Waking up: November 2009

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

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

Waking up

Sunday, November 22, 2009

going to bed now

Bilal

dark morning

Thursday, November 12, 2009

two lost on my watch

Saturday, November 7, 2009

bewitched

38

Opening the door

thought seekers - intellectuals - and those who give a fuck

I suppose this is the treasure chest - my older shyt