting closer as his long strides carried him into the distance. Soon his strides were met with a pace that latched onto the fence and then over. I never saw him again. I never knew him before. Pants still down and afraid to leave from behind the brick wall. Nothin yellow about that one. It was dark, although daylight was peeking around the corner. Other kids were riding bikes, playing carroms and laughing as children do. It was my first deliverance into the darkness with so much sunshine just around the corner. I had to pull my own pants up. I suppose it was something positive that my mother taught me. Maybe it was my father, I don't know. What I do know is that she's still there. Stuck behind the wall. Pants down. Tears escaping her little eyes. No one noticed. Not one adult. No one came to help her. Not one adult. I talked to her today. I told her it was okay to come from behind that wall. I was going to protect her. I was going to console her. I was going to hug her and let her know that she didn't have to be there anymore. Sometimes she motions towards me. Other times I sit and stare and she does the same. Three and a-half years old. Not much life in this little body. At least not enough to defend herself. I watched her walk out from that space. Pants up. Fearful of the teasing from the other children. I watched her walk out, but noticed she had left so much behind. She still remains behind that wall. Pants down. Tears escaping her little eyes. She didn't know that she had left herself. Only Three and a-half. Only moving from where he left her. By herself. Helpless. Alone.

Hello

Hello world... one plug in my ear and an Iphone screaming lyrics from the counter. Absolute chaos at 3-plus a.m. in the mornin. I was hesitant at creating this space. A space that she'll ask about when she interviews me. Ha,ha... gotta smile and laugh and make life a lil easy right now. Soon enough it'll be phivuh.71 and time to rest my head. So I solute the world and those who are sleepin on our continent. To the others "Have a good f*ckin day" (and I do mean this sincerely).

Peace