A new year...

Happy New Year

To bring the new year in alone. To bring the new year in at home. I sit and think of years past, years spent waiting for a new year. The year for change. A year for a new beginning. Here it is, Happy New Year! I find myself at 31 years of age, wondering what becomes of me. Who am I? A woman. A black woman. An intelligent, black woman. A very blessed, very intelligent, black woman. And here it is, the new year, happy new year. Here alone in my house, a house that was lent to me by the big guy. I didn’t do this all alone. However, here in the interim, I am allowed to call it my own, my home! I bring the 2003 year in with many changes. Some I have warranted and accepted, others that are progressing before my eyes. Happy New Year. Do I stand up at midnight and yell this aloud to myself. It’s a new year with new beginnings. Or do I wish for times past and escape the newness of this year. I could be out right now. I had a few friends call and see what I was up to. If I would be going out and getting “drunk” or getting in the streets. I chose to remain here in my home, alone. To be with myself is something uncanny of me. The television tempts my “club-soul”. But I am okay being here with me. Relaxing. Enjoying my environment.

Happy New Year Latoya!

I love you

Me

blah

tired.

Rain on my sunshine

Shit just stirrin around me and I'm tryin to see through the rain. Got a glimpse of sunshine. Got it while experiencin some of that pain. Had a chump pass my path never throught I would see him again. Fool rained on my sunshine. Fool rained on my sunshine. I motioned towards him as he past... Thought I would share a word or two. My stained jersey muffled my mouth and the smell of defeat washed over me again. Fool rained on my sunshine. He doesn't deserve an introduction to my new world, new life, new beginning, without him in it. Fool rained on my sunshine and my ability to become invisible in his eyes is 60+ pounds of yesterday....

Woke up in the mornin and had a convo that turned into tears. Found rain on my sunshine and overwhelming amount of fear. Pushed in the corner dodging the lash, and blocking the debris as it falls in my direction. Convo rained on my sunshine and in that moment all I wanted was protection. shit gets stirred and moved and pushed and tossed in all sorts of direction. Convo rained on my sunshine and in that moment all I wanted was protection. I just don't understand my efforts as they fall short of perfection... My expectations rain on my sunshine, they eventually become self-inflicted weapons. My insides scream and skin tightens with the intensity of each dreaded thought. My past, present and future dance around me creating a dizzy cloud and I'm exhausted in this moment. Man... shit gets hard, gets crazy... spins me out and all I can think about it... I don't wanna ever ache the way I've ached. I don't ever want to drown the way I've drowned. I have forged a wonderful path of self-recovery, self-discovery, and working on improving my life to make me a better person. I am trying... and thats all I have to give. I don't want it to rain on my sunshine. I don't. I'm trying to leave my umbrella at home.

To Catch a Predator

Feet moving slowly through the thick jungle like terrain... The prey... resting, motionless. Each step gauging the surrounding noise(s), the squeaking beds, distant coughs. One turn, one entry and its cover is blown. But carefully the predator creeps upon its prey and slips past the gatekeeprs.... the protectors of this massive land. A lioness never leaves her cubs behind. She'll go so far as carrying them in her mouth. Leading them to protection, because she knows that others want them. Others will stop at nothing to kill her offspring. However, sometimes a baby cub may wonder off and this is when danger surrounds them like the night falling upon our naked earth. Or... a mother may go out to hunt for her cubs. But she often seeks refuge for their protection before leaving. If not, then the predators will find them deliciously accessible as they'll slaughter each cub one by one... leaving behind a recent past of ... of what the mother should haves done. protect. To catch a predator, his last steps force him out of being easily detected by others. The silhouette, shaped like my mother, my father, my protector. I go. Leaving the protective den, not knowing that my slaughter, my death, the killing of me.... only moments away.

Callin all my soldiers...

Got C-Murder tapped into my ear and feelin every line of his lyrics... ha,ha... Soldiers stir'n, line'n up gettin ready to ride for a muhfugga... that shyts deep. Bring'n out big muscles and samurais... those masc'y (masculine) chracteristics that swarm inside. Makes me wanna step to a few fools, press my nose in they faces and just spit shit at 'em... rack they brains with some real, real shit... muhfuggas walkin around like zombies... not worried about how they affect the world... people close to them... not evein carin. Others ridin wit a purpose and keepin they peeps on the front line. Second place fools.. comin in first cause they supportin others. Second place fools missin out cause they supportin others... I need to be down for very few niccas... gatherin up my energy - exertion takes its toll... muhfuggas want you to ride for them, but won't do the same. This shit is whack!! Thats why I like to stay quiet. Observe these fools... keep my eyes wandering and my feet moving. Don't wanna raise my shoulders to high, cause sumpin may come from behind... nawwww, gotta be ready. Tired of havin to explain myself or folks assumin that I will because of who I am. Mmph... "Fuck them other niccas"... C-Murder said it best... ha,ha I'm a keep tipsy on my own thoughts. Shits just stirred up like a strong ass drank. Gulp! I'm out.

Lots of people got shit to say...

Lots of people got shit to say, but they aint said it to me
I laugh at the fools who marvel in their own made of tales of "who I am" and "what I stand for". What the fuck? Who da fuck is you? and How can you stand worryin about my biz? Kick rocks!

Lots of people got shit to say, but don't nobody wanna do the work. Very few will sacrifice for whats right... whats real. Niccas worried about their own "worth", "well-being", "stock", "their own shit"... and the funny thing is... most times it aint worth shit. Selfish muhfuggas... Sad, sad, sad... I hope they seek therapy.

Lots of people got shit to say, but they afraid to stand in front of that mirror long enough to have it speak directly to they own ass. Yep, don't move hoe. Stand there... take a good look atcha-self. I'm sure you don't like what you see... Most times we don't. So... to all of my lovely-dovely admirers... (I can't call em Haters, because people keeps tabs on ya ass when they admire you, right?) So, to all of my lovely-dovely admirers (family included)... worry about yo own damn self and spend some time working on Y-O-U!

stepin away from yesterday

I ... I sometimes look behind me to see just how far I have come. One blink and its yesterday. Lookin ahead aint so easy. I haven't travel down this path before. The unfamiliar steps are... are making me think about blinking again... I'll lose it when I close my eyes. Stay awake. Turn back. Turn around. With all of my might I fight the urges to repeat those foolish mistakes or... or remain stuck in a state of paralysis. My feet cemented to the ground and ... and the ground slowly crumbling beneath me. The foundation... not meant to hold the weight it bears... not meant for a permanent resting place... "keep it pushin" I keep tellin myself. My heart races and I am bombarded with confusion. It's... It's time to turn back again... look at yesterday. I don't see nuthin. Not a damn thang... and I'm moving, slowly, hesitantly, but moving...

To outward

... Maybe I seem a little "over-protective"... I dunno, but I do display my "emotions" very outwardly. Gotta think about that shyt. No punk here.

disruption of the mind-kind

Fallin back on my heels, kickin my own ass...
Disruption of the mind is mine is mine is mine...
Beatin on my chest screamin "Glory"... one refrain (silence) after anutha
Walkin in my shoes that aint never been on my feet. somethin new.
My dome is active with thoughts of yesterdays tears and tomorrows joys.
I can sit in this body and visit a million places - always missing home.
I wanna get outta here. trapped.
some fucked up shit I tell ya.
If its not the thoughts of frustration from some pale muhfuckas, then its my family bullshit and responsibilities that bind me so.
I tell my girl "We beats this beast or else its gone beat us" kinda like whoopin the pussy, so you don't get whooped
Then I wonder sometimes about those tiny lil places. Who does she keep there?
Purging all that was once considered safe to me. Numbers, emails, Phone calls that blurred the lines of appropriate... Packed up my tent and kept it pushin... and I'm still goin. Crazy how fools still be camped out along the roadside... just stay focused, keep straight, ya destinations straight ahead.
Gotta bottle in my crib. I suppose its more significant to her than me. Mmph, it's late... I need to go to bed.

Can't wait to get through this day... one more, just one more.

TRUTH

THERE HAVE BEEN CONVERSATIONS ABOUT WHO YOU ARE AND WHAT YOU DO

2/23/2010

on hiatus... not meanin to be

Mannnnnn, my ass has been away from this mofo. Not by design, but.. but b'cause I wanted to marinate on some shyt. Ha,ha... Funny how you wanna hold to the pain, the past, the things, that cause great harm. But they have become so damn familiar that if/when you let them go... then what??? Mmmph, I'm almost back... lots to write about.... lots and lots... I'll see you soon.


Peace

This was written for her

Yo, I met you in this space, vibed you in this space, mentally subscribed to you in this space... and now I'm in a new place. No need to turn the hand held telly on, a.k.a. computer screen or mobile device... phone. Got u close 24+7 equal 31 days in a month and not a morning passin by without that soft kiss you place on my head... ha,ha... bed, yeah, bed... Yo, I met you in this space. Now we face to face. No mismatchin, no taboo... a fo sho thang is that I LOVE YOU... can't wait to whisper two more words.................. "I do" peace mama Natoya

Mamas Eyes

I didn't see her when I heard the news. It was a morning familiar to yesterday's pain. I... I parked my car and saw my teacher coming in my direction. I noticed his head bowed and a heavy sway to his walk. I exited my car and greeted him. He softly responded with "Did you hear the news"... "What news?" I asked. My body tensed up as I knew the message would not be one of comfort. His eyes swelled and he said, "D---- was killed last night. They shot him in the leg, ran after him, and then finished him off with shots to the back of his head". "What?", I gasped. My mind fled that moment... It went to my first encounter with "D"... Him entering my office and introducing himself. He was a scrawny lil guy... but tall. Cute. Braces. But what stood out for me was the tattoo on his forearm. It was the name of a male? I curiously asked how did he get a tattoo at such a young age. His response was that his mother let him get it, because it was the name of his younger brother who had died. Ohhhhhh, okay. I didn't quite understand the correlation, since he was only 14 years old. But I soon learned that tattoos represented something much more than a work of art. The symbolization emobied in getting tatted was mind blowin. Soon after I exhaled and found myself comforting the teacher that shared this news with me. It left me for a while. I, I was sad... real sad... not understanding why or how... remembering my last encounter with him and his mother. We had to visit his home (me and the Police Officer), because he was possibly involved in a robbery... It was more of a warning than anything, but I saw the path he was now traveling down and somewhere in my heart.... I knew that this path would end one day. What I wasn't prepared for... was it ending on a morning that I was entering my workplace. A community of young folk who began to grieve. It's surreal to have to exist in such a community. It truly amazes me how calloused you become in order to assist others through their grieving process. The funny thing is... is that this happened about a year ago... and... and... and I saw his mom the other night. All of a sudden I was stuck. My eyes fixated on her. I watched her every move. I was curious how she was dealing with her loss. What could I say? My heart grew sad again... it felt as if I was reliving the news... it felt like I had never truly grieved his loss... and to be honest with you, I don't think I have. Somewhere you begin to tuck all of these things away. Somehow you create caverns to hold these feelings... you have to. You have to be there for everyone else. You have to. And so I send my thoughts, love, prayer, and hope out to "D's" mother and his family. To the friends that loved him and the teachers who taught him. I send my love, thoughts, and prayers out to him. I wish we didn't have to lose him. I wish he saw a future for himself. It hurts each time I lose one of them. It hurt when I lost you.

R.I.P "D"


Ms. Williams

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