shxt was melodic

she smelled like cotton candy & canal street – and i smelled like blue sugar and axe – and the chinese bus i had just gotten off. shit was melodic.

i had jay-z and foxxy shouting through the plugs in my ear – and the dvd lady standing in front of me holding copies of the latest. i hate bootleggers – but i sometimes visit the websites late at night.

side note: i dislike the film theater because of the bullshit they serve us. although the sour patch kids are great.

i’m not really one to compliment – but there was something about the threads she wore and the nose ring that did it for me.
and in my head i created her life – like i did for many of my characters.

she was born in harlem but had moved to a brownstone on stigwood like the cosbys.
she did a semester abroad in italy when she thought fashion was the shit – but traded it all for picket signs and sneakers once she changed to an african american studies major.

– & then she looked at me –

she’s caught me spitting lyrics off the brooklyn bridge around midnight – she said.
she’d never forget my face.
she was in a yellow taxi with tears in her eyes – she said – so she knows i had never seen her.

but i offered her poetry and a yellow starburst.
i hate yellow startbursts.
she loved them – so i told her to stick around to witness my candy addiction.

*me: where’s your stop?

she wanted to check out harlem with me.
explore the cracks in the sidewalk and laugh at the price of filet-o-fish meals in 125th.
stupid shxt.

but fxck it – we were strangers in an old place.
young though – but old enough to exchange twitter names and lip prints on cheeks.

we ended on 23rd & 6th giggling at ads on bus stop glasses
and her nintendo watch beeping around midnight.

we decided love wasn’t in the stars for us.
just this one day at the beginning of fall.

i hailed her a taxi

she wrote me a note:
when i grow up – i want to fall in love with men just like you.

"you remember that time we fxcked?"

the ingredients of my weekend:

*three nupe parties
*six cups of nupe juice
*an omega party
*an ‘unapproachable soft-booty chick’
*and too many laughs to count.

the mood was set to a freddie jackson soundtrack.

5 minutes after setting foot on my old stomping grounds in virginia, i saw a familiar face.
an old high school friend who lived around the block.

3 years after high school ended, she began dating one of my only enemies in the world.
that was cool, because she had packed on a few pounds, added a kid, and took up residence in the hood.
but she was still a little cute in the face.

she came to me with issues of her dude.
she suspected him of cheating – and me not like him, instigated the thoughts.
next thing i know…well…you know.

and so i wrote this poem in 2003 for her:

we search for our clothes in the dark to avoid each others’ face
as long as i wanted this to happen
it should have never taken place

so yeah – we fxcked.
but it was definitely a one time thing.

and now – here she was, right in front of me with her body back to where i remember her being limber.
and her – unable to remove her eyes off of me as she explained to theresa how sexy i had become since high school.
and then this:

*her: oh my god. i thought i saw you over here. how long you in town?
*me: i just got here. i’ll be here until i decide it’s over i guess. (nervous laugh)
*her: you remember that time we fxcked?
*me: i’d have to lose all the brain cells in my head to forget something like that. [i kinda stole this line from the mac. but it did fit]
*her: when did you get so fxcking sexy?
*me: i don’t know. sometime between you cheating on ol’ boy & me looking at you right now thinking about how much i’d like to see those faces you made just one more time.

and then she laughed – and told me to call her before i skipped town.
it may have been the everclear or the nupe juice or the excitement of being around some of the greatest folks alive.
great times in ‘the ville.’


the rain did nothing but add a sentimental backdrop to whatever the fxck we had going on.
it hindered nothing – and i loved every second of it.

and to wake up on sunday – the day of departure – to nothing but sun was a great ending.
it was one of those weekends that you do SO BIG that sunday comes and you feel like you HAVE TO go home.
no one wishes it could last longer.
we did everything.


and then there was the house party.

this fact holds true to this day – and it comes from me (a man that’s lived in EVERY important place in the U.S.):
the university of virginia has the FINEST women on the face of the earth.

to name a few i’ve known:

and millions more.

so she comes up to me at the party and says:

*her 2: so you’re s.p.e.r.m.? i’ve heard a lot about you.
*me: for real? what you hear.
*her 2: how about i tell your brother, and let him tell you?
*me: okay. tell eddie.
*her 2: okay.

[she walks up to eddie. eddie walks to me]

*eddie: she wants to fuck you tonight she says.
*me: of course she does.

and how did three holes get put in the wall of the apartment, people!?!?!?!

if i wouldn’t have pledged kappa – i wouldn’t have pledged shit!

the best part of the weekend though – would be kicking it with @bossjones [@thefojo] and the rest of the eta sigma chapter at UVa. it was like 2003-2005 all over again in charlottesville…

and i couldn’t wait to get back to write vaguely to you all.
and i’m waiting for a few photos to be posted.

and i leave with you with this: everyone dies. not everyone lives.

dear fall:

i’ve thought about dropping my bed off at the dumpster and stopping by the consignment shop and picking up the twin size mattress and sitting it on cinder blocks and wooden slats so i could sleep tight this winter – breathing into her neck.

this autumn will not allow that to happen.

this autumn finds me sitting low in crimson, leather seats – eyes slightly above the steering wheel.
fingertips slightly gripping below.
the nights have never been so crisp.
the air has never tasted so welcoming.
it’s as though it showered before my arrival.

and she stands there blowing from her lungs what she grew up believing was smoke –
wanting to say to the girl closest to her “i can see my breath.”
but they aren’t friends.

the starbucks cup and p-coat reminds her that warmth did and does exist.
the sky’s attempt at darkness brings her memories of summer sit-downs on park benches and piers after hours of shopping for lip gloss – shoes and scarves for the coming winter.

the scarf around her neck reminds her of his impersonation of her muslim mother who wore scarves to the market because the owner would always comment on her beauty in scarves and give her the discount he saw fit.

she stood there alone.

my lungs inhaled what was left of the cologne sprayed on my white t.
my lungs exhaled the chorus of an old otis redding song:

‘i’ve got dreams to remember’

the cold is here.
she feels it.
i feel it.

i want to sit low beneath goose down comforters with her – eating plantain chips and chocolate chip bread pudding with coconut ice cream – listening to sade depress the shit out of both of us.

i want to frequent malls with her, visiting every store – vowing to never shop with her again – carrying all eight of her bags to the car when it’s over.

i want to fall in ‘like’ this autumn, pushing her down in a pile of leaves – then letter her catch me just to see what her revenge will be.

i want to fall in love this winter watching her read through the newest ‘vogue,’ and ‘elle’ while sitting on the counter – heat on 95 degrees, salads on plates, dressing on the side – and neither of us hungry because we’ve filled up kissing.

this autumn, though, finds me sitting low, in crimson, leather seats watching her waiting for him – not me.
and remembering what i hope is to one day be.

i unlock my door for the woman currently waiting on permission to occupy the right side of my queen.
i exhaled on an old sade joint:

‘when i lay eyes on you’

i have 10 toilets

let me let you first know that i have no idea where the title of this post came from. i think i heard lil wayne mention something about shxttng all day so he has ten bathrooms.
who knows…

okay so…
this morning (about 3am) i was told that my ego is getting too large and my attitude is getting a bit fxcked up.
and i almost felt bad.
then i thought to my self and said:

‘self…who are these people that think our ego is too big, and our attitudes are fxcked up?
are the the people who are grinding equally – if not harder?
are the they people who achieve & are self motivated?
are the the people who bust their asses and see results on a daily basis?

NO, self, it’s not those people.
it’s the people who sit around all day calling other people ‘lucky’ when they get the big break.
the people who don’t see the hard work that goes into the dream.
those are the people who are offended.

so fxck those folks.
and long live the ego!’


the girl at walmart:

i went to my hometown & had to get a pack of white tshirts from walmart.
and my hometown is small so i ALWAYS see someone i know in walmart.
and there she was: the cool chick from high school – ringing folks up.

*her: oh wow. i haven’t seen you since high school.
*me: i know. how you been? what’s new? i see you in the apron and name tag and shxt.
*her: yeah, been working out here & taking care of them babies i got. what you been doing?
*me: living the dream. working on a phd now. kicked it in los angeles all summer, producing film and writing. i live in dc now though, eating good, living right, smiling everyday.
*her: that’ll be $11.43.
*me: you look like you’re happy here. have a nice day.

and i walked off.
i ALMOST felt bad.

but we were offered the same opportunities in life.
she had more – i’m sure.
so that bad feeling came and left with the breaths.


recently i found $500 – then gave it back.
not immediately…i had to ask a few folks
then take the question to god – and i think he and i worked out a good deal…

so i emailed the girl (her ATM card was with the money – and i gave the money back.

side note: there is no such thing as a selfless act! (if you can name just one selfless act – you can name your price)


little known fact about me:
since 2005 i’ve been a relationship counselor.

if any of you are seeking advice or a counselor – def get at me.
no bullshxt.
i’m great.
but i don’t do shxt for free.

except for my muslim wife (hooked her up last night)
and after our one hour+ conversation i learned a few things about myself and relationships as well.

thanks my muslim wife.


well – my 2.5 hour creative breaking session is coming to a close – so i bid you all adieu
and hope that the next time we meet – you will be a little more motivated to do something big.

peace folks.

my favorite poem

this is a poem a great friend – erica oliver – wrote to/about me a few months ago.
and i love her for this.

there are very few who understand.
The Nomad
Monday, June 22, 2009 at 12:12pm

A wanderer’s heart
Is like his life
Nothing can make him stay
No one should expect that he will
Love him from a distance
His time here is short
There’s more to be seen
And it wouldn’t be fair to
Ask him, tell him
You need him there
Because he will
Either break your heart
And leave anyway
Or break his to stay
No one wants a broken hearted man
The house grows morbid
His selfishness
Is about preservation
The life he leads
Forced on him at 16
When his parents
Stopped providing
He learned survival
He learned to be who he needed to be
To get what he needed
He changes his name
Not because he is unsure or confused
But because he has more than one identity
And would be shamed if he hid it
It is a result of his enlightenment
The places he’s been taught him
And he couldnt imagine leaving them there
So he carries them
In his pen and paper
But love misses out
She misses out
Because when he’s gone he’s gone
There’s no phone
No address
When he returns
He just arrives
With his unique knock
That’s why she never moved
He wouldn’t be able to find her
Or he wouldn’t try to find her
She greets him with
“I know why the caged bird sings”
He replies
“I don’t, I’m an eagle”
He says
I don’t know why you stay
She replies
For the same reason you leave

*inspired by a gifted mind and nomad

i found a reason to smile

today was one of those bullshxt days where i wish i could give it to one of those folks who constantly say:

“you living the good life.”

to begin: i spent the great part of the sunlight questioning my motives for attending not one – but two – historically black colleges. first bethune-cookman & now howard university.
i am a proud graduate and soon-to-be graduate of historically black colleges because there are things to be learned there other that what can be found in text books and old slave quarters (speaking of UVA).
there are things we learn about ourselves – in our own time – around people who look like us.
we learn to run the hustle – we learn to say “fxck you” to stress and hard times.

the financial aid issues alone will send you into the real world with a “you can’t beat me” type attitude.
and i love it.

but today i questioned my reasonings when i found in an office on the second floor of the a-building – two seconds away from threatening to kill the lady with the accent & whoever thought it was funny.

but i politely took a name – and told her i would return in the morning.

the problem is – and always has been:
when you give a nigga an inch – they think they’re a ruler.

side note: when i say ‘nigga’ i refer to all ignorant people – of all colors.

someone gave this woman a job out of high school and she’s going to abuse this new found power.

message: until you have attended an hbcu – do not judge any mass murderers.
luckily i don’t have it in me to kill.


i decided against my 6:40 class because @mystercarter is in town for a few days & @thebrownbarbie & @sunyblack & him all were kicking it at bus boys & poets on 14th & v.

so i went through.

if you ever catch me telling a story and laughing so hard noodles fall from my nose – they were probably somewhere close by when it happened. i love these people. even though they’ve seemed to replace me & take long distance trips without me.

but i tell them everything.
hell, i skipped class for them.

but tonight was great in spite of pre-meditated [blank].


and while i’m sitting here waiting on my chicken & fries from the oven i surf the net.
i ran across a picture of ‘the kid’ when he was two years old
and i can’t help but smile.

he is the only thing more important than myself.