Corners Of My Mind

Dear Professor

2011-08-24T19:31:00.000-07:00

Dear Professor,

I think this year was the first time since graduated that I actually got to speak to you. It felt nice. Seems somewhat odd that even in talking to you, I have this running conversation afterwards with myself for months on end. You embed each of our exchanges with simple lessons I feel like I should have learned a lifetime ago, or that I think I can teach myself. And I can't. I always like to think since I'm doing better than last year that each decision I make is the correct one; that somehow The Almighty has led me to each point and now I can pat myself on my back. But the truth is, that never happens. I find myself questioning my choices, scrutinizing my life's path and asking myself "do I really believe that rehearsed answer?" that I always give when someone asks me what my Ultimate Goal is.

I don't know that people recognize the magnitude of what they're inquiring with my twenty-three year old life, but that question is loaded. I think about it days after they have long since loosened their tie and opened their belt buckle. Maybe it's some of the things that I never fully admit to myself that cause me to start that uneasy shifting onto the back of my heels. It makes me investigate each footprint on my life's path and ponder were the shoes that unsettled the soil there really belonging to me.

Sometimes I feel like I'm being pushed around in a dance of other people's dreams coupled with my own to guide me to my current position. Is this really all there is? I could be anything I want. So why this?

I hate this feeling. It's that constant sense of flux, between what was and that which has yet to arrive. My Destiny.

I joked with a friend back home that I was going to drop out of grad school and become a fireman. She frowned at me; something about it made her turn her nose up. The idea of me underneath the neon yellow uniform. I didn't see what the big deal was. Maybe she meant it a different way. Whatever the case, I thought it absurd. I should be allowed to do whatever I want. That's what they always tell you in the fairytales. Why is one Destiny bigger than another destiny? Hell, firefighters make about as much we do anyway. And they save lives too. I thought about everything from Broadway to the Navy and none of them, have I ruled out as a non-option. It's just whenever I used to feel this way as an irresolute Freshman I would flop down in your office and you would make me feel better. Now, it's just me.......groping in the dark for the Key to unlock something wonderful. Although I'm never quite sure what it is. I wish I did though.

Quizzically yours,
Majik

Never Mind I'll Find Someone Like You

2011-06-30T15:52:00.000-07:00

Ya know this woman Adele has somehow managed to encapsulate so much of my life in eleven tracks of her own soundtrack. This album, 21, is so good I truly forget what I am supposed to be doing while I listen to it. Currently blasting in my ears is "Someone Like You" so I guess I'll go on my rant about this one first and fill in
the gaps later.

Some artists have a charismatic lilt in the way they communicate whatever song they choose to include in their latest installment of bids for a Grammy Award. Not Adele. She goes. And currently she is my favorite artist in R&B, Soul, Alternative, and whatever other categories this crossover artist falls into. There is something about the tonal phrasings and controlled emotion that commits to each note and every word she sings.

To put it simply, Adele has been hurt before. With her "normal" appearance, many listeners--myself included--like to think she really is singing about her own past. This song.....is beautifully heartbreaking. From the gentle triplet the piano is tickling in the accompaniment to the easy crescendo of the lead instrument, you feel it.

It's kinda like the first time I heard Michael Jackson's "She Out Of My Life," Adele has experienced something powerful and painful. She communicates it so beautifully on this final cut of the album. Many days it stays on repeat in my PSP (yes, I use it for its mp3 technology among other reasons). Oftentimes, the song leaves me sitting at the edge of my bed, lost in the melody and caught up in my feelings. I have talked to and almost potentially dated many women in my life. But the ones I was fortunate enough to tell "I love you" to--whatever that means--and date for an extended period were exceptional human beings, great friends, and highly intelligent, in addition to being very beautiful black women. Yet, I thought I spent a considerable amount of time burying my feelings. Hey, what do you want from me I'm a scorpio and a man. A dangerous combination for being a reclusive and stoic when I want to be.

However, this song blows me wide open. It leaves me thinking about simple things like Art's scent, her soft voice that I begged to sing "Harlem Blues." Or The Movie Channel's deep chocolate hue and our amazing night at Senior Ball. Damn, this shit has me caught up. And you know what? Idgaf. I sit on these sentiments all day, every day in the name of being strong. Thank you Adele for being real enough to say what I couldn't. Ladies, if you ever read this.....I'm sorry I didn't know what that four letter word meant when I used it. Maybe I can get lucky a third time. "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead." Yeah. Adele, you sure know how to string a phrase.

Four Corners

2011-06-29T15:39:00.000-07:00

I never thought I would find myself lusting after a cubicle, but when I visited my Friend at his job in an office building downtown I almost wanted to cry or explode with yearning when I saw a view of the New York City Skyline. The quiet solitude of the cube made me want to give up my dayjob right then. There were no children. No screaming. No pressure that if I fail, a human being was going to either end up in jail, on the streets, or dead.

It's my daily burden. And in that comfortable, half-enclosed piece of solace I wanted to sit, just I would have a bit more security. It's a rather difficult feeling considering I'm always talking about how much I love my kids, but when ever the senior, tenured teachers tell me about their real hope for these kids my heart breaks a bit.

Some of their hopes aren't for the kids to go off and be the next big-time multimillionaire. Their purpose for teaching is that the kids--our students--will be a little kinder to someone when they're on the streets doing violent or illicit things that they have to in order to survive. The general consensus is that they won't make it. And with many of them failing Regents Exams and being placed in all sorts of categories it's difficult to keep my spirit strong against things like that.

In that cube there were no responsibilities that you had to take up because someone that claimed to love their progeny, a parent, didn't really give two shits about what happened to their seed when they let them out the house that morning. In the cube I could quietly make more than I do now and still have my piece of my mind when I go home.

Everytime someone tells me how much they make I'm slightly pissed and more so befuddled that their worth can be higher than mine on a socioeconomic level. And I have all this stress and they can cruise along, no problem. Maybe I will see about getting this basic 9 to 5 in the Fall because I swear this cube is unfairly mocking me each time I go to visit those bushi people who are I swore I'd never join.

Perfect

2011-06-27T08:52:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's interesting to have so much free time I can almost allow my problems and responsibilities to inundate me. Today is one of those days. I just needed to unload here before I decide to do something more productive. My primary concern is with my day job. Not that I hate it. Not that it doesn't help people who need it, but sometimes it leaves a sour taste in my mouth for sake of the system it is a part of. I'm an educator. Or to be more specific I'm a teacher. A damn good one I like to think, but not according to the Department of Ed.

Apparently, I'm too new for a lot of things. Too young to have wisdom. And too naive than to realize I can't keep putting my all into these kids every day. Each day I leave the school building drained. And being like every other black man with something to prove I go and do a million other things because the mundane does not satisfy my insatiable thirst for knowledge. I like to think my lesson and unit planning skills are decent. And every now and again the activities I try to incorporate into the Core Curriculum are new and interesting.

Problem is, I hardly teach. Truthfully, my occupation this year was playing guidance counselor, parent, authoritarian, and life coach to children coming from places I couldn't even imagine. A great day consisted of me actually getting to the Assessment and Follow-up line of my lesson plan--which was rare--and having the kids legitimately retain some of the things we discussed or understand the concept therein. It just sometimes leaves me feeling sort of incomplete and empty because much of what I do isn't teach. I spend more parts of my day telling young men to pull their pants up and young ladies to cover themselves than I do discussing the complexities of having a mixed economy and when government intervention is necessary because the Sherman Anti-Trust Act permits federal involvement if it's protecting the general public.

No, my kids don't want to be a part of a roundtable that deals with the circular flow of a market economy and how we as one of the factors of production and the consumer have considerable sway on the economic outlook. They'd rather buy expensive ass jeans and look at me crazy. It just sometimes makes me wish I wasn't wasting so much time with people who don't necessarily want it. Truth be told, I was never one hundred percent sure I would teach forever, and after only my first year I'm almost positive that this will be the case.

Nevertheless, I love my kids. And for however long they have me I want to do right by them. I don't know. Maybe I'm just setting my expectations too high, but many days it leaves me slightly disappointed. Teaching isn't one of those gigs where you can give your all and everything turns out mostly right. It's not one of these occupations, where at the end of the day I can wipe my brow, pat myself on the back, and go "job well done." There's always more work to be done.

It's one of those governmental jobs you don't hear about. Ya know, the ones where you work long hours phone banking and cold calling for an unknown bill that probably will never get to the House floor, but since it's not killed in a subcommittee you live to dial one more stranger's phone number. Yeah. As a perfectionist, it's a lot on my heart to have to do something like this every day. I don't think I can retire out of this system. It's broken. And until someone admits that fact, I'm just another worker bee who hates honey. Smh.

So Anxious

2011-03-22T03:11:00.000-07:00

I was dragged against my low-key will out to be social this weekend. The result was an internal struggle where I couldn't understand why I didn't come home with one number. I mean, there most definitely was enough good looking people in the place. And I don't count myself in the absolutely ugly catergory, so there should have been no reason to leave there empty-handed. It's just.....you ever feel like you don't want to step to someone yet because you're not all the way together? I do that a lot!

I make a point of memorizing their face, their outfit, or maybe just the way they carry themselves. I take a mental picture of someone out of my league. I want to be better. I want to feel more confident. I stare enviously at what they have. Never mind the struggle it might have taken to arrive there. Who cares about the tears that may lay dormant beneath their award winning simile? I'm sure everything just fell into place for them. And I never really want to get to know them or their story because most times I am just comfortable making up my own story to suit many personal insecurities.

I think about them as a sort of self affirmation. "If my body had been THAT tight then maybe she would have talked to me." "Maybe I would have felt like dancing on the floor a little more." "Maybe I would have gotten THAT number." "Maybe I will get my dream jobs and the flexibility to do everything I want in the time frame I want." It makes me feel nervous. And suddenly it becomes not even about getting a girl's number at a club. It becomes about life and my constant need to self-actualize.

I'm standing still and even as I work towards a steady climb I still think about just jumping off the ladder altogether. But even that frightens me. I mean, sure the ladder is cold, damp, uncomfortable, and they are people stepping all over me as they climb to the top, but at least they're going to get theirs in the end. I kind of settle on this occupational stagnation and even though not much time has passed I feel like it's whipping by because as the clock marches forward I fear I won't have youth on my side to make my mark in the many ways that I can. I find myself having mild panic attacks and trying to calm my nerves. Sorry for this ramble. I said all of that as a preface for today's continuance of the only prayer keeping me sane right now. If you're going through a similar trial maybe you can use it too. It's a prayer for serenity. You might already know it.

God grant me the serenity;
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.

Basically a cry up to the Almighty to help me be a little less anxious and little more complacent in things eternal....as they say. I think I'm ready now. Next time, I'm going to buy her that drink. Even if it kills me.

*Shoutout to all the nerds or art buffs who recognize Vincent Van Gogh's Self Portrait above. I claim no copyrights to it.

The Link

2011-02-20T11:42:00.000-08:00

"I'm telling you as your boss and someone who might potentially consider you a friend, take some down time....Trust me I learned the hard way. A scientist stays objective. We can't be ruled by emotion. But I put ten years of my life into that school. They called me Sadunook. It means mother. That kind of pain reaches back through the link."

Sometimes I take my work home with me. I’m not sure how many people can relate to that, but for some of us who work in service-oriented career fields it’s an inevitable part of the job. I try to decompress after each day. Erase my memory and start with a clean slate each morning, because if not I will be hung up on the failures of yesterday and never be able to get to the successes of today. Working with children it’s sort of an ongoing battle between being productive and succumbing to an overwhelming reality that suggests these children aren’t really placed in the best position to do well.
Yeah, I take my work home with me. Their link connects me as I pace through my apartment eating a bowl of Corn Flakes. I don’t want it to because I’m afraid what it may do to me. I got my job by the teacher before me choosing to admit defeat. I keep telling myself I am not that weak, but each night I understand more and more how one could come to believe that idea. I see the children’s faces all the time. Every time I try to play a videogame or watch a movie or just try to talk to somebody about my life outside of my place of employment I find my thoughts wandering to the pupils whose gains or losses feel weighted on my shoulders. The paraprofessional in my classroom told me about how she has been awakened in the middle of the night by notions of the students. She is often worried they will make poor decisions. She frets their behavior will never change and they will become one of the many news stories we see on NY1 of an unnamed minor gunned down or locked up. This rollercoaster swallows up sane reasoning that just tells you to brush your teeth and get in the bed.
In Avatar, Dr. Grace is urging Jake Sully to take a moment or two for himself, lest his work become a disappointment. I know what that’s like. Oftentimes I become so emotionally invested I can’t decide when to keep caring. And I feel it almost every day in class now. I have to out-loud literally talk myself into still caring. All of my kids don’t want to learn, but sometimes their obstinate attitudes suggest I shouldn’t even bother wasting my time. This job is truly a labor of love. And agape love is the most difficult thing to try to engrain into my being. It sort of makes me feel bad. I, a believer, have trouble loving someone despite how they treat me. It’s my burden. It seeps through everything that I do. No matter how hard I push to block it out—even after Mr. King takes off his tie and hangs up his suit—it’s there. After I take off the persona of Mister King, MJ still feels that panging twinge in his heart. I don't know what to do about this sensation....

What You Pay For

2011-02-05T14:35:00.000-08:00

We're in a recession. A country built on credit wonders why it has trouble keeping enough money in circulation. Suggestions of loans on top of loans and more loans wants me to either give them a lump sum wad of cash or go broke and untouchable with an effed up credit score. People don't live that way. And I can't believe that "the greatest time of my life," college comes back to haunt me because I didn't have enough dinero to supplement the full funding of my education. What a way to start my Saturday morning. With bad news, due to a bank error, your loan defaulted. It's the worst sort of feeling to have someone ask you in very specific terms for an exorbitant amount of money right then and there. It makes me feel infantile. Like I just want to coddle up in to a ball on the floor and wait for my Mama or someone equally nurturing and powerful to come help me. There is a lump in my throat for trying to speak to "counselors" and "specialists" and "adjusters" who all would like to play games with my life. And everyone just tells me it should be simple. Just go find a job where you make tons of cash in short amounts of time while not supporting your day-to-living in the mean time. Then you can get back to the basics. It's enough to make me want to sell drugs. Or flee the country. Or kill myself. Well.......maybe not kill myself, but it's definitely tough. Me, a sane, calm, saved, rational thinker want to do something irrational to save my ass because right now a private lender--a bank--is making me feel like the scourge of the earth. I wish you could have heard the way that first woman "handled" me. "Sir, the bottom line is you haven't attempted to make a payment so now the loan amount is due in full. " I wanted to flip a shit. I thought about my teacher salary and how I could flip it. Make it into an insanely large number and then be in the free in clear. I called myself trying to take charge of my life, but there is no manual for all of this. No one tells you when you're 16 looking at colleges that you had better go with a school that will pay for your entire education. If not 6 months after graduation they're coming for you. Really? You give me 6 months to get my "real life" in order or you will rape and pillage my worldly possessions? Who said this was okay. And if they had told us this was what was on the other side of the stage at graduation we would have told them to kiss the deepest crevices of where our sun doesn't shine. I'm appalled. And tired. And exasperated. But mostly I'm broke. I guess I'll just refinance this bull and pay off the new loan. After that though. I'm building me a shack and living in that until I can rub together enough pennies to expatriate to Africa. At least there there'll be no greedy monopolizing giants dying to get their hands on the puny lemur I killed for today's meal. Then again, I could be wrong about that too.

*Author Note: I have since been approved for a refinance so I'm good. Thanks for you all's concern.

The Final Frontier

2011-01-30T13:10:00.000-08:00

I work with crazy children. No, let me rephrase that. I work with challenging kids. They are tough to deal with because of their normalcy, not their disability. Many of the students who walk through my door every day are designated "Emotionally Disturbed" or have some sort of learning disability. However, it is not their learning challenges that give me the most trouble. No, no. It is their behavior.

I work in what's called a self-contained program, sort of like a holding cell with other people who are still waiting on a final verdict. And many of them behave in just that manner. Angry. Often. Sometimes at no particular person. Sometimes in a very specific manner. Yet, my challenge lies in teaching the pupil whose too far dilated to focus on the truth of what really has them upset. How do I train the mind that won't let go of some negative idea which threatens to consume all the positivity inside of them? I can't imagine having to bare that kind of burden every day. But my kids carry it all the time and they know its weight very well. The heavy sagging of an impulse that keeps your leg tapping in class because you have excess energy in your body and your nuisance of a teacher makes you sit in a seat for extended periods. All that electricity flowing through one conductor must feel like a powerplant that's about to overload on unexpelled juice. An electrical wiring throughout the classroom seems to be the issue for many of the learners. While some get jolts here and there from electrical misfiring, others' configurations make them natural resistors. They store their electricity for many periods. They absorb the shock and blows sent from other lightning rods around them. They are equally dangerous because once they have enough juice stored up they, my little circuit breakers, could blow a fuse that could incinerate the entire room.

Bumping, bumping along. They go about their business and meet the Static who cannot get enough juice to be either the circuit breaker or the power plant. Thus, he goes around giving minor jolts here or there. No, he is not toppling over with electrical current. But with enough borrowed energy he could be. However, the static needs enough particles from the air about him to warrant a legitimate reaction. And even then the reaction is not all his own. He is just the transference of energy.

So this is my classroom. A bunch of busy bodies that I tame into a chair with pen or pencil and notebook in hand. Some control their wattage long enough to hone in on what I am saying for a minute but they are quickly overcome by the mounting within. Some of the really gifted circuit breakers show their peers how to channel their ohms into levitation from electromagnetism. A very nifty trick I must say, but in the amount of time it takes some of them to discover this new trick, we lose track of where all our energy is flowing to.

I, being the head lightning bolt, am forced to strike in order to dissipate the electric field. I work at a Power Company. And it is my charge to give my little spark plugs, vector. That's magnitude and direction. I am not always successful. And when I am not, I have to gage where my shockwave should be channelled to stun an entire field of electrifying rivals. I, the teacher, have to --metaphorically speaking--be the neutral and positive nucleus which herds all the negatively charged electron clouds into one direction that revolves around me. Not an easy feat.

I got my classroom because the last nucleus achieved fission. For those of you that have become lost in my physics metaphor allow me to explain. In science there are atoms floating about. They are made of three particles. Electrons--negatively charged particles--float around the outside of the atom. Protons--positively charged particles--pair with neutrons--particles with no charge--to form the center of the atom. The center is called the nucleus. When one achieves fission it means your atom splits from the inside. From the nucleus. From the stuff with all the positivity. The process is not a mellow happening. Back to my metaphor.

The last nucleus achieved fission, in that very violent way that the process always occurs. My little lightning bugs overloaded her, my predecessor. And now I stand boldly to take her place. I've been told that from our school the kids only go two places: high school or a hospital where they are sedated and a private teacher instructs just them. Imagine, my little lightning rods having to give up all that roaming freedom for a rubber room. I maintain my resolve to break through their resistors and jumpstart their sparks in a positive way. But I am here today soliciting donations. Jumper cables, Power strips, thick-soled shoes. Whatever you got, throw it at me. I'm doing alright now, but something tells me I'll need the boost soon. I'm the Final Frontier trying to redirect lightning to aim for the sky instead of strike down every tree in its path. Wish me luck.

Grant Us Grace

2010-11-18T06:59:00.000-08:00

They're angry and today my free-writing assignment was to see why that is so. "The only reason I get mad is because..." was their topic. I'm beginning to use the Wex approach in my class so there's no talking for at least the first five minutes that we begin our activity. The answers most of the children gave are astounding. There's a lot of hurt in these kids. It's no wonder they can't focus in my English & Language Arts class. Some of them grew up without fathers, mothers, or a real place to call home. Some of them have been separated from siblings at early ages because of the adoption system. One child detailed how she knew her brother's address but was forbidden from seeing him because of the law. I'm not sure I am fluent enough in the legal system to know which form of bureaucracy prevents her from seeing her estranged family member, but part of my heart breaks for these children every day. I tried having a conversation with my roommate about it, but he had a somewhat dismissive attitude towards them. Roughly put, he said my kids would never be able to be productive members of society because their skills were too low and their tempers too high. And I hurt. I wept in the deep regions of my soul because I want these kids to have hope against naysayers like that. While at my alma matter's homecoming some of my colleagues said that our children are "aggressed." And I think that is the proper term for it. Many of them have always been at ends with life. They have been at war with poverty, starvation, neglect, abandonment, and others like themselves among a realm of other issues. The argument I made with my roommate was simple. They showed up. In spite of their depression or their anger and self-loathing for things that were not their fault they showed up, with expectancy in their hearts. They showed in spite of the fact that they didn't want to be here. They showed up because something inside of them is looking for an escape and a way out. And they want a chance to feel.....something other than pain. I have a few kids who are so angry all the time that--wait let me rephrase that. I have a few students who are in so much pain sometimes that they can't focus on their work. Some come to class and insist that they don't feel like it or cannot do their work now. Some come in and go to sleep because it is the quietest place in their life that they can afford a few moments to let their guard down and catch a little shut eye. Sometimes I wake them, but today I let him keep his head down. It never occurred to me that where you sleep every night there's not even a bed for you. A lot of them look "normal." However, inside they're crying out for help. I want to be a good teacher. I want to reach them. I just have to find a way to get through.

A Hard Look

2010-10-12T14:48:00.000-07:00

I kept waiting on what he said not to be true, but the more I think about it, the more I know so much of it to be accurate. I trust his opinion. The very reason why I even have to get professional photos taken proves he's telling the truth about how I break into my industry. I just don't want it to be. But disney never called me back, and anyone who's ever met me knows that Disney is a dream of mine. I am disney. They were the original characters that I wanted to play and their animated antics, dare I say, are some of the ways I even came to express myself. This whole "fresh face" thing makes sense. I get it. But this isn't how I always picture myself in my mind. My goatee is clearly in exact contradiction to who I am and what I would like to present to the world. And though part of me recognizes that glaring fact a bigger part of my ego has spent time getting truly comfortable with this ruggedly friendly MJ that I thought greeted me each morning in the mirror. If I've lost some of you I apologize. Let me start this from the beginning so that I can catch you up. I am getting my headshots done this week, but before I could do this my photographer wanted to sit down and have what was called a "consultation" so that he could gage where I'm going with these photos and the career that hopes to follow because of these shots. I unabashedly told him Broadway. It's always been where part of my life's ambitions lies. I want to tour. And dance. And sing. God I want to sing. It's the only thing I've always enjoyed even if the whole world shrank away from me in muted silence I would want the comfort just being able to hear my own voice. No matter how vain that may connote. It is that silent prayer I whisper to myself whenever I go into an audition. The characters from many of Walt Disney's creations underscore morality and lessons that I learned at an early age. I want to sing in the middle of the spotlight and allow these big eyes and bright smile to usher in the same hope in my audience, but for some reason I didn't get called. I haven't made an impression on anyone or I haven't shown these casting directors what they need. I've hoped for so long that my talent was big enough to take me all the way. I keep waiting "my look" to fit everyone else's standard and when it doesn't I'm left slightly heartbroken. I've spent my whole life ridiculing and defying everybody's box so when my photographer asked me to put myself back in one to be sold it made me feel unnerved. Afraid. I should say. My self-esteem has always been accented with insecurities of acne, big eyes, pointing eyebrows, and a perplexity that makes my face more angular than round like the beautiful people from the magazines or the popular people who instilled this fear in me in elementary school. I want to be weird. I want to be different. And I can be. But apparently before I can do that I have to be "normal." And that's not necessarily a term I've come to associate with myself. It's a difficult reality I'm trying to swallow. And the hardest look I've ever had to take in the mirror.

Esperate

2010-10-03T09:20:00.000-07:00

I keep waiting not to be afraid. I remember being bold, telling people what I'm gonna do and nicely defining how things are going to turn out. I keep waiting on that voice in the back of my head whispering its cynicism beneath my dream to silence itself. I keep trying to master the doubtful anxiousness that tells me even if I'm highly qualified there's still a possibility I might not get what my pride tells me is mine. I keep yearning for that exuberant joy to fill me the whole week. Oftentimes I put on, but I'm anticipating the moment when the real will spill over into the carefully composed facade I have come to wear along with my uniform's hat. I hate it. Yes, one of my places of employment requires me to wear a hat as part of our dress code. So you can imagine what kind of environment I earn some of my livelihood in. Yes, I'm good at what I do there. But I'm a liar. I smile and get awards for working double, sometimes triple hard to try to get ahead. I'm up for a promotion and I keep waiting for that to not make me nervous. But it does. That hateful little voice inside me tells me the promotion would just be a dangling of bait to keep me in the same stagnate space of life. Admittedly, it's a dead end job. There is no true advancement opportunity when my only "growth in the company" just glorifies the job I already have and adds extra responsibility. I'm not interested in making this place my career. And this place is not interested in helping get to the next stage in that quest to do fulfilling work. I'm leaving soon, call it my grand exit from an abusive relationship. But the fear of the unknown, the same thing they are training me to prepare the children for is a shared anxiety of ours. I'm scared of breaking a routine that I hate. What's wrong with me? I'm afraid and I keep waiting not to be.

Dear Professor

2010-09-30T10:50:00.000-07:00

One year into this whole adulthood thing and things seem to be shaping up. I'm not exactly where I'd like to be but I'm a little bit closer than last year. I have some of that sense of independence I thought I'd lost. I have much of the sense of passion I thought died in the Sea that washed it over me in the first place. I found something in myself that I didn't know existed and I'm using it everyday to order my steps and guide me through the uncertainty. But I think about you often. Whenever I read an interesting article about education. You cross my mind whenever I do a lesson plan and since I'm teaching now it's sort of cool to indulge in the idea of you once a week. I'm going to graduate school. Did I tell you? I'm trying to get into a good one because now I think I'm more grounded and prepared to spread my wings in a rigorous curriculum. Maybe I wasn't ready last year. Maybe that's what the proverbs were for. Maybe that's what so many of us that were in your class or in your office always longing for. That extended guidebook on how to survive all of this. And the truth is, there is no book. There is no shelter. There is no escape. There is only tomorrow. There's no unrestricted burden. But there's no limit to the places we can go. There's no right or wrong way to move but there is always the need to constantly continue moving forward. And while I know I'm not perfect right now, I recognize that if I'm always striving towards the next level then I'm making progress. It's a tough pill to swallow. And it's not really one anyone could ever teach me in a classroom or in person. It's something that I have absorbed from experience. From meeting some friends, losing some friends, and finding that some friendships endure through it all.I learned from having one average paying job and getting fired and then having to work twice as hard to save enough to make my own way. Learning to find funding for things and not really being sure where the money was going to come from but trusting God to find that He does provide for His Children. I've been through so much in the span of a year. And immediately following graduation I would have given almost anything to give up and restart everything, but the more I longed for those days, the more time I wasted. I had to go through that. Lest I be just another aimless twenty-two year old who did everything his parents told them. At this point, the most I can say for myself is that I'm living my life. And it is in great measure based on what you taught me. Not about how to form a good thesis for an essay or a construct a plausible comparative analysis. Not from what I learned about some famous author or some complex metaphyscial critical framework. I learned it from those times in your office where I sat in your office and cursed me out only to pray with me afterwards. I learned it from the phone conversations where I told you very simply, "I'm scared." I learned it from the times that you were just living your life and telling me about how no path is straight and narrow so we can't be afraid when something tremendous, good or bad, widens the scope of what all can happen in my life. Everything is everything. And everything happens. And with reason, everything happens for a reason. I spent so long trying to get over certain situations because I believed I could think my way through and control every situation. And now I have to teach myself. I have to learn that each day is a new lesson. And there is something to be absorbed at each stage of it. And no I cannot control every situation, but I can determine how I respond to matters out of my control. Every day is another opportunity to reinvigorate myself about what is special to me. I hope I can make you proud. And I hope I can make myself proud. I'll work hard for everything and remember that I can touch lives because you, you, and especially you touched me. I'm one of the starfish that got tossed back into the water and I'm just thankful that you keep walking up that beach for all those like me.

Regular

2010-07-02T09:26:00.000-07:00

Chris Brown has been through a lot. We all have, just dealing with his whole ordeal between him and Rihanna. Many were forced determine our stance on domestic violence and the entertainment industry's influence on our lives. For a while I wondered why do these "stars" matter so much? And it occurred to me that they mean such a great deal because their artistic creations fill all of the otherwise silent moments of life. We listen to them on our walk to work, on the subway, in our homes, and everywhere in between. It's no wonder they mean so much to us. That's why it is such a huge deal with him hitting her. He violated the trust of so many fans. Anyway--not the point of this blog. Chris Brown has grown, at least from a musical standpoint. While his earlier work kept him a polite, pop R&B partystarter, his more recent work seems a bit more motivated. He now takes the role of music's "bad boy;" because there always has to be a bad boy. Dropping mixtapes every couple months, Chris's label has considered dropping him completely a couple times. Forced into an awkward position he doesn't worry too much about the backlash, since he's already on the public's shitlist. His work is more sexualized and hard-hitting. Without the pressures of the label trying pigeonhole you into something marketable, C Breezy is free to make the music that her wants. While I'm not a huge fan of his "rapping." I have become a legit fan. Without all the glitz and glam following him, I find it easier to embrace stuff without the guilt of going with a trend. This newfound sense of self gave the Mechanical Dummy a particularly poignant song. It's called "Regular Girl." The song could be easily skated over Brown's mostly uptempo mixtape "Fan of a Fan," where he chose to rap more times than sing. The song was 'delicate' in a word. There wasn't production on it to feature crazy dj voiceovers, Diddybopping their extravagant callouts or an ambitious rapper. The song is what I'll call Easy Breezy. He described that intangible yearn that many entertainers and commoners deal with. That simple desire to have someone "normal" to cradle your dreams, council your fears, and nurture your desire to be a better human being. "Regular Girl" seems an introspective moment for Christopher Maurice Brown to describe his hope to meet someone who's special not because they have a record deal, but because he is validated through their love. Maybe I'm reading into it too much. Whatever. The song means something special to me. it's sorta poetic when we as black men can admit we are flawed and ask you to love us anyway. Call it 'a mature stance.' Well done Breezy. I see you on your Grown Man.

Here's the song. Check it out. Leave a comment

Looking For A New Love Baby

2010-04-02T10:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just want to ride this train into forever. It didn't even occur to me that I hadn't been on the MTA in about 3 weeks. Almost like I've just been a zombie in the house. I need some sort of outlet from this cyclic turmoil of wanting out of a situation, but not wanting to go into another more uncomfortable situation. It seems that this society has been designed in such a way that instead of people working hard to eventually have a calm piece of mind and the free will to live outside of the box, we have been afforded one opportunity of hard work to move to the next level of working even harder and settle into a box that is simply a lil bit more comfortable than the one that preceded it. I don't like this sensation. I'm a wild colt being made to trot in place. Remember George Orwell's 1984 where he described the difficulty in sitting in a pre-constructed bubble of consciousness because that was what was deemed "permissible" by the totalitarian power. My room looks like something out of a Nanny's worse nightmare. It's littered with newspaper clippings from classified ads, half-read books, napkins with my incomplete musings, and a wide realm of clothes strewn about in the wreckage, because much like the walls of my mind there is much clutter that I must sort through to discover the proper mask to put on to arrive at the next level. I sift through the junk every day, but I have no real desire to move it because it like so many other things is only a physical representation of psychological struggles I am trying desperately to escape. I know that "eventually" everything will work itself out, but some days I feel panicked when my aunt asks me questions about my plans for the summer and I have a mild heart attack. Mostly because she rattles off pronouns like "us" and "we" and I look to Heaven and pray silently that the Lord doesn't allow me to sit here all the way till summer. I have no desire to stay in this box, this tiny islet of steel that keeps me a slave to someone else's altruistic deed of allowing me to squat their apartment. I am ready. I cannot remain in the state that I am in. I cannot bare more moments of an adult life that still feels like being 16 with a fresh driver's license and waiting to borrow Mom and Pop's car. I am ready to throw this puppy into overdrive and let the top down. *sigh* For now I'll start by getting my draws out the floor

I Dreamed A Dream

2010-03-30T21:23:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I have out of body experiences. There's not many of them but when they come they're really intense. Most times it just ends up being me looking at myself and narrating like a voiceover a la "The Wonder Years." Blame it on too much tv. But sometimes it's all I can do to keep from being mad at the world. There are so many things that make me feel I was meant for more and while I have been in this move to the step I wonder how many people share my sentiments of feeling that they're "special." Are we all self-indulged narcissists that fail to see the bigger picture? Or are we victims of a society that pushes us to be independent workers so long as we eventually choose to sell our souls in exchange for a small piece of the pie only a select few are rationing at the table of Life? It's hard to tell what thoughts are my own and which ones are those that have been implanted in me by the Mechanism, if you will, that sells the American Dream to us all. While on the surface the governing ideologies that fabricate these systems of altruistic hope, there is something in me that believes swallowing this romanticized propaganda is naive. Maybe even dangerous. Because in times such as these it helps to retain your optimism but approach situations with a realistic perspective. Thus, I feel out of place, or I have my out-of-body experience. Where I see myself doing one thing out of optimism and preparing myself for the more realistic outcome that may follow. In the past 8 months I have applied to more programs that I "deserved" to get in and still got the courteously worded rejection letters. And I as I prepare to start my first day as a barista at Starbucks Coffee I wonder how am I like these other "aspiring authors" and "budding actors" that are both are customers and my coworkers. Part of me just feels like this apron and hat served up with a $1-million cappuccino formula is another ploy by the powers that be to keep us all distracted and ensnared in their rat race. I may be losing a lot of you right now, but I am simply saying that I want out of this cycle and one day it is my true hope that I can find a way to follow my dreams without selling their chastity down the river for the resources to pursue them.

Terror in the Night

2010-03-26T06:19:00.000-07:00

My aunt had a night terror that probably scared me more than it did her. She was moaning and slightly yelling in a state that my voice seemed not to reach her. Her cries had woke me from my own sleep and were shaking her body and hindering her from sleeping well or waking very easily. Panicked, I ran around the house searching for a number that I could call in this scenario. I'm not certified for anything like this. In CPR/AED training there was nothing in our manual about this sort of thing. And suddenly I realized why my aunt wanted someone to stay with her all this time. Rent-free. She didn't like to be alone. She probably combats her own loneliness and the sounds of old age as the two sneak up on you. Her placating that feeling means moving in a disadvantaged you , i.e. moi, and give them a chance to reshape their lives while keeping her company in the mean time. Hm. Not a bad deal I suppose. And here I was thinking that her incessant barrage of complaints and orders were coming from a place of bitterness. No. That changes everything. I know what it's like to be a prisoner to a situation, in a sense. And I believe that fear arrests my aunt sometimes because in these the last years of her life, there aren't many people she has come to count on. I feel slightly selfish for being anxsty at times. It's partly my A.D.D.'s fault, since it hates for people to interrupt me when I'm finally focusing. But other than that, I really should have no complaints about being here. While I'm spending my time upset about living in a sense of suspended reality, a la Recesión. Aunt Dot is dealing with her own mortality and how to cope with a body that no longer has the energy to go as far as it used to and a spirit that just isn't ready to give up yet. That night terror scared the hell out of both of us. ::sighs:: Is there anything else I can get you Auntie? Okay. Good night. Love you.

I'm Sorry Were You Saying Something?

2010-03-25T17:30:00.001-07:00

Men and women have this tendency to try to point figures at how relationships work or fail. And each time someone tries to elucidate the issue more they offer their side of the story in a sense. That said, here's my take on the age=old argument.

As a black man we learn many things that are not easily forgot. We learn rules about masculinity, toughness, emotionality, and sexuality. We are taught from a very early age to be how most of us end up, reserved. No, I don't like that word. Closeted. Yeah, that's a better fit. In life we're supposed to go out there with a big bad persona with our six figure salary and our body sculpted by The Almighty Himself and swoop in to "tame" the naive little lamb of a woman and make her our wives. In real-life that almost never happens. Man with his big bad persona and his limited wallet size make him closer to being a scrub than the baller shot caller, his ego would have him believe he is. He's a good dresser, but that's simply because he spends most of his meager wages on a pair of new kicks and some hot threads instead of saving up for a house. If he is even able to woo a woman into a date let alone a "relationship" they probably spend a good deal of time arguing about who wears the pants and how he continues to make her feel that she is entitled to her emotions. Many of us don't want your emotions, just your body. Both lustfully and psychologically. We want a partner that enables us to be as complacent in our circumstance as we are. And given the nature of many women they either settle for that arrangement because of the "inner light" they caught glimpses of. Or they end scene right then and there because they know that they deserve better. Problem is, when those women continue searching for their Nubian King, they find that he is short supply. While their previous experience taught them men exploit any emotional weakness they can find, they surmise that at least he's not like their homegirl's husband who's a high-powered attorney that hits her. And we struggle.

These are things that plague our community. Yes, many of them are prevalent in mainstream society, but black people know anything that is a 10 in the general public is a 100 in black society. As a man I find that I struggle with opening up. Either I'm always trying to hide something about some of my worst traits to tell her about something good I've done. Don't wanna scare her off now do I? Sometimes I struggle with lust issues because as a man it is very easy to look at a woman with only one intention in mind. Sometimes I have to deal pride issues because often times I date up and the woman is generally out of my league but she works with me because I have the potential to be where she is. I have issues with jealousy. I want to possess her in a large sense as the number one thing in her life and when I'm not I get anxious because in the construction of this patriarchal world, the woman should make me the nucleus of my being while I only make her a mitochondria in mine. (Note: For those of you less familiar with parts of the cell, mitochondria produce an organism's energy and helps it to grow.) Sorry, I talked to a woman who knew a lot about science. Anyway, that's generally how men and women were taught to love. 60/40, with the female doing the majority of the work. The reason why so many R&B singers because so famous is because they proposed in many of their songs to reverse the arrangement of how we as black people were socialized. "I give good love. I'll buy your clothes I'll cook your dinner too, soon as I get home from work.-Babyface" Many of them offer up explanations and apologies for the problems that we come to from Jump Street.

Personally, I think that women should approach a man with the assumption already in her head that he's crazy. That way she can focus on how best she can draw the poison out of his deep-tissued wounds or walk about on eggshells for the entirety of their relationship, understanding that if anyone is going to change a grow it's going to be her. Don't get me wrong, there are some good men out there, I suppose I'm in that category too. But black women are the stronger of this union. All the things that blacks have been through in this country, the Black Woman has the burden of enduring it alongside her father, her brother, her lover, or her husband. However, her pain was worse. She had to tolerate most of it silently. It is for this reason many of the women of color are damaged because they were made to be the mule of society for far too long. And the closer with to what they call "Progress" the greater strides the woman must make to raise strong males that can right the wrongs of their predecessors'. Then again, what do I know? I'm a dude.

At Odds With The World

2010-03-25T16:43:00.001-07:00

I knew a woman once, who was talented, intelligent, profound, and gorgeous. She was a deep hue of brown with micro-braids in her hair because it was easier to "maintain" while she is in Medical School. And that's how I referred to her in much of even my own memories. Let's not ruin it with a new title. Anyway, MedSchool was a dream in some regards. She was a complex female, like most of the women that seem to garner my attention. And being with her felt like falling down and flying high at the same time. She had a deep past with a few scars like me and we tried to explore the depth of our pain together, while "getting to know each other" as she put it. Most of the time it just meant me trying to figure out what was in her head and her just enjoying the time we spent together. Like my normal self, sometimes I was "trifling" if you will. Not on purpose, but simply because in my experience it has always been difficult to consider everything when I'm attempting to share a part of me with another individual. We had our good days. We had our bad, but holistically it wasn't a terrible experience at failing again to move to the next level with someone I considered a potential mate. Her schedule was often bogged down with labs, and rotations, and doctor-shadowing, and research projects, papers and interesting facts about how the body contains a sack of poison in it that you don't need called the appendix. She was full of tidbits of "did you know" and "it's so amazing that." If for nothing else, the time we spent together was rewarding because it was like trying to get through a maze to discover at the end of it all is another piece of yourself. But like so many other attempts at this whole "shot at love" thing (minus the tila tequila and a whory show about a idiotic lesbian) there were many things that kept coming up that I feel like I visited before. Sometimes I had the tendency to be late. Sometimes she had the tendency to propose a simple activity that made both of us happy. We had a lot of free fun, but she like most women, was complex. Actually scratch that. She like many women was much like most men out here including myself: damaged. No, I couldn't relate to instances where she discussed her father putting his hands on her mother. No, I didn't recognize the telltale signs of her being upset. And much like her I was still reserved at some points because both of us weren't sure what the others intentions were with their heart. We had the age old struggle of "mars vs. venus." And I kept saying well she's closed off today because this happened in her past. And she probably thought of each of the days I told her about life as attention-seeking latch key middle child. We both had our flaws but somehow those flaws allowed the disintegration of what could have been. I don't know. I think I need to look at this from another angle. Let's just say for now that MedSchool one of the most befuddling Almosts that I ever met. But everybody knows Almost Doesn't Count. May I should invest in an abacus.

Mrs. Parker

2010-01-09T23:55:00.000-08:00

Mrs. Parker died the other day. Aunt Dot was real tore about it. Black woman. 62 years old. 3 children. 1 grandchild I met. She had breast cancer. Went to her funeral. And the repass. Lotta people there. Kept bumping into old women talking bout "energy" and "youth." How much I still gotta learn. I walked Mrs. Barbara back to her apartment. She needs a bit of walking support her cane can't give her. Take your time Mrs. Barbara. Mrs. Barbara has shortness of breath. Congestive heart failure. She talked while we walked. Not much. She said enough. I listened. Said how restless she got in her apartment. Can't really go nowhere wit "bad knees." The coldness makes her bones ache. A prisoner in her own home. Trapped in her own body. I listened to how she landed on words like "hang out" and "time." Thought about what it means to her. Dude passed us in the hall wishing us "Happy New Year and many more." What's that mean to her? Many more. How many? She plan to die in our building? Mrs. Parker did. Mrs. Parker was Mrs. Barbara's friend. My aunt's friend. To me just one of the old lady's that live in our building. Mrs. Barbara's apartment is really clean. No. Neat. Doesn't look like she entertains much. Nice though. The 16th Floor units seem like they got more space than us. I gave Mrs. Barbara my cell number. Told her to call me if she needed anything. She doesn't have kids. "Grandbabies." Sisters. Brothers. Nieces. Nephews running round like Mrs. Parker's repass. Lotta noise before. Now, pure silence. Don't know why I felt some type of way. But I did. Death. Age. Youth. Time. Strange.

Precious Gift of Faith

2010-01-09T23:43:00.000-08:00

God gave us tomorrow. The same as He always has.
Tomorrow remains the gift from the Almighty
That we have a chance to see past yesterday's pain
Leap the hurdles of today
And lay our head to rest knowing
That our pleasant dream is tomorrow

As a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ sometimes I find myself caught up. Crushed under an insurmountable weight of guilt that I'm not fulfilling my potential and a distant pain that suggests God doesn't know how to do His job. I mean, He's only been doing it for an eternity. If I could just send up one more reminder prayer to Him, that I'm still suffering and keep complaining to Him long enough maybe I'll get what I want. Never mind that He already knows my heart's desire before I ask it. We are Christians. I am a Christian. No, I am a Believer. And since I make that proclamation with my mouth I must believe it with my heart. Otherwise, I have no right to label myself as such. "Tomorrow," is God's Divine Promise that He shall keep His Flock. And I, a lost sheep, must believe that the Great Shepherd shall lead me to greener pastures. Tomorrow is my strength. It gives me courage to hold on. Tomorrow holds the just benefits of my holding onto God's Hand. Tomorrow is the day I shall reap the harvest for the seed I'm planting now. God gave us tomorrow to keep our feet firmly rooted in Him to know that He has our back, Today.

Untitled

2010-01-08T11:16:00.000-08:00

I'm an old school R&B Head
The kind that appreciates Marvin Gaye, Smokie Robinson, and "you're my darling, darling baby" Barry White,
The music buff who appreciated a vocalist pushed up against one instrument
And no backing
Only riffs when it comes from their soul
And takes ample time to paint a story with their instrument
Their voice
R&B nowadays is closer to Pop
Riffs are artificialized melissma taught to them
Growls are emphasizing tools that make them think they're really giving it to me
But Aretha didn't growl
She didn't need to
And she still gave you all that you needed
Patti remained incomparable
And as I find myself
Comparing
I'm disappointed
To find those with art worthy are shelved
Or pushed into obscurity
Promoted poorly
Or tainted by the industry's bright lights
Polite crooners
Allow their fame to take a transformative property on themselves
Yielding a drunken buffoon
So impressed with his own reflection
Give me an artist who doesn't even own a mirror
And only talks to media when they interview em naked strumming their guitar swaying in a hammock
Those that heal with their poetic musings
Should caress their membranes
But instead we have little divas running around the club blaming stuff on alcohol when it was their sober mind's fault its owner fell in love with a stripper
This poem didn't have a title
And didn't really rhyme
It was just me yearning for a generation to free its mind
Don't know who's listening
Who really does these days?

Freedom

2010-01-05T09:20:00.000-08:00

As I take steps towards realizing the Destiny that You have for me, please keep me calm. Please send a calming word and a creative spark that will breed life into me. Lord, I ask that you let me walk towards whatever it is that You have planned. There are more trying times ahead, but these trying ones that I sit in I ask that you bless my spirit with energy that I've never known to endure such tribulation. This is no magic 8 ball trick. I humbly sit at the altar and bow my head because I confess that I believe in You. You are real. Head of my Life. Father of Creation. Master of all Things and I place my life in Your Hands. Make into what You will. In Your Son Jesus' name I pray. Amen.

Come by here Lord. Please.

Walk With Me

2010-01-04T11:45:00.000-08:00

Some people are lucky enough to know exactly what they want to do after they graduate. And some of us are a bit more perplexed by the process and spend a good deal of time after we earn that special piece of paper trying to determine its meaning and worth or lack thereof to our lives. Some of us have the opportunity to have a tentative plan inside our skulls but when those "subject to change" plans become a seed misplanted what do we do then? The fears that I held prior to graduation gripped me so fully that I could only muster enough strength to pass all of the today classes and drown down the tomorrow that came oh too soon. While other people talked about graduate school and law school, I quickly shunned those options off. "Man, we been in school forever." Because the last thing I wanted to do was go back to school with another couple years of my life gone and more loans that neither I nor my parents could pay off. I'm not sure who read it, but the "letter to my professor" never fell upon the ears that I really needed it to. My mentor. He knows who he is. Or at least he did. Our graduation meant a different scenario for him and he too had to make a sudden change in his life. And with his absence and no one to yell at me proper and say I'm not trying hard enough I have left my fate to an unpredictable wave of "maybe" and "I hope so." And I know that's not what I want either. Maybe it's some sort of flaw of the American educational system or some flaw of society but I think there has been something fundamentally important missing from the last 18 years of my schooling. No one here teaches you how to find something you love and turn it into a viable option or skill that can sustain you financially while fulfilling you psychologically and emotionally. The arts are discouraged. The imagination is repressed. Independent thinking is shunned. And feasibility is all that matters in a society that runs solely on oil barrels and currency exchange rates. What about me as a person? Don't I matter? Don't I count? Don't I have a right to dream? And why is it that these dreams have to stay locked away in a tiny pocket of my psyche and guarded from the rude eyes of the world, even my own family? Why are we forced to learn some sort of skill and learn how to market that instead learning how to hone whatever gift the Almighty has blessed me with into a means to support myself in a way that benefits both the community and my soul along the way? Maybe I've lost many of you, but with the turn of the year I will begin to look back inside of myself and question what the things outside of me mean to my growth not only as a human being, but as a cohesive spirit extending his energy into a world I hope to someday make my mark upon. Follow me.

Reigning It In

2010-01-01T23:27:00.000-08:00

For New Year's Eve this year my best friend and I decided to have our own private party online. It was amazing. We danced the night away. Drank cider. Acted a fool. Cooked dinner. Spit some poetry. And you know I was singing the whole way through. The video is kinda fun. It's madd long. But it's a lot of fun. Updates coming soon. You know how I do. Triple updates in one day. Anyway, here's how I spent my first moments of 2010. Hopefully, it can all be filled with this much love and fun. Happy New Year Everyone! God bless you all.

Road By The Sea

2009-12-29T22:08:00.000-08:00

Sorry I have been slacking off lately. Here's a random video of my friends and I acting in the meantime. Plenty of poetry, prose, and creative musings coming in a little bit. Enjoy.

Gone Too Soon

2009-11-29T15:54:00.000-08:00

Today, for no reason at all I missed you and I couldn't even take time to properly cry. It hasn't ever hurt quite as much as it did at your funeral, but sometimes it sneaks up on me and paralyzes me with sorrow; and a longing to see a face that left six years ago. You were the middle child just like me, trying to carve a path all your own, amid work, amid love, amid pain that you never let the world see. And sometimes for no apparent reason at all I feel tears well up in my eyes for the first person I was close enough to know when they died. It shook our whole family. And there's still a vacuum where your laughter used to split the air. I haven't felt this way since Graduation. I remember you used to always be the loudest cheerleader anybody in the family could ask for. You always had this magnetic way of bringing everyone in our disjointed household into the same room to talk about something funny one of the babies had done. I wish you could see them now. Kareem is so tall and smart too. And Kaseama Joy, is the spitting image of you. She's beautiful. And it's not like I don't think about you often, anytime I do any work for the American Cancer Society or look at pictures or hear a song about family I think about you. I especially missed you this holiday because truthfully your smile was always one of the brightest. It used to really warm me more than I probably ever could articulate. You were strong. You didn't stop smiling. Even when you were in pain. Even when the chemo made you so weak you could hardly stand. Even when it upset your stomach and it hurt you to even slightly move. You smiled. You laughed loudly, head back, full row of teeth showing, heartily laughed. You took no moment for granted and you held your children's hand as long as you could. The family was always good about giving us second and third parents. You and Aunt Cynthia made up a really great sort of pair to be my second mothers. Your outspoken personality mirrored mine to a great degree. And I still remember carrying your wedding ring down the aisle when you wed him. You were so beautiful. And for no particular reason today, I thought about how six years ago your breast cancer cost our family a fervent member of the squad. It cost two women a sister. It cost one son the nurturer he still needs. It cost one beautiful baby girl a woman she so desperately wanted to be just like. Yeah, I don't know what made me think of you tonight. But I love you. And I miss you. So much. Maybe you just wanted to pay me a visit tonight here in New York City. Like you did when I was working on my Senior Thesis. Maybe you just had the urge to remind me that I'm not alone up here. Maybe you wanted to let me know that life isn't fair, but everything happens for a reason. Maybe you just wanted to let me know that God sometimes has other plans for our lives. Whatever the reason, hi Auntie.

Delicate

2009-11-23T07:42:00.000-08:00

What we're building here is a fragile thing. A collaborative effort that could make something beautiful, but one must approach it with extra caution. Putting together the fixings of a "relationship" is a delicate art. Picture it as building a house out of toothpicks and cellophane paper. Granted the materials that you are working with are delicate, if fortified the correct way this seemingly temporal thing has the chance to last forever. However, the keep is not in the expensive drapes and lavish marble floor upgrades you install. It's in the architecture and immediately most important after that is the foundation. Seemingly random moments of consideration and thoughtlessness are logged into a concrete bed that says this is what your time together will be based upon. So it is important to tread lightly and think wisely. While many things can be forgiven there is only so much one can take with regards to weaving together the very fabric of this thing called us and put simply I messed up a bit. In one intoxicated occurrence accompanied with complete disregard for the other lead contractor in this other thing we're building I put an infinitesimal in the concrete mix that is laying the foundation. I missed one night that was supposed to be special and while I care not to divulge details I will say simply, it was my fault. And argue as I might, my would-be Love Doctor is upset with me as well they should be. Because as I said, this thing we're creating here is a copious task to be executed. I now know that I should have made a better decision Friday night. And though I am glad that we are still trying to repair the foundational damage before it has gotten too far gone. Thank you. I know you won't forgive me for a drunken night that was supposed to have been reserved for us, but I will say " I truly do apologize." And while I know it will be a long while before I actually get to taste that homecooking you were surprising me with, I thank you that I got to see your beautiful face amid your anger. I will be pulling double shifts and working the graveyard overtime to show you that I am serious about this. I want this. And I'm glad that you remember the preliminary planning we did with this. Furthermore, I'm glad that you and I get to perfect the blueprint of something truly special.

And I Wonder

2009-11-23T07:41:00.001-08:00

I can't sleep. Granted it's not terribly late yet, to my sleep-deprived body it feels late and I can't pass out for reasons unknown. Probably just a lot on my mind. Thoughts about life and death. And the things that we do in between time. I guess it's facebook's fault. Looking at all these people's statuses about the tragedy of losing two classmates in the same school year. It's just amazing how fragile this whole thing is. Two students from my alma matter, Hampton University lost their lives in the heart of their youth. And while it's not the first time I've heard about the death of someone from my school, it is the first time I've heard about two "freak accidents" in the same span of time since I graduated in May. Two young college-educated black men. Just like me. Cut down in their prime by the sometimes staggering Will of God. It kinda makes you question why. What made it their time to go on to Glory? And why am I still here? Furthermore, what am I doing worthwhile in between now and the moment of my imminent death. I mean, we're all going to go someday right? And we all have no idea when, why, or how. Yet, we continue to take each day for granted. I don't know where I'm going with this. All I know is that God has got to know what He's doing, but sometimes I just wish He would give me a clue so that I am not groping blindly in the dark. My peers' death reminds us all how temporal this life is. How fragile it is in the palm of the Almighty's. And with the batting of an eye we can be in the next life wondering where all the time went. That's what I find myself doing. I'm not a hollow wandering the streets in search of a the next vacuum I hope can fill my more dense areas. No, I'm simply a spirit in longing for the chance to fulfill its destiny. Whatever that might be. I know my time is limited here. All of ours are. And with people dying younger everyday we can't afford to waste our time on things not worth it. Sure wealth can pay your bills and keep creditors from breathing down your throat, but money is not the only thing needed to sustain a marriage. Sure a big house can provide you with a symbol of status, but only warmth from the soul can make it a home. Certainly, a Rolls Royce or a Bentley can tell people, "hey I've got it going on." But only real love in your heart will make you glow with a pride the world could never understand. I mean it's quite possible I'm just rambling. And this is flying over my own head even as I type it, but if it isn't then we have to all give a crazy man more credit for his contemplation. "You ever wonder if you'll find your dreams? You ever what it all really means?" Search yourself America. What are you doing to make your life and maybe even the life of someone else's enriched? Make the most of it. There's a no-return policy on this gift of life.

Slow Motion

2009-11-17T16:59:00.000-08:00

The easy way to say this would sound cliché but I guess I kind of have to for sake of argument. "I've never done this before." Well, at least not the right way. There've always been a lot of little and not-so little things to keep me distracted. Things there to keep me from giving my undivided attention to someone of your callibre. And well, I'm just saying I'm new to this. I'm a man. And the last time that I tried this was a farce. And the time before that I ran. And being just a humble man of 22 years I feel it's only right to tell you this. I'm unemployed. Not in the traditional way no. No I haven't filed for it as it hasn't been that long. And no I'm not starving as that would imply I don't have a great family to support me through this prolonged transition to the next life. But this is the best way I know how to frame my argument right now. Granted, you already knew this and granted you're working your way towards being a doctor right now, I felt compelled to tell you this. I don't have a steady paycheck and I'm always working on waiting for something more substantial than a substitute teacher waiting on the Board of Ed to say word. I don't know why I'm telling you this but in this incubator I want to attempt to do this right. I've been getting it wrong for so long or running from the opportunity to find out how to get it right. Hmph. Baby, I'm a man. And you're, amazing. I just don't want to mess up any image of the composed gentleman I know I try to come off ass. Truth is, I'm a mess. An unemployed mess who is trying to tell you I have ample to time to get to know. Limited distractions to allow me to ignore you. And a full heart ready to leap straight forward with this, but I won't. I've done that before. And what we're doing right now.....these extended glimpses into each other feel good. Not that you needed a timeline, or a quantifier to what you already know (because I know you're reading this) but for now I just wanted to fully put it out there in case there was any misconception. I like you. And for the first time, I would honestly like a chance to toss away my flawed ways of thinking and........learn French. If you know what I mean. I sure hope you do.
-MJ

Dear Professor,

2009-11-13T05:04:00.000-08:00

Boy, I thought these things would be so different with this degree. Purpose would float down from its magical cloud of Wonder and Pure Joy to come keep me company in the apartment I am technically squatting. I believed that having a job would make me feel somewhat happy, but really I'm not looking to "work" I'm looking to build a career. And the two are vastly different. The fact that my current guardian continues to speak to me about "jobs" at places like CostCo and Target as though they are a Once in a Lifetime Opportunity befuddles my spirit to no end. Nevertheless, I keep pressing on. I'm a student without an assignment. A teacher without a classroom. I'm a writer without a publishing deal. I'm a poet without an metaphor. And I have no idea why, but on the train seems to be a quiet solitude that I am not as often afforded when at the apartment, because being there makes me feel like I'm sitting in one spot in life. A strange conundrum that makes me feel like I can't breathe. Granted a hypochondriac reaction, it doesn't make it any less true. I can always feel the mild panic attack coming on. I don't want to feel like I'm letting you down. Or wasting the education that you and your colleagues worked so hard to instill in me. I sometimes feel like giving up hope because there are such challenges that stand in between me and the Destiny I know God is saving for me. I am Princeton from Avenue Q, searching for a Purpose. Singing "What Do You Do With a BA in English?" til it hurts sometimes. If I had known this was on the other side of that stage at Graduation I might have taken the victory lap that seems popular among some of the dense members of the student body. Hmph. But I go to church alot. And I talk to God often. I remember when you assigned me to read one Proverb a day to help settle the excitable son that you had found in me. How I wish I could go into your office now to complain in person. Damn I just wish I had listened to you when you said to go to grad school anyway. But that wasn't my dream. It was my eventual plan, but I had to chase after a Purpose that meant more than continuing my education just because I was out of lucid ideas. I fall on my knees at the altar twice, sometimes three times a week. I cast my cares on the Lord and then I remember that everything is going to be all right. You told me things will be interesting after I got this piece of paper that says I've accomplished something. I remember that I carry all the lessons you taught me in and outside the classroom and I do my best to keep it together. I breathe deeply and pray for God to move me to the next step. Then the Holy Spirit settles within me. Comes to be the Comforter that He is. Thanks be unto you God. I know you won't leave me in this place long. He has always kept me in times of hardship. And if there's one lesson you always burned in my brain throughout our Dr. Cox-JD exchanges, it's that I can't get through this life without Divine Help. I can think straight again. ::exhales:: Okay, I'm calm now Professor. You're right, this thing is only temporary. The sooner I stop being a child throwing his temper tantrum the sooner I realize I'm just passing through.

The Incubation Period

2009-11-13T00:39:00.000-08:00

So, there are many ways you could take that title, but this one is not talking about some magical bubble of modern medicine that preserves a preme hatched before its time. This is not a tribute to the many wonders and pleasures of modern-day science. And I shall not be addressing the disadvantages mothers put themselves in without pre-natal care. No, I'm talking about relationships. You know those good ones. Actually, I shouldn't say that. The new ones. Yeah, that's more like it. People always have what they call "the honeymooners" phase that they go through when relationships first start. And they're happy. Seems like everything is on. They're into you. You're into them. They're pretty. They think you're handsome. She's attracted to you. You're attracted to her. Dates are going pretty well. And she can dance her ass off. There's a glimmer in her eyes and you know that there is something that suggests you all could pursue this more seriously. Ahhh, you're young what's the rush. Just see what happens the older adults say, but me I know better. So this time, while I am enjoying the happy euphoria of beginning something new with someone I've just met I brace myself for what comes next. But it's terribly exciting. And you don't wanna mess up. You don't wanna damage something so fragile. Like that preme who fell out the womb a month too soon, the relationship is still delicate. Still developing the tools it needs to survive and if you're not careful the slightest tear in your plastic container could let all the air out and suffocate your beautiful baby relationship. So for now I'm "babysitting." I'm watching patiently on the other side of the plastic casing and hoping that its vitals remain stable. I'm going to nurse it with nutrients like keen listening. I'm going to sustain it with careful texts that say "hey, I thought about you today." I'm going to feed it with tidbits of me that are honest and then I'm ready to reciprocate the favor of soul sharing without judgment. I'm not going to make any sudden movements, because slow and steady will win the race of a healthy newborn. In short, let's just say: I met someone. Someone pretty amazing, but I'm taking my time. Warning: Potential Relationship Ahead. Yield & Proceed with Caution.

The Dream

2009-11-03T14:17:00.000-08:00

A year ago today if I could have told myself where I would be it might not have been here. One year ago, I was sitting in an office half sleep anticipating polls opening to make something truly special happen. I remember handing out pamphlets, doing call banking, and knocking on doors. Eating cold pizzas and mapping out territory yet to be flooded with information about a small time Congressman from Chicago who would one day become the First African American to be President of the United States of America. I remember how nervous I was for a victory that I knew would be shared around the world. In such a dire period in our nation's history we decided to stand on the promise of a brighter tomorrow on the merit not of the individual's skin color, but the worth of his moral foundation. And while many people still doubted I sat in my apartment and spirited defended my candidate from the time we went to the DNC in 2007. I never even thought it possible, but here we are a year later. I have ascertained my college degree and a significant amount of life experience that I have not yet been able to transition into substantial employment. It has been a roller coaster of emotion for me as I watch one dream get up each day and try to decide what's best for our country to the best of his ability. And though there are many people that still have their issues and their own doubts to deal with, here I am a year later. And I still believe. I still think that a man who grew up looking just like me, dealing with the same burdens of being an urban youth, an educated man, a calloused intellect, an explosive activist, and an unabashed optimist. This man who has already touched the lives of so many just with his victory is still fighting to remain true to promises made to all those stood with him. I know not how the public satisfaction rate affects him each week. Furthermore, I haven't the slightest idea of how much of a burden he must bare each day. But if I had to quantify I would say, Barry has to confer upon a few hundred million people in one tiny country everytime his alarm clock goes off in the morning. I still remember the 3am ad that ran saying that we shouldn't trust this man to answer that red phone, and here we are a mere 365 days later and he's racking up a buttload of long distance on that thing and here some people are tryna talk about all the wrong numbers he seems to be dialing. I am sorry America. Actually, let me rephrase that. I am sorry naysayers, but I still believe he is the best man for that job. Lord knows if it was me sitting in that elliptical casing of bureaucracy every day and night I would have been told the military to just drop devastate some places and we'll clean up the mess later. And Lord knows some of yall might have done the same thing. I just thing we should consider the amount of pressure one might be under every moment there doing what he is doing. The fact that you literally don't get a day off. And while you have a pretty good healthcare plan, if you ever did get sick and try to take a day off the media would probably say that you were the target of a bio warfare attack that your administration is trying to cover up. Okay, I know some of you are just bored with my rhetoric about the Negro President, but I just wanted to say that it's okay to still believe. It's okay to still hold on to that Hope that his election was suppose to represent. And though there may be many things happening right now, you can't let those things distract you from what your heart begs for to endow it with the Strength to beat as one with those whose epithelial layer may differ from our own. While I'm not saying that this man is God, or that every choice he has made over the past year have been perfect, it has been what he thought would help make the world a better place. And it's definitely, if nothing else changing the perception other countries have of the United States. It certainly made it a little bit easier to discuss some of the tougher issues of our society that would have otherwise been swept under the rug. No man can do everything exactly as the general public would have him to. And no president can do everything that makes everyone of his supporters rally around, because these were the same people who couldn't stand together before he was the head of the whole operation. Racism isn't just going to go away because a colored man is the Boss of the Executive Branch of a government not designed in his favor. Homophobia is going to evaporate just because one homo and tranny ruffled a few feathers in the governor's mansion. And no, Iraq is suddenly going to forgive us for blowing up half their country b/c they have a little bit of surplus money. These things take time. But we already knew that. And we already had established that too. It's time we put aside the petty differences that splinter us from the truth and choose to stand on a foundation that we can all be brethren in this newly United States. Barack can't do it alone. He's a mere mortal. It's when two and three gather in His Name that great things can truly happen. Learning to recognize your brother and recognize your sister beyond what the physical sees, is when we reach a level that is truly Divine. Let's start dreaming with our eyes closed.

Complicado

2009-10-28T11:38:00.000-07:00

Today I read. Reading is always sort of cathartic for me as sometimes individuals find a way to articulate notions we have in common in a clever way. Today's response will be to the female half of this circle of compadres. Her poetic prose danced on the page for me and settled in a cozy corner of my mind. It reminded me of the thing that always drew us together in a sort of magnetic friendship that I always believe goes far beyond this natural world. And as she described clever nuances about her personality I recognized what some of it looked like in real life. I could vividly picture those sentiments that I share within myself. Those complicated twists and turns of all of our personas that makes uniquely ourselves. And when she described the weaker elements of the human dilemma of ultimately still being just a man (or a woman in her case). I identify with those musings because that is what is closest to my current strivings. I have tried everything in the book to reconcile those idiosyncrasies of having polar thoughts dueling within your head each day. On tv, they do the shoulder pixie thing with one side depicted as an angel and the other shoulder housing a devil. But my warring ideologies are not as simple as that. There are not merely two parts of my being trying to get their side heard there are several. The Spirit of me wants the Mind, and the Body, and the Conscience, and the Heart to all shut up long enough so that it focus on how to feel free. It's half the reason why I kept trying to figure a way out of the country. B/c my Spirit yearns for an openness and adventure that mundane desk work and rigid school curriculums can't provide. My Mind would like time to get considerable thinking in that results in some reasonable and profitable resource that would win it critical acclaim. The Body would just like to fulfill itself through exercise and "physical exertion" and then admire its own output in the mirror. The Heart yearns for a love it knows it cannot actually handle at this moment. And the conscience realizes that all these things are good but I must still support myself in some legal and rewarding sort of way. All this sums up to the fact that yeah, a brother is pretty complicated his damn self. I need money. I need food. I need affection. I need more food. I need fulfilling exercise. I need creative outlet. And I need something beautiful that I can call my own. Thus far I have feel I have only caught crumb snatches from the Feast of Life and though I'm not hungry right now, parts of me are starving for an attention I have no time to show them. I, unlike my friend, still have trouble sometimes trying to consolidate all these "pieces of me" and they get a little heavy to carry around with me all the time since neglecting them technically makes them dead weight. Confused yet by this extended metaphor? Don't worry. I am too. But I won't be for very long.

**For my non-Anime Followers the picture above is taken from the show Bleach. A teenage hero named Ichigo often had to battle a monster that lived dormant within himself. A monster aptly named a Hollow.

They're All Over Me, And Keeping Me Alive

2009-10-28T11:32:00.000-07:00

This week has felt a bit more difficult for me as I think so many things are sort of in the works. These are the times when our true faith in God is tested because we don't know what he has in store for us next. I'm learning to deal with that doubt. And supplement my emptiness for His fullness. Man is not fed on bread and water alone. So let us recap what is currently sustaining me and then move forward. The residual income from my 4-week short lived occupation. An aunt with an unwavering spirit for inspiring me to do great things. A city that reminds me each day that I can reinvent myself so I should not be afraid. And a rich friendship to those that know me best and shower my days with love via carefully placed text messages and a tiny little update each day that helps me feel connected with them while we're miles apart.

Ran Away To Join the Circus

2009-10-25T21:34:00.000-07:00

So in all my searching for this whole Life's Purpose thing I continue to think and hope against all hopes that my calling will just fall into my lap and all my troubles will go away. However, that's not really the way Life works. And that's not the way this whole career after college thing seems to be happening. I would really like for it to, but so many days it's hard. And after losing my job at this non-profit where I was so privileged to have been teaching prekindergarten and after school I again question if I'm making the right decision. But I am relatively happy. Sometimes my depression creeps up on me, but I find that a few tears and good prayers later I'm in a better place. Not the point though. The real issue I seem to be having is that there is no clear cut answer for figuring all the rest of this out. No guidebook. And I sort of feel like I'm just pulling straws until I can find something substantial. And the more I look around I find that these jewels that seemed to be everyone else's realities aren't as sparkly either. We are all in this transitional period that I only somewhat understand. I mean, I am thankful for the Lord preserving me to this moment and keeping under the covering of His Divine Favor. But sometimes my mind is at a loss trying to piece together all the little inconsistencies in my life. I know I get to be beating a dead horse with this subject, but I sometimes just wish it was all so easy. I keep waiting on that CureAll to fall out the sky and fix all my problems. Yet, I know it will never come. Employment doesn't work that. And Mr. Jesus doesn't wave magic wand to "Accio purpose" for a poor kid still wandering around the changing staircases of Hogwarts. I have to be brave. Brave enough to choose to be proactive instead of letting all this change rub me the wrong way. I have to swallow the pride and take some of the lumps that are gonna come with the choice to work for someone else. But that is the ultimate fate of being in the struggle. I just have to keep up the good fight. Take the good with the bad. And understand that though the bad may outnumber the good for a time it shall never outweigh it. ::breathes deeply:: Let's make moves.

Canal Street

2009-10-25T21:31:00.000-07:00

I guess I musta been right on time for everything today because I got right on the train and right off at 14th St to transfer when my eardrums were caressed by that lovely instrument. The saxophone. I wouldn't dare go searching for where that melodious humming originated and miss my connecting subway. However, I did pan up and down the platform I was on attempting to catch a glimpse of the out of sight musician. His notes put at such ease and though I did not get the opportunity to meet this man or woman, I knew we would be instant friends. It was such a testament top the sheer amount of unfulfilled dream and under-recognized talent in New York City and the world at large for that matter. I let his soft puffs of colorful breath breathe life into me as he exhale into his instrument. As I bathed in this light of extraordinary talent I swayed back in forth to a song that I knew rang from my masked instrumentalist's soul. We were separate and as I joined into their rhythm with a gentle hum we found each other on the lilting muses of the MTA 14th Street Subway Station. Sure there may have been some puzzled stares that didn't understand the connection we shared. And maybe there was further befuddlement by the lack of an empty hat or open instrument case for passersby to throw change in. But this magic that occurred in a stolen instant was not one done for the benefit of all those around who bared witness. This rift of innermost soul songs connecting two nameless strangers was much like this blog. A message in a bottle that you hope will one day find someone who will appreciate it, and until such time you dance alone in the rain. Uninhibited. Unheralded. And unabashed of the pure genius and love of self that resonates within oneself. Well done anonymous saxophonist. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Routine Check Up

2009-10-14T19:01:00.000-07:00

I'm heading to the doctor's office today for my annual physical that I have to get for work among a million other pieces of paperwork that I need to be legitimate. It's more busy work to engage in. Nevertheless, I'm thankful for a quick moment to clear my head during the week. It's usually so hectic I haven't time for introspective musings. But here we are once again. The Almighty has a funny way of arranging a timeline and schedule that is so much more useful than our own. I thank Him for allowing me a patient heart that helps me to align with His Divine Perfection. Anyway, the doctor checked the usual. My vitals. The usual you know. Blood pressure. Heart rate. Height-weight proportionality. Told me to the normal get a physical each year. Diet and exercise. Brush your teeth twice a day. Etc, etc. And I guess that's what I expected but him saying "you're perfectly healthy" made something inside of me realize how good life is right now. Correction: it made me realize how good God is. When I was going through in Atlanta, feeling abandoned, alone, and unhappy. Basically, in the depth of my depression when I felt that there was no escape from my lonely and meaningless exist the Father preserved me. Now, I'm not saying it was a painless preservation. Or a carefree time in my life, but it gave me much time to contemplate how I had come to be in the position I was. I had come to that point, by trying to do it on my own. I had reached that spot by acting on my own and clearing it with God afterwards. But when we choose to act without the anointing of the Father He has a most peculiar way of showing us that He is still in control. In all His Omnipotence is caring enough to let us know He has not forgotten us. In all His Omnipresence He is never too big to come and sit with us and be the Comforter we love. In our darkest hours He kept us. In our lowest moment of loneliness He came and kept us company in a way like no other could. In our time of greatest need He gave us the Hope and Will to know that everything is all right or it soon would be. There's this hospital commercial that comes on here in New York City. It shows a woman running. She says now that she had her special surgery she doesn't take a single beat of her heart for granted. That's kind of how I feel. The doctor's issue of a clean bill of health reminded me that though I felt no one could hear my call, God heard my most desperate prayer and protected me from the situations that could have been so much worse. In the end, it was His Love that took care of me most. And on this day I am thankful that I have the best Primary Healthcare Provider in the World, paid for not with an HMO, but the blood of Jesus.

Blessed and Highly Favored

2009-10-11T17:35:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to do an update on how life is shaping up, but life has been quite hectic. Here's my life in a nutshell: New York moves fast. I have been trying to catch up to its speed. Thus far, I've been doing alright, but I have to hit the ground running each day. After being here only three days and beginning my job hunt I landed a great job that while exhausting is absolutely perfect for me. I work for a non-profit organization in Spanish Harlem servicing African American and Hispanic children with a Pre-Kindergarten and Afterschool Program. I really love what I do. I have gotten to experience both sides of this job in only two weeks. The instructive side that allows me one-on-one time with the children as an Early Childhood Educator. Let me say this, the kids are hilarious. Filled with so much life and so many lessons to learn about patience, trust, and true kindness within one's spirit. Some children are introspective, extroverted, vulgar, charming, bilingual, cute, and somewhere in between it all. I love it. And on the other side of my job, the administrative side, I get the opportunity to sit in the big chair and learn the brains behind the entire operation. While challenging in its own way I find it is extremely useful in teaching some of the same ways and allowing the chance to properly learn organization from the broad prospective of acting as someone else's "boss." It feels weird. And since I'm not as good of a delegator as I could be I have been working on my people skills, while changing the game up a bit and leading by example. I have had the opportunity to see what it is like to network on a really grand scale. My boss and I have attended two galas since I started which allow me time to meet new and important business partners and brush up on my Spanish simultaneously. It feels a bit like a feeding frenzy sometimes, but I felt magical when my boss whispered that I needed to hurry and get business cards made up so that I could start networking even more. I look forward to the opportunity. And I thank God for this marvelous opportunity. He truly did come and work double time in my situation. I owe God everything that I am. I am moving in His Spirit and I ask that every thing I do be a reflection of His Light shining in my life. Well, I gotta get to sleep now. Work starts at the crack of dawn and I've got to hit the ground running. P.S. Take a look at these pics and video below. Some of the good, bad, and ugly of my job. I'll let you decide which is which.

My Happy Place

2009-09-27T14:12:00.000-07:00

This morning I arrived in one of my favorite cities of all time. New York City to be exact. Yes, I am an Atl boy all day, every day. And I always will be, but there is something special about this place that always makes it feel like a second home. Something about the beauty of sitting on the Metro listening to four different conversations in four different languages was refreshing from the usual slurred speech my hometown had afforded me this summer. And though people always talk about the rudeness of Yankees up North, I received none of that. I was having trouble with my overly large suitcases on the bus and one woman even lent me a hand. Holding my brown luggage the whole ride to East Harlem. I took it as a good sign. Usually I get this same tingling feeling of excitement mixed with fear when I touchdown here. But I know it's positivity sweeping through my whole being. Like finding a best friend I never knew I had. Lord knows I'm in the market for a true friend. Seems the only real ones to withstand tested friendship all convened in a little place we called "Our Home By the Sea." So here I am, in the big city. Nervous about what the future has in store. Scared about the prospect of living here. Hoping not to be desensitized by the bright lights as so many other people already seem to be. I know it's naive of me to keep this somewhat idealized construction of the Big Apple but it's what brought me here. And while I know there is a Big Worm slinking somewhere around these alleys trying to strangle my dreams I have Faith that my Peacemaker has a white dove that will devour that doubt. That is His job after all. And that's why I'm here. To find me one. And more importantly to find me a purpose and something meaningful to do with my life. I have some exciting prospects. And I will be discussing them all in time. But for now I'm letting the Master unveil His Plan to me. Thank you Lord for the gift of vision, and the will to move into Your Light and all the magnificent things I know you have planned for me.

Shame the Devil

2009-09-25T19:22:00.000-07:00

I didn't used to be a drinker. I couldn't handle it. Couldn't hold it in my system well enough to carry on normal conversation. I would usually spin out of control and start speaking Spanish. I'm not lying. My friends used to be on watch for such things. My roommate had given me the nickname "One Beer Queer" because often I was told, I can't hold my liquor. And I suppose to a great extent they were right. I grew up in a household where for so many reasons alcohol has plagued our family. I didn't have my first drink until Freshman year at Hampton. And even after a year of trying I was still failing miserably at this modern-day accepted form of alcoholism in the social scene. Not that there is anything wrong with people who drink. However, at one point was not able to count myself in their company. But the years went on and I began to get more "comfortable" I'll say, with drinking. It got easier. And easier. And easier still. Not that I'm an alcoholic, by any stretch, but on occasions when I go out, I do enjoy a White Russian with my meals. And as depression has been gripping the better part of my heart on Friday and Saturday nights I used to spend out on the town sober. I now turn to the bottle. And I know it hasn't been good for me, but it's really been the only coping mechanism I've known while alone here. I have tried several times to put together makeshift evenings with some of my acquaintances but in the end, the good plans fall through and even with all the wheels turning on the train, my car come to a screeching halt before we ever leave the station. And I'm left to try and drown my sorrows. It's really not good. I'm trying to work it out, but I'm not always in the right place. Emotionally, I mean. There is really a lot of work the Great Bartender in the Sky has to do on me. I think He's giving me the "Last Call" signal. And I'm ready to give it up. Hell, I only started this trend a few weeks ago. But it's the right thing to do. I shouldn't indulge in such behavior. It's just hard sometimes. Trying to deal with all the hurt in my heart and inconsistency of my spirit. It is a heavy burden to try not to run from. It means really giving myself time to know that things are going to be okay. I've got some prospects and part of me is just running away from other obstacles because I'm afraid of being let down again. But staying where I am would mean embracing a hurt that threatens to swallow me whole. The truth is, even when I have my own plan and try to map out my next move, I don't know where I'm going. And it seems that J-Jireh and my plans don't always sync up. So I'm not always sure I'm doing the right thing. But I just can't sit here and continue to do nothing. I'm moving. Moving to another place. Another moment. Another life in hopes that this one will be closer to what I've been praying for. I will try to stay away from the Temptation of the world to escape my Convictor. And I will try to hold on to my sometimes wavering dreams. Do I know if this is exactly what He wants? No, but I'm moving in the Faith that this is what He has for me. And believing that He will not fail me yet.

One Day at a Time

2009-09-22T10:39:00.000-07:00

For those of you that come on here wondering how I'm doing. I'm actually alright. Not perfect. Not bouncing off the walls, but better than locking myself in my room and taking sleeping pills. Every day is a new adventure. And I find that admitting that I'm not always happy is an important part of growing past where I am. Being able to name my pain, depression felt good, because it allowed me to know that I'm not the only one that struggles with that kind of feeling. As time has shown, some of my family really doesn't know how to deal with such a condition. My parents certainly don't. But that's a loooong story. I won't go into detail here, but let's just say a quick note: parents and guardians yelling at a depressed child for being "angry at the world" doesn't make them better, it makes them suicidal. In other news, I'm going back up the happy slope. By the beginning of October I will be in a different place. Both physically and emotionally. I won't say where I'm going to yet, but know that I will be surrounded by loved ones, excitement, and even if I'm unemployed I will be close by one of my favorite people in the world, so the prospect of moving is looking great right now. I still can't find work, but I'm not alone in this recession. Tidbit: I read on one of the depression websites young adults can feel this way because of a sudden loss of independence. That might be part of what triggered my intrinsic torture. Being grounded in the Atl. Anyway, I'm glad to know there is hope out there. Some of my family is pulling strings to find a job for me. And I'm not milking my alumni network, who hooked me up with some of the wonderful people in my field. *crosses fingers* Things are great, but they're looking up for me. Now instead feeling like drowning in sorrow, I have felt like dancing in the rain. Which I did, by the way, it's cold. Anyway, sorry this blog is so random, but that's kinda how I've been feeling really scatterbrain lately. But peace and blessings to you all. ::singing:: "The sun will come tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar." Unless you live in Atlanta, Georgia. Looks like the rain will be here for a minute. Better pack your umbrella.

For Colored Boys

2009-09-18T13:32:00.000-07:00

Confession: guys get just as depressed as girls. I know, people don't admit it. Correction, guys don't admit it. But we do. We hurt deeper than most, and then bury it inside our heart. Half the reason that most men can't love anyone else successfully is because we have so much pain hidden within the very fiber of our being. Yeah, men get depressed. And we don't know what to do. After lifetimes of hiding our emotions, depression is usually the last condition we think that we should be caught dead with. It's weakness. It's some part of our body, mind, or spirit admitting it is not as fortified as our demeanor would suggest. So when depression comes, it comes hard. Settles deep. And rests heavy on our shoulders. Most of the time mine comes and I feel it wash over me in a white hot anger. It ripples through my psyche and muddles all my thoughts until absolute silence is even distracting to whatever I'm doing. It makes me feel deranged. Placeless. Sad. And out of that sadness, comes a violent streak. Call it what you will. A self-inflicted wound. A lashing out irrationally. But whatever it is, it's a defense mechanism. A part of me, that can't understand itself. And it sits inside of me, like a dormant earthquake awaiting to disrupt my very being and corrupt the moral fiber of who I am.

I know it might not make sense to some of the ladies out there. But hear me out. Women are oftentimes labeled, "emotional", "unstable", sometimes even "crazy". Because they have learned not to hide what really is going on in their heart and head. To some extent they can and will, but for the most part women as a whole are better at expressing themselves, in my opinion. And men, we have a bit more difficulty. Under the premise since we were very young, male children were always groomed to "Suck it up." "Be a man." "Little boys don't cry, Malcolm." I remember being told that on the T-ball field. In middle school after a fight with a bully. And I saw that same horrible ideology usher my little cousin Kareem in, on the peewee football field. When he took a really nasty tackle on a third down against a player twice his size. I watched the coach lift him from the ground. Pat him on both shoulders quickly. Yank his helmet forward and say "Suck it up." And then he threw my cousin right back in the line of fire on the line of scrimmage. I was disgusted.

That's how all men have been taught to deal with our fleshly weaknesses. Instead of admitting we have them and asking the Big Guy Upstairs to strengthen those weak links, we have been shown that it is best to deny we have those points at all. And to hell with anyone who dares highlight their existence. A generation of highly combustible aerosol cans that have never bothered to press within ourselves enough to realize, we're all full of hot air.

Depression, in guys, comes from that moment when we sat next to a flame to bright, a conflagration too hot and we exploded. We landed in a world of hurt, because we never took the time to strip down to the bone and recognize that there was fat beneath our muscle, leaking marrow between our bones, and a broken heart behind our puffed out chest. That's where I land some days. And I find my testosterone driving me to do all sorts of things. Work out angrily for three and four hours at a time. Screaming at the top of my lungs when no one's around. Playing every sport I can find, though it hardly helps since I'm by myself. And diving into an immense world of videogames to numb the sting of this world's harsh truth. The truth that screams itself into existence and whispers darker conceptions in your sleep. The truth that you're not all you would hope to be. You're not all you could be. You hate yourself sometimes. And when you stand next to some of your fellow men, you feel..........................inadequate. The sad truth. You, a man. Me, a man. And I feel less than. Downtrodden. And I discover it might be okay, but only after I realize that they've been lying to me all along. And maybe "they" don't even know what being a man's all about themselves. Maybe "they" stopped up their own tears to protect their hearts from a hurt better revealed proudly. And my letting them go....wouldn't be so bad. I'm alone. I'm sad. But, I want to be better. And here come the waterworks.

Only Human

2009-09-09T12:03:00.000-07:00

Today we'll have a break in our regularly scheduled programming. Though I know I only just started Happy Thoughts, something important really hit me. I'll still post a Happy Thought, but this matters just as much.

They have a bad rap. They yell a lot. Fight with each other sometimes. Give out orders. And still manage to put food on the table. As every anxsty teenager knows parents came sometimes be a bother. Not that kids make it any easier on them. But it is what it is. But while watching "House Arrest" I noticed a very poignant theme that seems to resonate throughout the movie. If you've never seen "House Arrest" with Jamie Lee Curtis and a slew of other terrific actors here it is in a nutshell. A group of high school students fed up with their parents and guardians, kidnap them and lock them in a basement to help them work out their issues. The parents then fight with one another. Between other couples. And with their kids. To discover their marriages a bit stronger. And their understanding of their children a bit deeper. A great movie. But what struck a chord with me was not the sheer humor of the movie. It was the underlying theme therein. Beneath each of the arguments and verbal altercations the married couples had was that these people are human. Parents are human. They eat and sleep and laugh and cry. Same as we do. They need attention, comfort, consolation, and security as much as the next insecure adolescent. And often kids make the choice to shut them out. Yell at them. Be unhappy with them. When truth be told, they are doing their very best to keep us happy. Same as you. And they have the unique burden of working all their days just to sustain us, while we, the children work all our time to sustain ourselves. And sometimes that pressure gets to be a lot. More than any child could ever grasp from their side of the fence, since all their doing is reaping the fruits of someone else's hard earned seeds. I've seen it sometimes bare down on them. Seen the stress behind their smile. And the weight of the world hoisted up on their shoulders. It's wonder how they aren't all mean, all the time. The fact they can even afford to smile some days is a testament to their strength of moral character. The reconciliation they made with their humanity in a situation that often require super-human solidarity. I can't imagine what they must go through. Or how they can still find time to love on one another, amid the rat-race routine of trying to keep your head above water. Wow. I don't wanna grow up. "I'm a Toys'R'Us Kid." But if I do, may God endow me with a small percentage of the otherworldly fortitude I see exhibited every day.

Happy Thought #1

2009-09-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

When I was about 4 my mom taught me how to float. Scared. And in water deeper than I could stand in, she showed me how to face my fears. Anisha, a year younger than me, merely teared up at the sight of the bright blue ocean. She shrank backwards as the coolness of the water washed up between her toes. She opted to stay in the sand and build a castle. Mom, picked me up and took me to the deeper part of the Caribbean Sea. "Relax" she said calmly and let her hand slip from under me to ease me into the water. I gripped her neck tighter. Afraid of letting her go. Who knows what could happen? " It's okay baby. I'm right here." She comforted me. "Mommy won't let anything happen to you." Gradually, I eased up my tiny hands. I looked down at the clear blue water, and back up at my mom in her black bathing suit. I slid my hand from around her and felt her steady me with her hand gently pressed against my back. "Lay your head back." I struggled and jumped up, fighting the water. Gulping bits of salt water in my mouth. She quickly lifted me back to her waist. I spit up the small amounts of saline I had swallowed. "It's not gonna hurt you. I've got you. Mommy's right here." She said and I hung on to her every phrase. Looking into her eyes gave me such peace. She let me gently back down in the water, this time her hand holding my back and my stomach. My frail, little body mush have felt like soft ice cream against her wet palms. Slowly, she moved her hand up from my back and cupped my head as she lay me in the sea like Jochebed rested baby Moses in the Nile. I breathed deeply. In and out. Feeling my body lose its tension and my mothers grip hold me lightly in place. I looked into her face she appeared the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her hand politely slid from beneath my head and I felt it catch its buoyancy on the water. Her hand on my stomach lightly caressed me as she repeated, "Relax." Finally both her hands were free of me and I lay there. Still next to her. Staring the Jamaican Sun in the eyes. It welcomed me with tranquil warmth that told me my mom was not far and that I could simply let go, of all the cares in the world. Granted, at age four I didn't have many, it still felt nice. It was like laying on a cloud and listening the rush of water up close. I felt the cascades of water splashing in and out of my ear canal and allowed them to whisper sweet dreams into my ear. I allowed the light thoughts of flying high above the sky as a bird floating across the world on warm breezes sweep me up. I felt the sleep of a thousand lifetimes wash over me and I may have only been there a few moments. The sun kissed my skin as my second mother. And I contemplated deeper on my true giver of life who had swayed me into this temporary moment of bliss. The waves of ocean wrapped around me and held me close in an endless blanket of security. I felt my body being pushed away from this place and I delighted to know that my lovely provider. My mother gave me the gift of life. And then gave me the means in this water, to find yet another amazing world. All she had to do was show me the beauty of something outside of her womb. Mother Earth then welcomed me with open arms and nestled me to her watery bosom. I know sometimes there are things that seem to trap us all in place of discomfort and unhappiness. Disappointment and sorrow. But if we look around and allow the love that our families( be they biological or otherwise) have given us to wash over us. We can be transported to another land. A sublime world unparalleled. I don't have many memories of my early youth, however this is one I truly treasure. It holds the key to an escape right in my mind. Right in the eyes of those who love me and would freely give me the world to not see me suffer. That is bliss I relish in now. That is the love that sustains me.

Dawn of a New Era

2009-09-07T21:41:00.000-07:00

So for those of you that follow me on Twitter, you may remember my threat to make a Horcrux of sorts to preserve my soul. I had contemplated selling it to Uncle Sam in exchange for a small taste of freedom. I did not. But the necessity for preserving my warm thoughts remains. Over the next couple weeks I will be posting some of my fondest memories of life. If you are so inclined, please leave me a comment. They will probably not all be as long as some of the more introspective blogs, but I hope you will find, this corner of my mind a little less dark, as I know it sometimes can be in here. The series will be called my Happy Thoughts. Like what made Peter Pan fly. Like what kept poor Little Princess Sarah strong. Like what maintained Quasimodo in his Bell Tower. I will be pouring in my touches of imagination and memory to this series. Bare with me if you care for the more critical pieces. And walk with me, if you understand where I'm going. Thanks for stopping by. All of you. Posting will start tomorrow and I appreciate your love and support on this, our collective journey to find happiness. May we together create Light in our darkest hours.
~MJ

Suffocate

2009-09-06T16:49:00.000-07:00

I used to love to climb trees. After church every week my mom would have to call me down out of my favorite Magnolia tree in the front yard. I used to climb up there in my Sunday's best and get fussed at from here to Tuscaloosa about messing up my "good dress pants." But that's what kind of child I was: adventurous. When we took a vacation once I saw some of the older boys jumping off a cliff into a pool of cool blue ocean. I wanted to join them so badly. In my teenage years I loved to rock climb. I took a trip once to Denver, Colorado and got to mountain bike, rock climb, and white water raft to my heart's content. I have always had a taste for the wild side. I love to party. Drinking, not really necessary, but I will every now and again. I go to parties to dance. Dance with every good-looking, pretty, young thang. Or dance by my damn self. I don't care. If I'm sweating and still getting numbers, then I'm having a good time. In college I loved being able to do Musical theater. It was dramatic. It was artistic. It was poetic. It was energetic. It was ALIVE! To say the least. So, sitting here. In this house. Yet another day. Another week. Another moment. Makes the walls feel like they're breathing down my neck. Sometimes it's difficult to concentrate, for sake of the fact that I've got all this high-activity, versatile energy I need to use up, and the only thing I can ever manage to channel it into, is another one of these blogs. They're getting rougher. They feel stale when I type them sometimes, because they're all focused on this one notion of twiddling my thumbs. Someone once said, "If you play the music loud enough, it keeps the demons at bay." But lately it seems I have been drowning in silence and it's making me go mad. In my mind I'm etching tally marks of how many days I've been in this place. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for some miracle by virtue to come in and swoop me from my reclusive life of deafening silence. Something vibrant and vivid with Life and Love. And sadly I am left anxious at best for a chariot stuck in traffic. Delaying my departure. My solace is here. In my mind. And even that is starting to feel a bit lonely. God, please release me from my torment. This circle of pragmatism is really starting to tear on me.

Over It

2009-09-06T16:41:00.000-07:00

It's so sad to feel this way, but the longer I stay here the more judgmental parts of my heart feel. I talked to my parents and am sometimes so bored with their "routines" that make feel like I am caught in an endless Rinse cycle. I talk to my alleged best friends in the Atl and I feel like they don't even know me as well as my HU Fam. Is it possible that all these years we've remained friends out of convenience? I mean the circle has swapped out appendages throughout the years with extra friends and individuals I didn't know, because I was "away at school." I never felt so agitated as when one of said "appendages" decided to sneer at my university education. And then to have my closest compadre side with them. I was disgusted. I have begun to notice his routine as well. I have gotten more than bothered being here. I'm past irritated and have jumped straight into exasperation. There is no rest because I can find reasonable escape from this place. Every avenue that seems viable locks me in an awful waiting room littered with magazines about knitting and an elevator music to drive one insane. I know I said I am going to change my attitude. And I will. Just as soon as I get this off my chest. In this new season of life that I have entered I find myself more and more ready to cast aside all the old things that characterized my former life. Some of the clothes that are all worn out. The jeans that I can't quite squeeze into anymore. And the relationships that seem to have reached a stagnate plateau of discontent. I think in this new life I hope to fashion, I have to accept what Mama always says. "People are in your life for a reason, season, or lifetime." And I realized that some lifetimes are shorter than we'd expect. I am truly disheartened that one of the people I thought knew me the most really has no clue about my innerworkings. And the people who do are dissipated all across America now. It seems funny how someone could be your friend for years longer than high school and college, and still the people who lived with me and through the hardships with me, know me better than my hometown buddies ever could. They got stories I never even thought to confide in someone I consider a best friend. Now I'm having to step back and reexamine how I qualify that title. What do I place value on in order to build the eternal bond of friendship? And why does it feel like I had it wrong up to this point? No, this is not a Hampton U blog again. It's about me. It's about the phrase "friendship is essential to the soul." And how I have been apparently starving myself for years, by hanging out with people who maintain the worse sort of symbiosis or commensalism I have come to witness. Actually, I think it's worse than that. I think our friendship might be a co-parasitism. If there is such a thing. We both suck the goodness from one another for our own benefit, but when we really examine this arrangement, we see our engorged soul gluttony has still left us empty inside. Really, we should give and take to be complete. As ass-backwards as that sounds. Hmph. Sorry it's taken 8 years of friendship to realize that you were a crutch with no rubber armpit cushion. You helped me stand. And walk, but in the end you were still uncomfortable. And my legs will never fully heal if I keep leaning on you. Hasta pronto amigo mayor. No. Hasta luego. Sí. Esta corecto.

One Step Closer

2009-09-04T13:23:00.000-07:00

Today I took out my earrings and all my jewelry from around my neck and gave myself an honest going over in the mirror. What I discovered: No I'm not perfect. And I have many things I still have to learn, but at this point in my life I am going to dedicate myself towards loving me more. I always tell my mom that I am so vain, because I spend a good deal of time making my peace with my reflection. But truth be told, there are a lot of things that I don't like about myself. I have acne that is awful sometimes. I have really angular features that some people tell me make my face look evil. I have pointy eye brows that girls always tell me need to be arched. I have big eyes that some people in my childhood spent a good deal of time making me hate. I have a really long beard that all of my friends insist I cut. But I have learned to love these things about me. No, they are not what everyone is going to consider ideal or flawless. And no, I am not going to be Mr. Universe. But I have grown content with just being Mr. King. So many times in life we spend all of time trying to make other people happy and end up hating ourselves for it. We bend over backwards for to suit other individuals' needs to placate them and in the end they still aren't satisfied. Many R&B artists have tried to contextualized this sort of dilemma that we as human beings have to deal with. The choice with being selfless and being selfish. Today, I have to decided to land on the -ish side of the dichotomy. What'd Michael Jackson say? "I'm starting with the man in the mirror." Not to say that I won't still give willing to other people, but at some point you have to love on yourself before you go off trying to give away the limited joy in your own heart. I figure if I love myself enough, then the joy will multiply within me and I will have a surplus of contentment to hand out. But until that time, I have to work on me. I like the way that Brandy says it. Her song "Camouflage" and really her whole album "Human" spends a good deal of time commenting on the state of Humanity. Making your peace with your own flaws and learning to accept the mistakes that you have made. If you have a chance you should really give the cd an honest listen. Its message is the same one I am trying to convey here. We as a people, as human beings cannot love and heal the world until we first heal ourselves. I'm staring at my reflection right now, and every thing is not in perfect proportion, but one day it will be. I love me. And it's time we all started saying that to ourselves more.

Steal Away

2009-09-04T13:15:00.000-07:00

It's a very interesting season for me right now. I have spent a great deal of time being so angry with God that sometimes I couldn't see the miracle of this time He's given me. Today started out an interesting morning. Interesting because for the first time in two weeks my unemployed self woke up after and went to work out. Nothing really odd about that, except that for the past couple weeks I hadn't really felt motivated to exercise. I didn't really have the emotional energy that that sort of physical activity sometimes requires. But today I did my normal 3-mile course around our subdivision, followed by a little bit of lifting. And something about it felt really good. The running gave me time to think while I focused on controlling my breath. The lifting gave me strength that I need to endure. And the stretch gave me a chance to get back flexible to things that might be otherwise uncomfortable. The whole workout was really kind of cleansing, I must say. But that wasn't where my good mood came from today. After my workout I decided to call the phone company to check on a discrepancy I had on my bill. As usual they kept me on hold for a good bit of time while I waited to speak to an agent. Finally someone answered and the agent was friendly and open to hearing my complaint. She told me to check a few things online and if I was still unclear give them a call back. I did. And there was still some issue with a few miscellaneous charges. I grab my phone and redial their customer service line. This time, I get a more surly woman with an attitude about my issue. She complained that this wasn't something that hasn't happened to people before and hung up the phone on me. Now, I don't know if yall know this, but I can have a very short temper at times. I was about to call this woman back and tell her exactly where sh could go. But I remained calm. I called back and got the first woman I had spoken with. I learned her name was Mia. She was pleasant and sweet about explaining their company's new policy that had changed in the past 6 months. And I was still persistent about my issue. I told her about the other representative who had hung up on me, and asked her if that's how they treat their customers. Mia assured me that they intend to treat each and every one of their customers with the utmost respect, and she apologized on behalf of the rude woman and her entire company. She adjusted my bill, and told me to have a wonderful day. I know not why this made me feel so good, but it altogether made my day. It filled me with a great peace that I cannot even begin to explain. But I'll try. It just seemed like there have been many things as of late that have been out of my control. Calling their customer care help line felt like I was doing something productive that was well within my realm of control. And just when I was about to lose it because someone had pushed me to a spot that made me feel powerless and angry again, God sent a message that said, "Hey, you need an attitude adjustment." The time I have spent "chilling" in the house could be spent improving myself. Making myself ready for the great things that are sure to happen soon. And here I was, complaining and talking about all the things I was so ready to be past. Thanks be to God that He doesn't flinch everytime we decide to throw a temper tantrum and cry about things. I will spend the rest of my days working out, reading, writing, and meditating to prepare my heart for the marvelous things I know my Creator has in store for me. Thank you Mia for reminding me that God is still in control and there are still things that we can do to get to that place where he can fill in the gap. I'm going to make today better in my head by making today better in my heart. Let's get started.

Toca La Guitarra

2009-09-04T12:47:00.000-07:00

They said it would cost more to fix it than to replace it and I knew it was a lost cause. I never really had a pet or an inanimate object that understood me so well growing up, but it really hard to explicate what I feel right now. Some kind vague mix between anger and sadness. And while I'm not entirely sure what it means for this to be broken, but the tears that cloud my eyes sitting next my mother tell me that seeing this part of me, this extension of myself gone fill me with an numb kind of sadness that reminds of so much life. It can't easily be replaced. There is something more to it than that Mother. I can't really just readily choose another part of me when the first extension of me was a gift. Hell, I didn't even always like the guy, but when I got this guitar it was awesome because it was one of the first real things that my dad got me as a spontaneous gift that I really liked. This guitar was like an extension of my voice. I didn't always have control over the sounds and notes that came out, but when I did it made my soul happy. I didn't care what it sounded like to anyone else, because when it was right for me, my soul rang out. I felt a connection to the instrument and while my skills at playing it increased I mastered my voice as well. With it gone, there is a part of my soul that feels silenced and it is a choking feeling that I shall not quickly get over. Maybe I'm being melodramatic. But it meant something to me. It already had a name when I got it and as I got to know it, I told it my secrets. It was a calm and receptive listener and in time we became friends interlocked in the same struggle together. Why has this happened? Tommy wasn't bothering anyone. He gave me peace in a way that I cannot even describe. He was my diary that instead of remaining hidden under my mattress was proudly shown for the world to see. And now, like so many other times, my life's story has been violated by extenuating circumstances and I cannot get it back for sake of the fact my family just doesn't understand. I have to find a new place to take solace. And it will be some before I confide in my family the issues, that my fallen confidante knows. Au revoir.

Dare You To Move

2009-09-01T14:29:00.000-07:00

One of my really good friends has a birthday that used to always fall at the beginning of the school year. It was always a great way for all of our closest peeps to come together and start the year off right. Even as Freshman, the date had the power make us all congregate with alarming magnetism that made our group of friends so remarkable. Even when we were just getting to know each other everyone rallied around the opportunity to get to know complete strangers that would become our best friends. I mean every year, like clockwork she found a new and interesting way to celebrate it. Whether it was a big birthday cake and food in the lobby of a dorm, a grown and sexy sit-down dinner, a murder-mystery dinner for all us Theater geeks, or a great night of fun playing laser tag in my bowling shoes. This event always started my and so many others year off with a bang. It was a time when we could all goof off. Hang out. And show off all our new summer upgrades, because you know coming back each year, something about you was bound to be different. "New and improved" some of us liked to call it. Others would assign the release number to their changes like, So-and-so 3.0; to state that they were the latest model of a better themselves. It was always really exciting. What's funny about it is, no matter what happened in the school year before it things always had a way of coming back together in the end to be okay. Everyone would have grown a bit. Things would be different but we still somehow managed to hold on to that core friendship. And now, with all of us headed in different directions or already actively in our fields I can't help but wonder what this year's School Year Kickoff might have been. Maybe a drive-in movie? Maybe a house party with movies and games? We'd have loved that kind of thing. Maybe just going to hang out on the beach where we'd talk about good times and sing old songs from the 90s. Hard to believe that "those days" now have become "the good ole days." It probably feels like I'm beating a dead horse with this topic on here. But you could never imagine how awesome this group of friends made me feel. I loved them. And I always will. They were my family. I know them the best. They're some of the people who know me best. Maybe even know me better than I know myself. And with the constant ebb and flow of time, I just enjoy walking along that shore one last time. Porch Posters and Queens know what I'm talking about ::sigh:: Until we meet again guys. Happy Birthday Friend.

Sushi

2009-08-30T12:52:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I ever said sorry
If I ever apologized like I know I properly could
But there were many times that I hurt you
Many times "sorry" would do no good
Yet, the silent scrolling of memories trapped in a box from "a long time ago"
Remind me that there are things I'm not proud of
Things that deserve a reprise
Things that need truth
To replace the broken bed of lies
Things I could give you to say this was all my fault
Things I could I buy, to ease the pain I'd brought
But then those "things" just wouldn't do
Memories of things dead
But I can't help but recall what all we went through
Neither of us was ready for what mistakes we were sure to make
Both of us took the plunge, not knowing the chances we had to take
And I didn't ever tell you, that you really are the pretty package from Santa Claus
Maybe that's too cliché
But woman, you are

Tried to deflower the sweetest gift that I could have turned sour,
But your Father had another plan
Guess I wasn't ready to be your man
I wasn't much of one at all.
A man-child rolling thru a life undeserving of the beauty whose name I did call.
..........And you stayed.
Why?
I should have done right by you
I shol thought I had everything figured out,
But it seems you never really know what real is about
Took chances I didn't need to
Did dances I knew wouldn't please you
Grew up a mean magnifying glass ant hill kid who used to tease you
And you stayed
I shouldn't look at this soul capture
Maybe the Aboriginals had it right
There is a stolen part of life that flashes in that light
Hm. I don't know why I never said I was wrong
.....not outright
...............and still
with all this time gone
I devote pages of a frozen journal to what I know I chose
::laughs::
Funny how much it can hurt so far past it
Part of growin up I suppose
Sorry
...........is the man who knows
That this is the way time flows
Forward
And that is just the way love goes

Gettting Your Ears Lowered

2009-08-30T12:41:00.000-07:00

While sitting waiting to get my hair cut at the barbershop I decided to have a meditative moment. Humor me. While I will admit I had been threatening to grow my hair out again so that my parents would rush me here it's always something pretty awesome about the whole process. The last time that I had gotten a cut was at the beginning of the month. My cousin's wedding was the following day. My little cuz, Kareem the Dream, was in town hanging with me most days. I had my hairline shaped up and my moustache and goatee nearly cut off. I tried out a new look with it. I changed my mind twice about wanting to wait on one company with South Korea and found another recruiter altogether and landed back in the middle. Still jobless. Still trying to stay optimistic about South Korea. Still looking for work that might suffice in the event this doesn't pan out. I'm not dead. I'm not alive and well. I'm just somewhere in between and ambivalent towards the whole situation. But you know what, God is still good. And what this hair cut proves is I'm still growing. Still changing. Still learning each day. Still having things that God has to trim up for me. And I still have some things to go through. So I am grateful, if a little agitated with being in the Transitional Phase of my life, which seems to be taking forever. But maybe just maybe, it means that on the other side of yet another miraculous Metamorphosis the Almighty is putting me through I'll come out a more refined, more appealing, more intelligent me, in much better shape than I was prior to. Hmph. That's cool I guess, I should just sit down in the Master Barber's chair and trust that he won't give me a skint Even Steven wit a jacked up hairline. Fellas know what I'm talking bout. Okay God. I'll have a "Even all Over" low ceasar. Waves on dock. A 1. With the back boxed off. No tapers.Long sideburns. And try to tighten up that calic that's in the middle of my head. Oh yeah, and can you make it a completely painless process. Well, maybe not completely painless, because I know you gotta burn off all the bad stuff with that alcohol at the end. But I trust you. Hook it up. Good looks Hova. Preciate it.

The Isolationist

2009-08-29T14:50:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the house for six days straight each week is something straight out of a horror movie for me. I am quickly growing restless sitting in the same place day and night. Barely even feeling compelled to shower and get on my normal websites to search for a job. I manage each day to wash the dishes and watch a bit of On Demand, but even that is getting old fast. I can't deal. Being in this Recession and waiting to hear that light has been found at the end of the tunnel is a mind-numbingly tedious process that has exasperated me to no end. And I hear I'm not the only bachelor's degree holder in desperate search of a place of employment in their post-graduate life. The jobs that we would have been able to easily fall into have been taken by candidates overqualified for the position and easy run-of-the-mill jobs are being held down by former businessmen and women trying to keep all the wheels turning in their own households. Thus, we land in an uncomfortable limbo where we are forced to remain in our parents house long after the "Nesting Period." And the parentals are even less thrilled since they thought their little chickadees had fled the coup four years ago. Ugh. Relationships become strained under the weight of an unemployed young adult ready to cling to anything other than the bosom which nursed him to the point that he's at now. What's more, the would-be Empty Nesters each inundate the graduate with a barrage of quandary that he or she cannot respond to because they have no control of their current economic crisis. Humor leaves a once light relationship. And if no one's laughing that means one thing. Tempers flare very easily. As a result, I opt to lock myself in my room and in my own little world. Trying to hold on to the last bit of sanity I have. And when I wake most days the whole house is empty. Thus, my isolation is complete. And the cycle continues. My résumé is floating all over the Internet. There seems to be some sort of nationwide freeze on hiring though. I need the government to find a way out of this tragedy, because it is driving me absolutely mad. Waiting here, day in and day out. God and I are actually not on speaking terms right now. Neither are my parents and I. I am just so ready to leave. It's time. I've worn out my welcome. And I frankly, I don't care anymore where I go. I'm hopping on the first thing smoking. And if that doesn't pan out, I'm running away to join the circus. I can't juggle fire, but I'll learn. What's a few minor burns here and there. Anything's better than just sitting here.

Princess Azula

2009-08-28T16:58:00.000-07:00

Living in the shadow of an over-popular older sibling is never a good feeling. It stings the emotions and burns the soul just a little. To feel like your parents honestly place more loving value on one of their children more than you. Though I can't completely relate, I do know where Azula, the wicked female villain of Avatar: The Last Airbender is coming from. Honestly, she must be given a closer look. Rejected by her mother and championed by her father only because his first born son failed to be as perversely subordinate as she, must have been an unimaginable hurt to carry with her every day she walked the Fire Nation. When she and her friends went to Ember Island she remained the level-headed teen while all around her the gang was broken down by their private hurts. Always was burdened to be normal. Beautiful yes, but like so many scarred women nowadays, her damaged soul was hard to look past, when trying to attract the opposite sex. While Prince Zuko flaunted his hurt and struggled to master the anger inside of him, Azula indifferently pranced about parties and social gatherings puzzled as to why young men did not approach her. Thai Li, Azula's cute comrade had trouble fending off boys' affection and desperate for some of the loving attention her rigid parents had denied her. It worked to an extent, but the damage of Azula's past is often too strong for her to supress for extended periods of time. Nevertheless, this blog is not about Ember Island. Let's continue.

Azula, a woman of immense power, and dark aura was the first character on the show to reveal that the Avatar was in fact still mortal. When Aang attempted to enter a mastered Avatar State, it was Azula--crafty and cunning--who struck him down and imprisoned her traitorous Uncle Iroh. Uncle Iro, the Fire Nation hero turned rogue warrior never pushed her to follow her own destiny as he did Zuko. Perhaps he sensed the color of her heart's desire and knew she would not be as easily ebbed from a life of wickedness as Prince Zuko. By the end of the last season Azula seems not only bent on killing the Avatar, but also on destroying her brother as well. It makes sense, since he was the first born son. He was the only thing standing in between her and her birthright. Her chance at total domination, the full love of her father, and the throne which her power-craving soul is told will make her happy. She actively lured in her brother and tried to get him to confide his secrets in her. And Azula used Zuzu's confessions against him, each time because she always suspected that his evil did not match hers in calibre. To an extent she was right. Zuko would be the better and kinder-hearted of the two siblings. However, it must be said that one soul must be horribly defecated if you have the heart to use the doubts and fears of those closest to you against you. Hmph. And this was a trend for Azula throughout Avatar. She used loved ones against each other all the time. Capturing one as bait to reel in their smitten counterparts and lead them to their demise was a recipe she relished in using. Azula used Sokka's love of Suki to distract him during their invasion on the Day of Black Sun. Azula sneered at her foes. She loathed the manner in which they pursued her to rescue a lost cause. Superficially, this is directly in line with Azula's character because she enjoys mocking the innocent for their weakness of caring for anyone more than themselves. Underneath that layer of wicked laughter, there lies the soul of an unnurtured infant clinging to the sorrow of a familial structure that never built her up as an individual, save all of her triumphs for the Fire Nation. A child raised up in the cruelty of neglect. Had she not taken a vested interests in her Father and King's plot to rule and destroy the world, she might be as alienated as her brother, Prince Zuko. Her soul it seems, is tainted with the sins of all the Fathers of the Fire Nation. Sozin. Ozai. And the whole lot. Not that it may explain everything, but part of Azula's problem is that she's a girl. And I mean that with all the loaded ideology and male chauvinism that the phrase invokes. The fact that the Fire Lord has always been a man suggests exactly what kind of societal structure governs the Four Nations: patriarchy. Azula, as strong as she is, for all her might and evil karma could never rule the land without the weight of a man bearing down on her every move. It must be a terrible load to struggle with every day and each night. To know that you had the physical power to crush everyone in your path, but are forced to play a complex game of subservience to enemies and allies alike, for sake of your gender. Were Azula a man, she would be able to seize power whenever and however she saw fit. And thus, she too, like her mother is a victim of her sex. She remains imprisoned in a system that doesn't respect her fervor and power in equal shares with a man. Azula, your outburst on the final episode, when you are trapped in the icy ropes of Katarra are an excellent depiction of what you are. A matriarchal martyr who can never sit atop the throne for your gender automatically disqualifies you from the running. What a tragic figure you are. I weep for you. You really are beautiful, you know? No..............you probably don't. Hmph.

Traffic Jam

2009-08-28T16:53:00.000-07:00

As we sit in downtown Atlanta Rush Hour traffic at noon, I can't help but think this is a lot like life. An entire array of people not going anywhere fast. Time continues to flow forward and all of us just barely inch a little bit closer to our exit. Feels like I've been staring at these red brake lights for a lifetime, when it's really only been a few months. I know that "traffic" is an inevitable part of life, however it just seems like forever sometimes waiting on God's calendar to intersect with the gridlock that is my life. I have to try to keep myself from getting a little bit of roadrage, but it's hard when I can see the luxury cars hopping in and out of the HOV lane when there are no passengers in their vehicle. Hmph. The wealthy cutting corners and taking their percentage off the top is how we got into this mess. I wannabe a drag racer. Hop in a candypainted whip with nitro exhaust and a turbo charged engine. I wanna punch it hard, pedal to the floor hard and live life in the fast lane. Sitting in the passenger of this 4-door mid sized sedan feels like being condemned to the "kids table" at Thanksgiving while I wait for the Driver to heed my raucous complaints. Ugh. Dear God, please help me out this Traffic Jam that is my life.

Hell Hath No Fury

2009-08-25T00:44:00.000-07:00

So, I was talking to my cousin Kareem in our usual debriefing and I came to one very founded conclusion. Dudes are effed up. I mean, not that I didn't already know that but I was reminded of this fact when Reem the Dream and I retrospected to our days of kindergarten. When you're five-years-old you're sweet, cute, and innocent. Right? Wrong! While that may be the case for little girls, that is not all true for little boys. They are scarred in a way that I have only just realized tonight. Scarred in the way he thinks to connect with the opposite sex. Think about it, when a young boy likes a little girl his age what is his first impulse to get her attention? Push her down in the sandbox. Why not? It's a perfect plan. It gets her attention. It makes her cry. It makes me feel powerful. When little Jimmy decides that he likes lil Sarah what is the first thought this seven-year-old has? Put a worm in her hair. That'll get her to love me. When baby Duante sees little baby Whitney looking nice in her purple bib, what is his initial inkling to grab her love? Take her rattle and watch her sob. Why is it, for reasons unknown to me and probably men everywhere that we arrive at the same conclusion about how we relate to women? No matter what our circumstances, who our parents are, or what our experience has been. When relating to the opposite sex, males of all ages, creeds, and ethnic backgrounds learn almost from birth one way of relating to women. Violence. Is that not a shame? Think about it. Every pair of children you've ever seen playing on the swingset of a playground. Think even back to your own childhood. How did you let the first girl you ever had a crush on know? How did the first boy to like you show it? There is something terribly wrong with that. In a class I took this year at HU called "Violence Against Women" we studied the behavior of societies that exercises hostility towards the female gender; through subjugation, ostracization, mutilation, and the ever-popular marginalization. Seems to me there is something more vile that taints the heart of global society as a whole. There is something in the way we are socialized as human beings that somehow teaches male children from the wound that they are superior to their female counterparts. And it is this oppressive superiority complex that forms the strongholds of Bigotry worldwide to keep women in their place, below glass ceilings. What a tragedy. It seems it's high time someone pushed back. Well here's my stand. Women, I make a vow right now: I will never hit you (not that I would have before) and I promise to teach my son a different way of looking at our Queens. I feel I have to do something. It's a problem that no one has ever given honest thought. Why? Why aren't we talking about these things? Domestic violence didn't just grew from nothing. (Yes, I said it like that on purpose) And if someone doesn't take drastic measures soon, Rihanna is not going to be the only beautiful and battered daughter of the 21st century. Why we do we live this way America? How can we truly heal this World? We gotta do better. Let's take this first step, right here, right now. Together.

A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste

2009-08-24T18:51:00.000-07:00

I don't have it in me to watch 'House' anymore. Dr. Gregory House has begun to reach that spot in my heart where it's pains me. I watch him towards the close of this past season nearing madness. He's obsessive over everything. He can't seem to focus. He has logic that entangles with other logic and overanalysis that I can't handle. It bothers me to see such genius fall to ruin. In fact, it's one reason I can't really watch 'A Beautiful Mind.' Because a long time ago a mentor of mine called me "brilliant." Of course he meant it in a good way. He enjoyed my work and my art. But I took it an entirely different direction than I care to admit. I know that there is that fine line between genius and insanity and I have always been scared of it. When I couldn't steady my thoughts in high school I used to get headaches, because there was so much up in my mind that I had to let out. I started to keep a journal. However, as fate would have it, some of my family found that journal and used some of the info in there against me. I vowed never to keep one again. And it was then that I grew afraid. Afraid of walking that fine line. Afraid of having a brush with madness and ending up as tragically deranged as John Nash. Chasing after invisible friends and solving complex logarithmic cryptological codes that never even existed. How does one deal with that? Those shows are troubling. They are actually the reason I subtitled this blog "Scrawlings of a Madman." Even before people knew that was its subtitle. That's always what it's been. Because here was where I come to make sense of the chaos sometimes that seems to formulate and clutter my otherwise unremarkable mind. I hope you won't think less of me for this confession. However, this is the truth is its ugliest form. I hate myself for admitting it. But maybe if I can admit I'm a little crazy, someone can understand just how sane that might actually make me.

Patience is A Virtue

2009-08-24T17:58:00.000-07:00

I am really enjoying God's presence here lately. I know part of me wants to get mad at Him. Yell about a job. Whine about uncertainty. And cry to Him that I still am uncertain of my Purpose. But God knows the plan that He has laid for me. He was there at the beginning and end. Therefore, I am unmoved anymore by the doubt the devil tries to whisper to me. Sometimes at night I can feel that creeping feeling and when I do I have to go right ahead and pray in earnest that I can sleep easy knowing the Big Man Upstairs is on the job. And without any hesitation God sent me a word on Sunday. A Word about patience.
Pastor was teaching from Genesis 14:30. It was at this moment when Abraham had come to set free Lot in the city of Sodom. Lot as it was interpreted by my Man of God, represents all of the fleshly things of this world that we refuse to give up and follow the Lord. Abraham left his entire family, friends, and homeland because God told him to move, but for some reason he had to bring Lot. Lot was a man who pretty much hasn't grounded himself in the Lord yet. As a result he always finds himself in some sort of mess. Thrown in prison. Selling his wife. You get the idea. And it is at this point that we can try to understand why God uses Lot as an example in the Word. Lot was a man of impatience. Even walking next to the one of God's Friends (a phrase not to be taken lightly) Lot still couldn't wait on his blessing. He goes and sells his wife, pretending her to be his sister, for gold that he squanders away. Lot represents that impatience we as Followers of Christ can sometimes possess. Or rather that can possess us. If Lot had the patience of the Lord in his heart he would know that God was going to stand by His Word. My Word shall not return void. But Lot took it upon himself to act and that leaves it so that Abraham must mount up an army to come to His rescue. What this moment in the Bible should teach us is we have to be able to stand on God's Word and know that He shall stand by us. We are not in this thing alone and the sooner we cast all our cares in the Lord the sooner we can find that peace in times of trial and moments of prosperity. According to my Pastor, "Patience is the ability to endure until the Promise comes to pass." Well, that said then that means what we must simply endure! Hold on! Hold fast! Keep on keeping on. Whatever way we need to say it, we as Children of God must understand that God's got our backs. He's going to hold us down. And He's always looking for somebody to ride out wit Him. Ya feel me? God is simply asking us to have faith in Him and know that all the things that we worry about don't truly matter. Not trusting God means we may act on our fleshly wants ; trusting our own instincts. And in the process we abort our destiny and ultimately lose our way. Hmmmm. I wonder what it must mean then if we believe the Promise of the Lord with our whole heart? Trusting God means binding our flesh. Following the destiny He has laid out for us and ultimately that will lead us in His Way. What better direction can one go? Patience is a virtue my friends. So for now, I know I'm gonna do. I'm gonna put on my dancing shoes and praise Him til He takes me to the next level. That's what faith in Him is all about.

Boxed Goodbyes

2009-08-23T17:54:00.000-07:00

There is some point when you realize that the things you were leaving behind are just that, things. But sometimes there are more important things that our soul calls out for. Not things, or the familiarity, but the people. I can't really explain what it's like some days to wake up and realize the fact that I never have to enter Hampton, Virginia again if I don't want to. The sensation something of a mix between an idealized freedom and a dull pain from the loss this "freedom" yields. Though I know I have lost some of you on this conclusion, I know one of you understands what I'm saying. I can't immediately get over it. At Hampton University I found out who I was. I spent years cultivating it. My personality. My spirit. My sense of fashion. My style. My voice. Even the way I saw myself. No, I was not and am not the vision of perfection I would like to be, but after 4 years with just me I got to love all of me. I got the chance to see my flaws and all. Maybe even expose a few of them to my friends. To my shock and great pleasure, they too revealed their humanity. Their scars. External and internal. They told me of their own insecurities and we found ourselves loving on one another, unlike anyone else could. We formed a bond that I know will last beyond those short four years. We made a family. Some of us coming from no such a thing. And others of us coming from what they tell us is a "normal home." But any of my friends, my true family, can tell you, I don't believe in normal. There is no such thing. I always say, "If you show me what normal looks like I promise I will try to follow the trend." And though I really wouldn't I only say that because normality is a highly subjective issue. Anyway, we're getting off topic. The point is, my friends, and the family we created by coming together made up the first place where I felt "normal." So being out and about here in the Atl is cool. My friends are still close to me. But at HU I felt surrounded by a warmth that is inexplicable. They know me better than so many. They know the innermost hopes and desires of my heart. They know my darkest fears. And while I keep telling myself it'll be okay, sometimes it doesn't soak into my subconscious as I would like it to. Case in point: last night I had a dream. A dream about Hampton, and Graduation. As usual, the dream is warped because for some reason it can't really form the HU campus properly. Instead it was in what looked a blended version of the three subdivisions my parents have lived in. And the English Majors had gathered. They were toasting and celebrating, making comments about all the "things" and "people" they were going to miss. A long lost friend of mine and Brittany (my bff) waved frantically and yelled "goodbye." And in a frenzy to remember this moment, even in a dream, I took out my camera and began snapping pictures of everyone there, despite their protestation. Underscoring this dream was that song "I'd rather go blind," sang by the lovely Beyonce. Don't ask me why, but that song never felt so heartbreaking and so appropriate. I woke up in my bed. Alone. And the second I actually turned on the Cadillac Records album to try to remember the dream, via the music I heard in it, I was struck with it. The song cued up and all the feelings of Hampton, former lovers past friends, new friends, true friends, and lifelong family I was overwhelmed. The tears poured from my eyes and I can't tell you how badly I want to go run back to the 757 to find all my sisters and brothers. My play cousins and little junebugs. Sorry, I'm ranting. Ranting about something I know I said I was past. But I don't think I'll ever be. Going back to Hampton Roads won't even do, because everyone has started "real life" now. And some of us are stuck on the fringes. Caught between a fully developed adolescent and an adult scared shitless of what tomorrow holds for them. I miss my family. I love them. And I want to be free of this melancholy that keeps me from moving on to the next level. I just didn't realize how high they had gotten me. And now with them gone it seems I'm lower than I care to admit. So I'll stop now, for my pride's sake. But just know English Majors, Theater Geeks, Relayers, 420ers, and the whole lot, you all were more real to me than some of the blood I have flowing through me veins right now. And I'll never fully be over the love that is shared between us. Au revoir.

Vater, Bruder, Sohn

2009-08-21T12:22:00.000-07:00

Watching True Blood is one the reasons why I fell in love with HBO all over again. While I will admit, The Wire was a pretty good series, and Entourage was worth a good bit of laughs there still hadn't been that gripping an image to come across my screen until I saw the exchange between Godric and Eric. Two of the male vampires on HBO's hit new series "TrueBlood." If you've never seen it before it's worth the watch. Chances are, if you like one episode, then you're hooked for the whole season. Thank God for HBO On Demand so I could catch up. However I care not to explain its plot in full on this blog.

No, this was about something truly compelling that I saw two nights ago. The exchange between two men that reflected respect, friendship, and love. Godric, is a 2000 year old vampire and the maker of Eric. Simply put, Godric is the one who administered the bite which transformed Eric into a creature of night. In a previous episode, we meet Godric: a bloodthirsty vampiric hunter, turned benevolent sage in his two millenia life span. The audience learned of Eric's life before becoming a vampire. He had always been a fierce warrior, slaying many on the battlefield and protecting his men even with the last inch of his life. Godric, from afar watched him with muted respect for a monster as fearless and ruthless as he. In his first act of respect for Eric, Godric bit him. Turning him from living flesh to a member of the undead. In exchange, Eric was to be "the companion of Death." Godric taught Eric the nature of being a vampire. That there was no right and wrong. No pain and sorrow. Simply survival at any cost. The series does not fully elaborate on what extent to which Godric taught Eric these things, however it is clear from Eric's constant disposition that these theories are the laws which govern his existence. In fact, prior to introducing the idea of Godric, the audience had never really seen the softer side of Eric. We see him a few shakes back desperate to find Godric and he went to great odds to rescue him. Swindled Bill to allow Suki, to infiltrate the Fellowship of the Sun's Church and flush out where his master might have been taken to. And Godric, we only have glimpses of his ruthlessness in the form of a flashback. We glance back to the day he turned Eric after murdering his entire battalion, whilst he knocking at Death's Door. In his younger years, Godric has an untidy, ravenous look about himself. A bloodthirsty vampire. But in the brief time that we've seen him during present day he gives the impression of an old man. Though he looks only about 17, Godric's very presence commands authority and while he only once showed his murderous nature, by killing Suki's would-be rapist, we never again get a glimpse into his darker side. Godric seemed to me, watching this a second time, dare I say.........ready to die. He had sacrificed himself to the Anti-Vampire Church that he may cleanse the hurt of a thousands deaths his race has dealt to the humans. And his apprentice, his son, his friend, Eric protested greatly upon his proclamation that he would be committing suicide. He would be letting the Sun take him. Godric was discontent with his existence as a vampire. He suffered silently, until he could take it no more

"2000 years is enough. It's insanity. Our existence is insanity. We shouldn't be here."

The phrase crushes Eric. He begs for his brother, his lover, his maker, and dearest friend not to go. It is a heart wrenching display. Eric, in a tender showing collapses in a fit of sobs that runs deep to his core. It was......moving. To say the least. It is rare to see men admit that they actually have feelings let alone for another man. Whether it's friendship or something more. Eric and Godric were that display. And part of my heart goes out to this fictional character, because through the power of his art he was able to convey emotions that are more real to me and so many others than they are willing to admit. "Godric, please. Please. Please." Eric sobbed pitifully. "Don't go." I am sad to see the series lose someone we only just got to know. Fare thee well Godric. You mean more to me than so much mindlessness on television. You will be missed. And may God have mercy on your undead soul. Vater, Bruder, Sohn.

You've Got Mail

2009-08-21T08:47:00.000-07:00

In my experience with the Internet there have been quite a few people that I have met that were legitimately interesting. Even more still, there were even some people with positive energy flowing from their pores and more importantly from their blog. I enjoy going to different people's worlds that they have created on this, the Information SuperHighway. What's intriguing about this form of communication is that it can be very one-sided if you allow it to be. But sometimes you meet those rare exceptions, people who have common interests as you. Keen intellect like you, plus a knack for stating those clever inner workings of society that you thought only you noticed. These are people I am grateful the Net has brought to me. Along with allowing me greater insight into some of the amazing people I know in "real life," it affords me the chance to engage in valuable dialogues with people I have never met. And I wonder what would it be like to actually meet one of them? No, I'm not necessarily condoning Internet dating or trying to find your soul mate on the World Wide Web. But what if you could? What if that wonderful person who was on the other end of the keyboard, pouring wisdom into your soul was the One that God has set aside for you to at least, give an honest gander at? Wouldn't that be something. It may be the hopeless romantic in me, and I know it's highly cliché. But with all the mess that exists on here, it's really exciting when you meet an individual so perfectly fashioned in your mind, that you have to remind yourself maybe they're not the person they present themselves to be. But who's to say what's real? And why can't that actually be a strong indication of where they fall in the grand scheme of datable and psychopathic. While I will admit, there is more to me than this blog could ever really encapsulate, I think you can still gage a great deal from it about who I am. Hell, there are things on here that my family might not even know about me, simply because they never took the time to look this way. I know I might not be making any sense right now, but it's alright. Let's just say this blog is dedicated to the shiny armored mystics and long-haired damsels that make all of this fairytale land we've created worthwhile. Even if it's only in my head.

Reparo

2009-08-20T19:19:00.000-07:00

Joyce Wyatt aka Mama Joyce

Though there have been many opportunities for my family to put together the broken parts of our puzzle there have been just as many moments where the true issue is swept under the rug. I blame my grandmother. She was a wonderful woman. Beautiful. Kind. Courageous. And full to the brim with love for others. However, I believe she held a deep secret in her heart. One that she could never truly reveal to the world, much less her children lest she scar herself by admitting the truth. The Bible says the truth will make you free. And I guess the flip side is holding that truth in can make you a prisoner. That is my family's curse. We would much rather deal with the happy issues. Smile at family functions. Toast our triumphs and deny that there ever has been hardship in between time.

Sure, we are a loving, happy, moderately successful African American Family. And I do not fault anyone for that. I take pride in it. But the fact remains, that like so many African American infrastructures in our society, they hold secrets that threaten to tear them apart. Well here's one slash at that chain. My grandfather had a drinking problem. There it is. I said it. It was a little known family secret that I am airing out here because I believe it will bring my family closer to the freedom that we so desperately want. Can't know your future unless you know your past right. So this is mine. No, I never met this man. But everyone who knew him well says I have his smile. His spirit. His voice. Here I thought this whole time that I was the only one in the Wyatt-King lineage who could sing. And my grandpa, Granddaddy Jesse was a musician.

My aunt tells me stories about him, because she's the who remembers the most about him. She is the oldest after all. She says he was a joyful man. Sweet. And polite. Always used to make my mom and her sisters breakfast before school each day. I remember finding out the secrets of Mama Joyce (my grandmother) and being incapable of believing them. My grandparents had divorced and remarried each other twice. Greatly on account of Grandaddy Jesse's drinking problem. He was an alcoholic after he returned from the war. I'm not sure which one was happening then. I think the Gulf. He used to get belligerent.

Chased my grandmother, my mother, and my aunts around the house. Only twice have I heard the full story my mom told me of her running down the street barefoot at 2 in the morning to call the police because her father was after them. I didn't and still don't understand how both sides of this man played out in concert with one another. Seems like two different people my mom describes when she or my aunt tell these muffled stories. And he died just a few days before my mother's 16th birthday. She was mad at him that day, before she went to school and the only I vividly remember from this story that my mother used to tell me is that she never got the chance to apologize to him. Hmph.

I can't really say that I blame my grandmother for never discussing the painful past of her dissolved marriage. But I begin to develop a theory. Many of the women in my family suffer from similar struggles. They marry men like those whom they were conditioned to love and not that all of their husbands are as my grandfather was, but this is the way that generational hurts are implanted in the psyches of one's seed. Not that I regret the sins of my grandfather or my grandmother.

I know them for the wonderful things they each did. Raised three wonderful girls into strong black women. Took care of several homeless, and runaway children. They were both educators in the public school system for over 50 years between the two of them. I just wonder sometimes what how do I discontinue a silence that began long before my mother and stands to flow through the ever-winding rivers of time? How do I not follow in the footsteps of a man broken by his circumstance? And what am I to do with the twinge of disdainful indifference I occasionally feel towards a man I never got the chance to know?

Here's Hoping

2009-08-15T16:44:00.000-07:00

Seems like Nene and I watch some movies and I feel all sentimental after them for no apparent reason. It's cool. I just have to keep from thinking too much over some of them, but I find I do. The older I get. She tells me to shut up, when I comment on the gender roles of Princess Jasmine and the spiritual nuances of the Islamic Faith I missed as a child. Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about. It was really more so that feeling that you always had when you were a child. In the Easter Bunny. In the Tooth Fairy. In Santa. That secret belief in magic. That warm tingle in your heart that made you believe your prince, or princess in my case, hasn't found you yet. I think I have had a bit of that wonderful sparkle that reminds me that there is a God in Heaven making someone that is especially for me. I know it's slightly naive, but I can't get over the feeling. I'm a hopeless romantic on the inside. One that secretly swoons when the woman I have been quietly courting allows me the chance to hold her hand. I think it's always an amazing feeling to be in love. But I think it's more than that. These movies do something for my soul that makes me truly pray that some of the impossible things that the characters overcome is possible in my own life. I think that's what makes Disney movies so classic; because they give both adults and children alike a twinge that helps them to believe that all the things they are fasting, praying, and believing the Lord for are just within reach. Anisha's right. I might be looking to far into these movies, but I can't help it. Oh well. I'll have to silently indulge this beauty. Close my eyes and introspectively picture the wonders that these magnificent worlds have helped me fashioned in my imagination. ::sighs:: Here's hoping.

I look to you - Whitney Houston

Peace Be Still

2009-08-13T19:52:00.000-07:00

After an embarassing fight with my mother and much prayer the Lord availed me to
Psalms 46:10.

Be still, and know that I am God:
I will be exalted among the heathen,
I will be exalted in the earth.

It was amazing the things that God gives you when you think that He doesn't hear you. I realize that the comparison of myself to Jacob wrestling with the angel was a bit dramatic, but I thank each of my loved ones that gave me a Word and helped me understand that God is still God and He is Big Enough to handle my little old problems. I read Psalms and remember the wonderful rest that I have found in Him. The rather heated argument that I had with the woman whom birthed me was one I know was displaced. I have to go humble myself and apologize because I know she is merely worried about my wellbeing. Sometimes though, I think she forgets what it was like to be 21 and uncertain of your tomorrow. Crying out for help and understanding sometimes felt like shouting into a void for a purpose I just couldn't grasp. And though I am not sure what God is up to now, I know that it is something in my favor. I don't want to go to the military, but I am willing to consider it. I don't think I have it in me to go to graduate school right now, but I will admit the possibility if I continue to work hard. I don't want to move away from my family but I feel it almost necessary.It seems that is when I do the most growing, both mentally and spiritually because alot of times it's just me and God. I was talking to a few of my Aunts and Godmothers the other day and I told them about this constant fight I have with God because sometimes I try to align His Timing, with my schedule. They all laugh. And go, "Your schedule? Your schedule?" Call me crazy, but I am not the most earnest Christian sometimes, when I feel I need something from God. Especially if I'm being pressed upon by something else imminent. Mmmm. I have to keep my faith strong and my heart open to hear what the Lord has to say. ::singing:: "Hush. Hush. Somebody's calling my name." I hear you Lord. I'm all ears.

Fear of Flying

2009-08-11T08:29:00.000-07:00

So as I watch my dreams of South Korean teaching slip further and further through my hands I try to keep myself together. There's so many things that I have been trying to keep under control and mainly is this overwhelming sense of placelessness. I listened to the Avenue Q soundtrack yesterday and went to tears balling. "What Do You Do With a B.A. in English?" and "Purpose" never felt more heartbreaking than right now. The comforting words of friends are probably the first real thing to make me feel better since Korea said they wouldn't pay for my airfare. And I know there are other ways of getting these things to work out, but sometimes I have such trouble. God, if you're listening I really need a miracle here. I am so afraid of this future that seems looming over me all the time. I can't breathe sometimes at night for sake of the fact that all I ever wanted to do is make my parents proud. And for one of the first times in a while, it seems that they're worse than mad. They're disappointed. I can't bare their looks sometimes. Their questions that I don't have answers for. Their speculation about what I am about to do with my life. This was the same existential crisis I had just before graduation, because there's not really a class out there that teaches you about yourself. There's no one place that says, "what do you want to do with the rest of your life? what's going to sustain you?" I look at some people that end up locked in jobs they hate, because there weren't many options at some point or another. And as a child I always vowed that I would never be one of them. Well, it looks like I might become a hypocrite today. Today, the militant rebel is defecting to the enemy to save himself. How the hell am I going to fight in the struggle now? What do You want for my life God? Why can I not see all the things working for the good of they that love the Lord? Am I not in love with You as much as I thought? Or are You not in love with me as much as I hoped? Dear Lord, please prove me wrong.

Gurl, That Hair Do!

2009-08-06T12:34:00.001-07:00

I have actually spoke about doing this blog a good deal before, but it's taken me almost two years to actually get the inspiration to write it. While reading a good friend of mine's blog I realized that sometimes black women don't receive the credit due them. So here's to you Beautiful, Brown Descendants of Mother Africa. It's always been so amazing to see the many different ways that Black girls, and women as a whole use their hair as a means of self expression. I happen to love it. It's one of the things that makes Black women so appealing to me. I realize other ethnicities have different hairstyles that coincide with their culture, but I think that our women do it best. Being a boy from the South, I am always privileged when I get to go to the Cosmetologist Exhibition that is the Bronner Bros. Hair Show. It's held every year here in Atlanta, Georgia. All the big stars come out to hit the runway, perform, and check out some of the latest "follicle fashion." I mean, there's up dos, down dos, twists, braids, gels, all kinds of crazy colored dyes, flips, bobs, bangs! You get the idea. And more than anywhere else we can see all of these styles sported so brilliantly in our own back yard. So whether your hair is in an afro puff or a silky relaxer: here's to you. You foxxy, foxxy ladies. You're one of a kind. The best that's out there.

Death of a Dinosaur: Upsetting the Establishment‏

2009-08-04T01:06:00.000-07:00

So as my computer enters that lovely blue Error Screen that all PC users have come to know means ur compy just crashed I can't help but think about The Joker. Probably because my sister and I just watched "The Dark Knight" for the millionth time. But I kept dwelling on what he [The Joker] said about how chaos was fair and I think of all the things that this laptop has brought me over the past 4 years of owning it. Hell, it's single-handedly helped me earn my Bachelor's degree as it is the only computer I really used in my matriculation at Hampton. It brought closer to so many opportunities than several networking meetings could have. It introduced me a true obsession with the internet through the beautiful addiction that was my first experience with "the facebook." I'm talking old school facebook, delete my whole wall if you wanted to facebook. The drag stuff around your profile design hadn't even come about yet. Anyway, not the point. This laptop has connected to me my relatives from all across the globe. From my cousin who continues to break down barriers as the first African American Resident to be selected for a distinguished research opportunity to be filmed and broadcasted across the country. To the information that gave me Hope to believe a Black Man one day could be president and then gave me the avenue to begin volunteering for that Dream. This laptop's death means more to me than just the necessity of replacing a piece of hardware. It has been a friend to me through it's comforting music. An entertainer on lonely nights. A reminder of loved ones on sorrowful anniversaries. And a journal which I poured many of my tearful confessions into. Others had nicknames for theirs. Huey P. And Helgas. I've known people to replace their throughout our four years, but me and Latty held on. I'm sad to see him go. It's like saying goodbye to an terminally ill loved one. You know you have to let them go peacefully, but it doesn't mean you wanna see em go. I'll miss you old friend. And though I might(will) replace you with a Macbook Pro 13" screen with a 4GB Aluminum Core and 12 desktop capability I will never forget what you mean to me. You were the first friend inanimate or not that I made in college. I hate to see you go. I guess we'll just call this part of my evolution. Damn, growing pains really do hurt.

Jack of All Trades

2009-08-03T07:45:00.000-07:00

While I will admit that he has a bit of a temper on him, I don't think my sister is entirely right. My Pops is a bit of a handful. But then again, so are we. Between a wannabe thug for a brother and a reclusive daughter and an overly talkative son(me) there's really no getting around being a little off sometimes. I know as a child I gave them trouble. Always flying off the handle with teachers and authority figures. But it's only because they had always encouraged me to speak my mind. Perhaps to a fault. Maybe it was already in my nature to talk. Who knows? All I know is my Dad is a really good guy. And every time I think I have him figured out he does something truly remarkable. Sometimes he's so cool I have to look at him twice. Seems like a lot of times in our house we really do make him out to be a bad guy, but say nothing of all the really great things he does. I mean the guy picked up several odd jobs and started working nights so that we could keep on having food on the table and smart phones with way too high bills. Lord knows I don't really function well without my Blackberry. That's why I wrote that song last year for my dad. "Gotta Have My Pops." I remember actually crying while writing it because he really gets a bad rap sometimes and no one says anything. We were never really raised to wear all of our emotions on our sleeves and I think we all suffered a little bit for that. It led to us all leading very private lives. Not that that is anyone's fault, but it just meant at the end of it all someone was getting a raw end of the deal. Well here's the repost of his song. And for every time I haven't said it: Pop--Daddy, despite our differences and our hot-headed similarities you're always a rock for this family. I love you.

http://jamastermal.blogspot.com/2008/06/how-many-times-do-they-say-he-must-have.html

Wise Men Say

2009-07-28T19:26:00.000-07:00

You'll never figure out real love. It's almost unbearable sometimes when I have to keep separating myself from all these wonderful people that have helped shape who I am during my collegiate matriculation. Mmmm. Even that word still stings a little bit to say. Hampton University Graduates understand what I mean. It hurts that they aren't going to be with me anymore. Each moment I share with one of them feels like a little slice of home that I try to savor just a moment longer but it dissolves just as quickly as I begin tasting its sweetness. I don't necessarily know where this life is taking me. Maybe to research in East Africa. Maybe to the moon. All I know is there is so much that I always feel I'm leaving behind. A good friend of mine told me once that I should follow my ambitions because life keeps right on moving regardless of whether I get onboard or I throw a temper tantrum in its marble floor lobby. In this my postgraduate life I have to take challenges head on and I know my path is somewhat unclear but I have to carry on without those I love because the things that they have taught I know will resonate. In the proud way I hold my head high when I feel down. In the exhibition and application of all that I have learned. I must to dry my tears and put on the face of what everyone seems bent on calling "manhood": hiding my tears so that the world can't see, that I'm scared. d-_-b (Listening to Kanye West's "Pinocchio Story"). There is a lot truth held in the man that can admit he's human and has doubts, fears, and can still find courage through that. That's the kind of man I am striving to be in this transitional period of life. Who's that guy in the Bible who said something like that? Eli? Here I am Lord. Let's get started.

**Biblical scripture reference comes from 1 Samuel 3.**

Pinocchio Story (Freestyle Live From Singapore) - Kanye West

Expecto Patronus

2009-07-28T11:22:00.000-07:00

In the same kind of facility that I have seen three relatives strangled by Death's cold hand, I found myself in Greater Harlem Nursing Home & Rehabilitation Center. I hate nursing homes. For their smell. For their droves of hopeless faces that break my heart. For their tendency to rob me of the people I love with their densely unforgiving silence. The smell of stale air is pungent to my nostrils and I beg the Lord to move me from this God awful place where I am visited once more with the twinge of rank air and Death's insensitive disregard for sending people to the Crossroads sooner than it should. I've got to get out of here because I can feel this nursing home sapping my soul, though it has nothing to do with the staff or the stench. It's a spirit in here that is draining me, like this is a breeding ground for dementors. I need freedom from this cyclic realm of depression, because I can almost feel myself giving up on everything too.

Cried A Little On the Inside

2009-07-26T16:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had a bit of an existential crisis, lost on the subway in some random corner of New York City. It was all too familiar at the same time I had to tell my drunken mind to keep it together, but to no avail. Thoughts about what it would be like in South Korea when these sort of things will take place and as evidenced through my dead cell phone proved that I was truly cut off from the whole world and left to solve my own problems. I mean it was one thing to be 500 miles from my mom and dad in college. Can't call them for every little decision I made. Can't ask for advice in a tough situation. Can't cry on their shoulder when I am truly feeling lost. But these were issues that could be somewhat overcome by a well placed phone call or a short plane ride to the 757. Not anymore. In 30 days I will be moving my entire life to another continent and no amount of cell phone charging and Chinatown buses can fix that separation of worlds. I wonder how I will fare in Southeast Asia when I'm so far from friends and family. I'm excited yes. There are interesting new challenges to be had in my new country. But how many times will I simply long to talk to my Mommy. Holla at my Pop. Or bug my lil sis and they be nowhere close where I can do so. What will I do then to overcome this almost unbearable loneliness that seized the mind that had one too many Haters last night? God I hope I'm ready for this. Because I think I'm missing them already.

Stranger Than Fiction

2009-07-21T13:15:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my sister a few days ago. Nothing out of the ordinary, just conversing about our family and its tendency to be dysfunctional. Though I don't care to go into the details, it was interesting to note what she said about my parents. "Yeah, I feel like I don't really know them. And Daddy, he's kind of a stranger to me." I was somewhat taken aback by not only how forward she was about saying this, but also by the amount of truth in that statement. I'm not sure if I completely know my father either. And I have noticed a similar trend when I ask my friends about their own parental relationships. Not that it's impossible for people from two parent homes to not know their parents, but it seems outlandish to say the least. Even with all the time that we could have spent together; I, my sister, and my brother all had separate experiences growing up in the same Middle American home. What's more, we each shared very little with one another, but all come up with similar disconnections from our parents. And the same can be said about an ex-girlfriend of mine. She's one of my sister's friends and until we had this conversation I had always thought her mother was a single parent. I have picked this woman up for multiple dates and dropped her off, back in her bed after she's passed out drunk and not once have I seen her father. I had no idea that this man has been there the whole time. It's just amazing that somehow we can all live in allegedly "normal", suburban homes and be just as screwed up, isolated, or otherwise dysfunctional as those who go without a parent in the home. I watch Malcolm in the Middle (tv show with my nickname) and am bewildered by how uncanny the resemblance is to my own family. Family fights. Delinquent older siblings. Reserved younger siblings with just as many issues. And a main character who continues to try to make sense of it all. I guess I am living in a house full of strangers and I'm not even sure how to rectify it, if I can at all. Because clearly, I feel more comfortable telling these issues to a computer screen than people downstairs. Oh well. It's sad, but it's the damn truth.

Stranger In My House - Tamia

On The Road Again

2009-07-14T19:26:00.000-07:00

I chronicled my journey back to the Atlanta from Hampton Roads after graduation. It had just been sitting on my camera forever so I decided I might as well post this. It's mildly interesting check it out.

Change's Gon Come

2009-06-24T09:18:00.000-07:00

First off, let me just say that God is good, even when you don't want Him to be. This just has been weighing on my heart for a minute. I was talking to my friend the other day, ya know just catching up on what I've missed since we graduated. And she told me, very simply that all was well except that her cousin had been murdered in a gun fight. I couldn't believe that she felt comfortable enough to talk about such a topic so soon, so openly, and so calmly. Especially seeing as how we were talking via text message. I reacted emotionally. "Oh my God. Are you okay? Do they know who did it?" the whole nine. And she continued, they knew who did it because that's what happens in gang shootouts. She explained that the city she grew up in (I won't mention because some people will be mislead) is just like that sometimes. Violent. And the age we live in is a tough one, filled with hard truths and tough decisions. It was simply breathtaking to have a friend showing that glorious inner beauty that so many of our Black Women have had to muster for the continuity of our race. People talk all this about how hard it is in these streets. But some of us have no idea. Some people are living in it every day. And they can't swallow those half-assed stories about how it's always sunny on their side of town. Some of us live on the South Side, where shit always gets real. I just wanted to weep for my friend because my brother is one of those kind of gangbangers like her cousin was. And I think, how many people have lost their lives to gang violence? How many innocent bystanders have been struck down by stray bullets in a war that wasn't theirs? How many families have been torn apart by the ill decisions of one of their relatives? It's a shame this is how I had to spend my Wednesday, but I think it should not go without being said. There has been much progress that we as African Americans and minorities have made. And there have been great strides taken to combat the violence that flood our streets everyday. But Lord have mercy, we still have a long ways to go.

For more on gang violence check this article out
http://www.chicagodefender.com/article-2842-the-year-in-review-2008-in-chicago.html

Choose Wisely

2009-06-21T06:47:00.000-07:00

So, I just found out this Father's Day that I hate Greeting Cards. In fact, not even greeting cards, but all cards in general. The way that we have been forced every holiday to find a card that says "just the right thing." A good amount of hoaky. The small pinch of corniness. The right dash of cheer. And a little piece of you in there somewhere. And while Hallmark is probably doing their best, I think I'm giving up on them. I have decided that I am too much of an individual to keep trying to find a way for someone else's subject and verbs to agree with what my heart is feeling at the time. Granted there have been new developments as far as customization with cards that allow you to record voice messages in them, play songs, etc. But it's just not enough. I want a card that can take a picture of me and my Pops splice into a cool border or layout. Let me type my own words in. Choose a song to be played when it opens. And scan in my signature electronically. And mash it all together on glossy card stock that a main branch store near me could print and allow me to purchase. Till you can do that America's Greetings and Hallmark, Mahogany and generic brands alike I will be discriminating against you all. Oh shit, isn't 4th of July coming up? Who the hell gives cards for that? I'm just gonna sign an American Flag and give it to my dad and call it a day, because this whole picking a card thing is driving me up a wall.

The Rime of The Ancient Mariner

2009-06-10T23:21:00.000-07:00

Soooooooo, I found this poem in a journal of sorts from a year ago. Idk if it's worth editing but it's at least got a few clever metaphors and carefully twisted cliches in it. Check it out.

Sometimes I close my eyes
and wish for your smile
because kisses from you feel like
forgotten childhood Christmas mornings

where all that I'm wanting
has aligned with what I see
like money hard earned
because of time well spent
no, I can't even cheapen
your worth like that

Sometimes I shut out the world
and spread my arms wide
smile ear to ear wide
dreaming of those dulce moments
when it's just me and you

Intimacy
That's into you I see
That's into me you see
in two eyes meet seas
Sea clouds that share a common storm on the horizon
one of judgmental callousness
and heartbreak and powerlessness
for not plundering the same booty
of ye o'er buccaneers

Like nibble marks on my ears
or the mermaid melody I make
you hear

We are entranced by
none of these scalawags
because we've got
a pirate's code somewhere
in between
the rings of falsified commitment
Bermuda Triangles
worth reprising
because of all the hurt I'm running from

you know what it's like to be hiding

Missing You

2009-06-03T13:43:00.000-07:00

Watching all the pictures of high school thru senior year of college scroll thru on my laptop I couldn't help but be a little saddened today. It's funny how something that seems so insignificant, i.e. being in college, can be such a short-lived moment. And even though you're surrounded by other friends and family of yours at home it's never really the same as when everyone was at school. When you could call up a friend at 10:30 in the morning and say "let's get drunk" and it's okay because we're skipping the same 12:30 class. It's cool to go out and have a night on the town. But there's still something special about being able to sit in the house getting high with your friends just talking about life or playing videogames, that makes this move into the next phase of life a little bittersweet for me. I know life is about "change" and "moving to the next step", but part of me just feels like my heart hasn't quite caught up to my brain who knows I have to let all of this go. As a result, I find myself crying (just a lil bit) because I know even if and when I hang out with some of my old favorites in our respective cities it's still going to be nothing like our Home By the Sea. Our Home, by the Sea.....mmmm. I really did think of it that way. Especially since my parents have moved a countless number of times since I graduated high school. This place isn't home. And no matter how much I suppress it, I know I left part of my heart in the 757. I only wish I could have held on to it a little while longer. I will treasure those friendships for a lifetime. And no, everyone didn't last the whole ride, but they all make up an experience that I am having the hardest time trying to push from my mind. I loved them. I just don't know what's left of me in this place, with such a huge chunk of me scattered in so many hearts across the US and the world right now. I'll just be still a while. Till it all comes back to me. *tears* We could never make thee a song.

Hold On To Your Thrown

2009-05-29T16:59:00.000-07:00

So with everyone trying to decide what the Finals are going to look like, it seems glaringly obvious what ESPN and the American Market would like to see in the NBA Championship game but it’s not going to happen. With the current attention that surrounds the Chosen One it’s still easy to see how the league’s monster fares against the well-oiled machine that is the Orlando Magic. There hasn’t been a very tight game being played by the Cavaliers. Many of their fast breaks and screen setups have resulted in careless turnovers and sloppy layups that they can’t always get to fall. What’s going on Lebron? I know that you have the measurements of Zeus himself, but if that’s the case stop playing like a mere mortal waiting on pawns to meet your godlike stature. Let us look to the example of the Titan, Dwight Howard for how you should conduct yourself. Howard makes sure he gets the easy buckets, finishes what his teammates start, make all of your free throws sir, and please play at a pace that you set, not one that the other team tries to hold you to. Please, get the rebounds Lebron. There were a few times in third quarter where Superman sent defenders flying as he recovers the rebound. Where is that kind of intensity King James? Where is that kind of hunger that you displayed every time you have covered your face with the towel and man-wept. If you really have that dedication then follow the people you have watched play this game for all the time you have been in the NBA. Take the example of your fellow mutants in the way that they control their mutant blasts to power dunks, super reverse shots, well developed three-point shots, and stellar rebounds. You can do this. I know you can. Granted, I think you’re still too young to really understand what they say about you. According to everybody, you will one day be the Great Unstoppable One. But for today, like Samurai Jack, like Gohan, like Inuyasha, and Anakin Skywalker, you still have a ways to go and some time to wait before you come into the full wisdom of your greatness. Sorry King James, but it looks like your coronation might have to be postponed another year.

Up In the Bell Tower

2009-05-25T09:43:00.000-07:00

So I keep trying to wrap my head around the idea that I will be gone in another three months to a land unfamiliar to me, amongst a people I have never lived with. Furthermore, they have never seen a black man themselves. To say the least it will be interesting living in South Korea for this year. I'm not sure that I am ready for the culture shock of it all. However, some of my family members postulate that because I am such an oddity of an individual I will likely find that I love it over there because I will be Lord of the Flies, if you will. My cousin even went so far as to say I will likely marry a woman over there and never come back to the States except for holidays and special events. Now, I know that's not likely for several reasons but it was just interesting to see what they thought about the whole situation. Hmm. I'm not really sure what I would do in order to overcome social isolation amongst a people and culture that's not my own. It's likely though this whole scenario would force me to learn their culture sooner, because I don't do alone too well. I like to have people surrounding me, involved in something fun. In fact, that's what I am going to do. Everytime I feel alone there, I vow to go out and meet someone new. It'll give me a chance to work on my Hangal(Korean language) and my new comrade a chance to practice their English. I don't if it's a perfect plan, but at least it's one that will keep me from belting show tunes from the apartment roof in Seoul.

Each One Reach One

2009-05-13T17:15:00.000-07:00

So I have found that it is not when I am surrounded by people celebrating the joy of this moment, but the times when I am alone in my apartment that the magnitude of Graduation settles upon me. Throughout my four years there has always been one professor who seemed to keep riding me and telling me that I am not doing as well as I should. I have had him for a teacher since Freshman year. He was the first person I talked to when I wanted to earn some "Letters,"if you know what I am saying. And he was the first person to tell me that I had been settling for mediocrity for far too long, by overstretching myself with my extracurriculars and giving my studies only 80% of my time. I resented him for it. Granted, he is my mentor and generally knows and wants what's best for me, I was not prepared for the harsh reality checks he delivered to me each time that I had a one-on-one with him. I remember crying in his office once when one insignificant dream came crashing down right before my eyes at his hand. I remember how angry I was when he asked, "Do you want me to treat you like all the rest of these people?" And I remember being so ready to tell him "yes" because sometimes it gets so hard to stand out. So hard to be an individual. And so damn hard to always do the right thing. But I know he's right. I thank him from the bottom of my heart for never giving up on me. Dr. Lloren A. Foster has been life coach, mentor, pastor, and father to me throughout a four year journey and now sitting here in this seat I only hope I know how to stand on all that he, along with my parents, and many other wonderful instructors have taught me over these four years to know I'm doing the right thing. *tears* The old African adage "each one teach one" holds true with this man. Now it's my duty to carry on the torch and fulfill the duty he has charged me with. I must take a deep breath and brace myself. Lord, help me on this way. I think I'm finally ready to take the plunge.

Dance With My Father - Luther Vandross

Amigo Loco

2009-04-30T18:59:00.000-07:00

So, Senior year is always full of surprises and with it the rekindling of old friendships. People from high school finding you on facebook and telling you about their brand new husband and baby. Childhood compadres becoming your pen pal as you fill them in on the past 10 years of your life in extended personal messages and chat sessions. And going to raves on a random Guys Day Out Roadtrip to Baltimore. To say the least it has been a interesting semester. And the best part has been reuniting with some of my friends that are a bit more off-kilter. Everyone spends so much time calling me weird, but it's refreshing to hang out with some of your own kind and not have people judge you if you decide to do something a lil "unprompted." I can't believe it's been so long since I hung with my hombres that I used to go to the Switchfoot concerts with and play with their pet ferrets. I guess it's great that we all made time for each other since we're all about to go our separate ways soon. I know people don't understand how I come to meet some of the eccentric characters that I have come to associate with because I spend so much of my own time being everyone else's "weird friend." It's refreshing to just hang with my own kind. ::singing:: "I will go 'most anywhere to find where I belong." Hanging with you homie makes this feel like home, man. Thanks.

Mucha Lucha

2009-04-28T01:49:00.000-07:00

I decided not to try X this weekend at the Rave we were going to in Baltimore. Afraid I would be one of the unlucky ones. Found sprawled out in some back alleyway or laid out on the technicolor dance floor, neglected by friends too dense to recognize my brain was cooking itself to the bone right now. I should have known better. i had seen cult-classic 'SLC Punk' enough times to know that some people just shouldn't fuck with pills and it was usually always the one everybody said would tweak out if ever they tried. Heroin Bob in alot of ways became me this weekend. Surly on the outside. Rockin on the inside and I wanted to mohawk spike my hair just like him as an ode to the narcotic martyrs of the social pariahs of recreational drug users who should really stick to their own drug of choice that the FDA has already approved to kill you slowly: tobacco, alcohol, NyQuil, and marijuana. Though the latter may still be awaiting approval. It would still be a slamming weekend. Road trip. Amusement park. Party. Friends. This formula is fool-proof and even if it's not I can get "regular" drunk--and by that I mean "Spanish drunk"--and the weekend can still be bitchin. I think I'm excited again.

Lol : Language of Love

2009-04-28T00:27:00.000-07:00

Between white hot laconic sleepy text messages in the middle of the night is where I buried how much I liked/ cared for you because that's where I couldn't get hurt. In the suspended sleepy state of knowing I had tarea and the hidden urges that begged a distraction to take me away from it. Knowing that some part of you thought I was alright as that was the part of you I had spent our last stolen moment with, because you were the only one I knew that was still up at this hour. Wanting to remind you of that late night drunken affair, but afraid that same part of you that loved me was the part of yourself you were most afraid of and that was why you hadn't brought yourself to come and "chill" with me in a month. Scared the maricon that had brought us together in a night of forgotten passion would seize you again at the sight of me. And I, between many pendejos y personajes teribles chose to forget their faces because the only one worth holding on to had slipped through my fingers before I truly had it. Wishing so badly to sing you my heart song and managing only to choke out a text message about making bail, i.e. graduation, as to say "we're running out of time." and you reciprocate just enough to make me try to hold out. A gay expression of inner desire; and little wannabe boriqua moreno read way too far into things. "I miss you more than my pride will let me admit," is all that I got from your sweetly short: "Lol." *sigh*

Without A Word

2009-04-17T17:06:00.000-07:00

Something in the need to free my brain from ideas about Otherness and Difference. Social constructions that generated social pariahs made something in me terribly disturbed at the fact that none of the people that I was surrounded by felt the tension that I have all year. No one has felt the impending danger of not finding a purpose for their lives in time for graduation. No one has felt the swift urgency to definitively say this is what I shall be doing with my life for the next year or so. And no one bothered to care why I was always so irritable. The prospect of Graduation is an appetizing one, but it is as much a burden as it is a joy. And though my insides are writhing in feverish pain and an itch to be free from the pressures of drafts and defenses, girlfriends I can’t spend time with and homies that forget to return your phone calls. It is a difficult conundrum to have the weight of the world pressing upon you as you stand at the threshold of Adulthood. Letting myself go I am now floating rapidly down the dense rabbit hole in hopes that this Wonderland called life is as exciting and frightening as they say it is. I must hold fast to the Lord and pray for the rain that I know will help my seeds grow. Ehhhhh, better pack an umbrella just in case.

Funny How Time

2009-04-15T15:27:00.000-07:00

So I realize I haven't updated on here in a while. I will rectify that. For now though, here's a Senior Survey that our school newspaper, The Script, sent me. The always ask me for interviews and their stories are usually pretty good. Check out my answers.

1) What is your most memorable moment at Hampton?
it's hard to answer these kinds of questions without leaving something out, or discounting all the other great times I've had at Hampton. So I'll cite just a few great times here at Hampton University. Freshman year, meeting the girl I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. What we had was an amazing swirl of great passion, laughter, friendship, and companionship. Though it didn't last I will never forget her. She is an amazing person and I hope the best for her. Next would be the Alpha Beachhouse 2007. That was the best party of my life next to Senior Ball. They two separate experiences, but as far as drunken crazy madness is concerned, that one takes the cake. It was the year I won the Golden Ticket and got into all of Gamma Iota's events for both semesters for free. It was the best bit of partying I've ever done at HU. And definitely, all the friends I have made while here. There have been too many to name them all, but I will name the few that have stuck with me these four years: John, Chris, Reggie, and everybody else from Harkness Hall 3rd floor. Yall are my brothers for life.

2) What will you miss about Hampton?
Definitely, all the people I just mentioned. It's funny being closer to some of my dudes here than I am to my blood brother. But they've been the ones that have been there for a series of firsts at Hampton, ya know? They've watched me grow and I have watched them grow. We've studied hard together and partied even harder. I'll be sad to see all of them go, because they really mean alot to me. I just hope that we'll all be able to stay friends beyond HU. I know it'll be an adjustment not being able to see all of them everyday anymore. But I'm hopeful for the future and with any luck, God will keep all of us as tight as we are now.

3) What will you not miss about Hampton?
I won't miss the runaround. I mean, it's not fun to do. But I guess it makes you stronger because everybody goes through it at some point or another. That's what helped to strengthen the bonds we've made here because we were all struggling in one common plight. It's been us against the Administration; us against the Harbors Leasing Manager; us against Mr. Cullen; us against the world. And in the end you realize it's really been the "us" that has made the struggle all the more worthwhile, because we've made it.

4) What advice would you give to freshmen?
I would advise them to get things done early. Start on assignments tasks, friendships, fights, love, job searches, Greek life, networking, everything you can early. Take things in stride because HU has a funny way of not always giving you exactly what you want. Find a solid group of friends you can count on. And be a friend that people can count on. If there's one thing I have learned in four years it's that Friendship really is essential to the soul. There is no getting around the fact that everybody at some point or another, needs somebody else. These friendships are stronger than those from high school, because it's been you and your friends playing, working, breathing, and living right here on top of you while you've been here. Whether you live on- or off-campus there is always someone there that can either make or break your time here at Hampton. And you know whether or not you're gonna make it based off the people that surround you. Without that solid group of people who care about you, it's hard to make it through these four years. But I would tell all of these freshmen to just enjoy the ride, because once it's over, it's over. And the journey goes alot faster than you think. Stay close to God. And always follow your heart.

Sayin I...

2009-03-12T19:07:00.001-07:00

If I could tell you the number of kisses I've stolen from you in dreams from which I have yet to wake
Spine tingling sensations
Passion deep vibrations
In every utterance you make

Got body, style, pizazz, soft eyes, and a voice that'd make God Almighty stop
With sensual songs that caress my cerebellum, put simply your everything makes my jaw drop.

Can't quite put into words,
But if I'm the man who deserves
The essence of woman that you are
Then I can sleep at night 'less I'm holdin you tight
And queen sits on that throne of hers

Wanna cover your dark chocolate body
In caramel kisses
And melt into the daytime with you
Can't wait to see you again
Make my knees weak
And baby I'm a man
So I know this has got to be true

Wish I could hold you here forever,
Cause you make life better
Baby girl, can't you see we're meant to be

Though the stars won't allow,
Say you're not suited for my pallet
I know meeting you was destiny

Fleeting flame
That has came in my heart
Set me on fire for her.
Pass not me by
Hear my cry
I never want this to be over.

Simple poetry in which I'm caught
Rhyme scheme of my heart
Don't judge on this one here.
Just wrote for her,
My beautiful Wisconsin lover,
Damn I wish The Movie Channel on my damn analog tv would come in clear.

Pieces of Me

2009-01-06T12:30:00.000-08:00

I was bored so I found myself amidst a random self photo shoot. Some of I think came out pretty cool.

Pointing Fingers

2008-12-23T14:17:00.000-08:00

After reading the Introduction to E. Frances White's Dark Continent of Our Bodies: Black Feminism and the Politics of Respectability I was caught somewhere in between my sentiments towards this bold treatise that posits around the sensitive issues of race and gender.
Told from narrativev nonfiction perspective, White frames her argument about the silence of discourses around the intergenerational anecdotes that she learned following her mother's death. The story goes that she had always been told stories by her grandfather about her family's history. And according to legend, Frances White comes from a long line of ancestors actively engaged in the struggle for upward mobility. From great-great Afro-Indian aunts who were a part of the Underground Railroad to great uncles with one leg that fended off white attempts to disenfranchise him, the stories of White's ancestry ran the gamut of black national characters. This framing mechanism made for interesting prose and then the conversation turned to the meat of White's argument. The oral history her grandfather had given her embedded in her the value structure that taught her the value of positing her personal goals to benefit the race's larger objective of equality. Throughout Frances White's own history she found similar strength as her genealogical predecessors had to overcome oppresion. She had grown up during the beginning of Integration in American history, following the Civil Rights Movement. And though she encountered several obstacles, both racial and social boundaries, she found the will to fulfill her mother's dream of ascertaining higher education. Afterwards, White held every intention to use this education to empower and move the ball of upward mobility to the modern generation. This seems a simple enough argument. However, the hangup I have with Frances White's argument is her discussion of the counter-discourse. Now, I do not deny that such discourses exist for the antithetical purposes of redefining a genre. And I do not deny that some of the works of African American have surfaced in response to white supremacy ideological views that perpetuate themselves in this country. Additionally, while I do not wholly agree that Afrocentrism is used to construct sexist and relatively narrow views I can see how she believes this. My only true issue I have with E. Frances White is almost miniscule, but in that she says that this element empowers all blacks I feel somewhat disadvantaged by her thesis's supposition: that we all have a counter-discourse. Come on Ms.-I'm sorry-Dr. Harper. Not all of us actually know our family history much like you were in the dark about your own grandmother, so are many of us about our entire family because of the suppression of hurtful memories. Consequently, the empowerment and enlightenment to be found in one's personal history, because what Chiekh Ante Diop called "the severed jugular" the personal narrative, the counter-discourse of one's life, your history. Thanks for putting in the very place feminists and black nationalists alike, hate to be: the margins.

Melville Meltdown

2008-12-01T11:02:00.001-08:00

For brevity's sake I will only discuss the work I had to read for our panel discussions in American Literature class. First off let me say, the professor I have for this course is a complete hermit and rambunctous nazi about the American Literary Canon however, whatever intimations she has arrived at in her own reading of our texts forbid to the beautiful art that is equivocation. Put simply, she's another English Major teaching her own presumptions about the texts. Anyway, I decided to write about Melville because I left his text "Bartleby, the Scrivener" feeling pretty disconcerted. After getting over the initial pragmatism of this story, I found myself agonizing because like many of these older American authors, by the sheer amount of phrases it took him to get to a point, I knew he was being paid by the word. Cha ching. I mean I guessed I would take hours to articulate blowing my nose in the artistic of expressive modes if I could somehow relate that to the metaphysical relationship of man's parting with unnecessary worldly attachments. However, I did not feel these sort of convictions about the unnamed narrator and the subject of his narration, a passively obstinate worker of his named Bartleby. The majority of the story is spent discussing the goings-on of the office of which the narrator is the lawyer and from a job hierarchy standpoint, the boss of the place. And when the time came that he needed to get some extra help to balance out his more difficult tasks of copying he hired an extra hand. All seemed well for the first few moments and then one day the narrator asked for Bartleby's checking his copies and he refused. It seemed a very odd story to me. Ah, look at it working its voodoo on me. I'm inverting my subject and predicates. Stupid Herman Melville. Anyway, the story continued that Bartleby refused to do even the most menial of tasks his boss requested, because he "preferred not to." It all seemed a bit strange to me, if not highly far-fetched. But the narrator goes through great difficulty to gain the cooperation of Bartleby but despite his efforts the scrivener remained noncompliant. Eventually, the narrator resolved to fire Bart and move to another office after the law copyist refused to leave. In the end, Bartleby goes to prison for trespassing and dies of probably some combination of loneliness and starvation. After 20 pages of the same kinds of things occuring I wanted a bigger release than the narrator's reciprocated passive-aggressive motion of simply leaving. I was left eavesdropping in the backstage wing of the theatre waiting on some dramatic climax to occur where the narrator snapped like he would have in a Edgar Allan Poe story or lit something on fire like in William Faulkner. The story left me wholly dissatisfied and while I might see some of what the editor calls "addressed some of the issues of social transformations brought about by the rise of industrial capitalism," the construction of Herman Melville upset me. The displacement of two unmotivated characters and their journey to apathetic resolution bothers me as a reader and insults me a writer. Bad form Herman Melville. Bad form.

All Night Long

2008-11-28T23:14:00.001-08:00

Isn't funny how sometimes you find yourself in situations you know you could have avoided altogether if you stopped tryna make everybody else happy and just did what you knew would be best for you. I can't believe that after all that discussion about going to a 21+ club, I ended up at a club that I knew was destined to be wack when the guy asked me for money at the door. "I thought it's supposed to be free before 12?" I said, frustrated. "It's before 11," the man said curtly. I was so upset and I glanced at my sister who walked up and pulled rank before one of her friends already inside had put her name on the VIP List. Ugh. What about me? Shit! "That's cool" I say. Until the female cashier asks me for $10. Wtf?! I definitely hoped that this place would be more popping than this but for some reason it's got all the signs of a bad party. An absent-minded DJ. More dudes than girls. And a strange dancefloor that looks more fit to be a skating rink than a club. But we take a chance on it. And by we I mean the two of us that paid. Everyone else is at no kind of loss. We paid for gas, parking, and entrance cover fee. Ugh. But I have spent the past three hours tryna find any girls that dare to move not by themselves. But the incessant trend of people having a good time played out the entire night. Guys and girls operating independent of one another as though the very fabric of our Friday Activity and raging hormones did live for just this interaction. Why? Is it because we are seeking a lustful consideration for entertainment despite our heavy Christian upbringing? Or could it be just because the devil gets kicks out of wasting our time, money, and effort on things he knows won't gratify our insatiable hunger for the perfect part and the best of your life. Maybe Satan knows just like that a meaningful relationship doesn't lie in these alcohol-stained floors and smoke-filled multi-purpose recreational spaces. Damn. But God I hate when you're right anyway. Can't I at least get one more dance before I stop the club scene altogether? C'mon man. Do it for ya boi...

Don't Wanna Be...All By Myself

2008-11-23T18:32:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's just the fact that I enjoy being alone sometimes or the sound of silence but there is often this unspoken tension I feel between my roommate and I because he often is the adversary of my silence and alone time. And for reasons that are not his fault, he agitates the hell out of me sometimes as I'm sure I do to him. Simple things like not watching tv but always needing it to be on. Never actually washing dishes while you're here and then have the audacity to say you're going to wash your own dishes when 90% of the dirty things I just scrubbed I had no part in making dirty. Whatever. Maybe it's from the fact that this alleged party animal told one of my friends that I'm boring now and don't go out. But everytime that I do hit a party with you, thirty minutes after we get there you're ready to go. And you're clearly my ride. Furthermore, it's like you talk about wanting simple things and having the means to get them but you would rather not do what's necessary to get what you wany and complain for hours own end.

C:I'm tryna get drunk tonight.
M:Take a shot.
C:I don't take shots.
M:Well then how are you gonna get drunk.
C:I'll do shooters.
M:Gay.
C:F*ck you man. I just don't like shots.
M:But you drink way more than me.
C:Whatever. What are we doing tonight?
M:I don't know there's this party in West County.
C:Let's go.
(at the party)
M:Yo homie, you not dancin. Get on that chick right there.
C:I'm gon dance. But I'm just chillin right now. Can I chill?
M:My bad. My bad. I was just sayin....
(two hours later. roomie hasn't moved)
M:Dog, it's 12 o'clock and I'm already f*cked up. Get on the flo man.
C:I'm straight! I'm chillin right now, damn.
M:You good dog?
C:Yeah, I just don't people being all in my face.
M:My bad. You just ain't been out there.
C:I been dancin, dog. What?
(I shrug and walk away. twenty minutes later)
C:Yo, you ready?
M:(dancing)Ummmm, not really.
C:I mean that's cool. But I'm bout to dip.
M:But we just got here.
C:I mean, you can chill here if you want. I'm just ready to go.
M:(frowns)....aight. Whatever. Let's go.
C:I mean if you still dancing you can stay, but I'm finna leave.
M:Whatever, man. It's cool.

We get back in the house and I find myself a lil bit past pissed off because this dude, who seems to go out every Thursday through Saturday never parties whenever the few times I've gone out with him. He's--I hate to say it, but--he's a square. A lame. One of those people that likes to go to parties for sake of saying they went. To say it was kinda fun, but if and when I go out I can't be one of those dudes. They're wack. And I can't kick it, or be made to feel sedentary by a fuckin wallflower.
Moral of the story. Next time we go out somewhere, I'm driving. Or going without him.

On the Cross

2008-11-22T06:30:00.000-08:00

As we sat there standing on our tiptoes trying to see the new inductees of yet another nameless organization, some silent envious inkling crept in and ruled my heart as I found out that I was much more wide open than I thought. I couldn't believe that even when I told myself didn't care about this shit, I still did. I had said I would wait it out until grad school or alumnae chapter or anywhere but here and somehow I found myself, always on the waiting side of this equation. I feel sick.

Dear Momma

2008-11-11T07:15:00.000-08:00

As I listen to her over the phone moaning in agony,and doing her best not to let me hear, I know that something's hurting her. My mother of 21 years sat on the other end of the phone, her body fighting infection and I fully incapable of easing her pain. It's funny that as I get older I find that I want to take care of the woman that took care of me for so long. This beautiful woman that bared me in her womb so long ago. The powerlessness of a child as he listens on the other line and waits for modern medicine to do its job, is an insufferable tragedy. Through her deep heavings and her sentence to bed rest for a month I know that she had not underwent a "mild operation." She, the woman I had seen hold steady whilst my aunt diagnosed with breast cancer made her gradual march towards Zion. She, the woman who held my cousin's head steady and kept the spoon on his tongue while he seized feverishly. Now she, the center of my Joy, needed someone to lean on. And I was separated by four interstates and 600 miles. Coming to this jarring reality that I must accept my mother's impermanence is not something that she prepared me for. And somehow I felt like a naive child for I could not come to grips with my Nurturer's mortality. Selfishly, I want her to tell me it's going to be all right and she will be fine. Yet, I know that if she is to get better it will be no doing of my own. So hear me Lord, that woman is the single most important female in my life. I love her and I ask you to make her strong through this trial. Shield her body from the attacks of the Enemy. And keep her strong through many more years of life. She needs you. I need her. Please.
-MJ

Got Me A Caddilac Car

2008-08-26T08:51:00.000-07:00

So I have been on Ebay for a long time. Going on three years now, but I have never been to the daughter site that was dedicated entirely to the selling of automotor vehicles. I was amazed at how many of different cars, bikes, etc. that were being sold and the prices of some of them. It's very odd to me. It makes me feel like a brand new Ebay user all over again because some of the prices are just outlandish or altogether unfathomable. I don't know if anyone has ever been to the South before but here we like to have these things called car auctions in which junk cars, old cars, and sometimes really really nice collector's cars get sold. It's always a big deal and the prices get to be astronomical. However Ebay Motors runs the gamot as it refers to the number of fine automobiles being sold. I just can't understand it though. These same collector's that I know would sell for about $10,000 easy at the car auctions have sold for merely handfuls of maybe a few hundred dollars. The biggest kicker for me was when I saw this item. Item number: 200240663747. It's a 1979 Ford Thunderbird with a white exterior and a soft cover. Granted it had a little over 90 thousand miles over it, it still should have sold somewhere in the $10,000-11,000 range. I was so confused when it sold for $355. I was watching the item just for the heck of it and there were only two bidders and that was the final sell price. WTF?! Which leads me to believe that maybe it wasn't the sell price but the monthly payment price that they were bidding on. The Ebay Motors people were fighting about what's the highest amount they'll pay per month. That's the decision I have made in my brain to restore some of the plausability in Ebay again. That car sold for $355/month. If not then I don't know what to think. Actually I do. I think I'm gonna buy a hoopdie or maybe even a really awesome collector's car from Ebay Motors with this month's check. Oh Ebay, how you bewilder me.

Gotta Have My Pops

2008-06-15T07:05:00.000-07:00

How many times do they say: 'He must have spit you out?"
I still count them in my mind
And even though we bump heads sometimes, what's that all about?
Apple and tree we're two of a kind.
Decided a new type of song to play,
wanted to take a moment and stop.
On this special day, I had to say:
You are the best man for the job.

(Chorus)
But...
Did you know
you're my solid rock?
Your bald head,
Keeps me fed,
But take no steps I make for granted.

And...
Did you know
you're my hero?
Even though the world is mixed up.
Odd jobs I know you picked up,
So I can still live a life that's blessed.

Do you know what our last name means,
No matter what each day brings,
No matter how hard it seems,
You're still a vital half.........a vital half
Of my everything.

Who Dat is?

2008-06-10T08:28:00.000-07:00

My two cents: Yes I agree with what everybody else has to say but you know the prejudices in me have a little bit more to say about it. When it comes to reality tv I don't watch it at all. I was sucked in a bit with things like American Idol and Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, but then they all got old. The glitz and glam of false hopes on the doorstep of a forgotten reality we see every day in the mirror I choose to accept as my only reality. The problem reality is it's not always actuality. Things as they exist in real-time. And the dating shows slash match-making shows are the worse of them all.
Two things: One) Flavor of Love and all associated spinoffs, remakes, and counter-creations kill brain cells to view at any point in time. They like Maury, Jerry Springer, and all other shows such as these that target our demographic are meant to promote a social standard that prides itself on degrading our women, glorifying money as the cure for ignorance, and relishing in the fact that education or a lack thereof is the underlying source of most of these lost souls' ignorance. Not that a college degree could stop that nincompoop from shouting "FLAVA FLAV!!!!" every time he enters a room. But at least with some kind of intellectual mode of thinking could dare to imagine the black man in another way besides the Icy Imbecile.
Two) The problem with most of these game shows is not the false image of love that it's promoting. It's the false sense of self that is truly detrimental. If you spend three seasons, or hell even one, looking for a boyfriend, nay a husband, instead of figuring out why the past 15 relationships failed you've already broken up your marriage before you even meet Mr. Right. What VH1, ABC, and FOX and whatever else network should do is take the time one season and ask Tiffany why she keeps agreeing to come back for another season when just two seasons ago she was the same desperate love-seeker/actress trying to kiss her way into the heart of the show's "protagonist." I think it would be much more interesting to see a show called, "I Hate New York" and the entire theme would be getting to the heart of this poor, beautiful, black woman who at the root has low self esteem, is superficial, and may legitimately need a mother to tell her more than "Flava Flav is unacceptable," that this kind of self-loathing behavior is not becoming of any African Queen. I'm done.

Pinnochio Nose

2008-06-02T20:23:00.000-07:00

So I haven't posted over here in a while but I just thought I should take a minute and let people know that this will officially be a Video Blog from now. I just wanted to say hey to everyone and say meet my uncomfortable pimple. Don't you hate when you just get used to how you look in the mirror and a zit comes up and ruins whatever image of you you just accepted. Ironic. Hope everyone is cool. Thanx for stopping by.

Collision Course

2008-04-10T20:16:00.000-07:00

Staring at the abandoned car that remained in disrepair for my entire apartment complex to see, I was reminded of the many people who like that truck remained broken and the only thing the owner even bothered to do, after so many months was half cover it with a car cloth that hung awkwardly over the truly destroyed side of the car. Like so many other things in our society this truck projected the way in which we as Americans have come to deal with our problems: we ignore them. There is a strange familiarity I feel whenever I make my daily acquaintance with the truck. It reminds me of my antiquated American conundrum, wrought with neglect. It sickens me almost because I, like so many of my American counterparts, have chosen to put a dirty band aid over an infected wound and it continues to eat away at me with each day my ragged clothing brushes against it. What shall I do about my broken down SUV as no one ever bothered to fix me or it after my car crash.

Ba Ba Black Sheep

2008-04-05T13:21:00.000-07:00

It's a weird phenoemena being with people that they say you look like, talk like, act like, and everything in between and somehow you still manage to land in spaces where you still are not sure where you stand with them. There are some cases that allow room to ask questions and understand more about the person you're supposed to get along with so well but every now and again there are breakdowns in communication. This has been the case especially when it relates to conversation with my cousins and their relationshiop with my dear, dear brother Jesse. He somehow has managed to alienate himself from every part of the family; my dad's side and my mom's. Yet, it seems that the way that he perceives it is, everyone has in some way gotten together to make himself out to be the "bad guy." However, it cannot always be the case. This is something that he, himself has created. I knew something was wrong when one of our coolest cousins said, "Nah, real talk I ain't fuckin with Jesse
tonight." It was as if he was saying he didn't want to be bothered, but any other time he would have gladly lifted him from his boredom and move him to something slightly more exciting than the tedium of his four walls. But tonight Dre had acted almost put off when I mentioned his used-to-be compadre. I was in the spot where I knew nothing of what had been happening between them while I was away at school and I had no way of finding out. I was stuck to wonder what "the one that's in every family" formally called my brother had done to make yet another member of the King-Wyatt clan put off. My wonderful brother, the black sheep was "doing it again." And somehow this time I couldn't help but turn the deaf ear to his "woe is me" complaints and a cold shoulder to his empty longing for his siblings to come back from college since as soon as we get back he uses it as an opportunity to abuse us for lost time. In some sickly ironic way Jesse misses the chance to show how much he loves us by telling us he hates us. The sick, sadistic motherfucker. Oh well. He will of none of my concern in exactly 5..........4...........3........2........ahhhh. He is no longer a factor and thank God for that :)