such sundays


it’s one of those sundays germany and darfur must have known.
one of those john coltrane moments. back towards the audience types, paying little attention to who’s paying attention to you.
but it’s beautiful out nonetheless.

and it hit me:
a heart broke woman can learn from the mistakes she makes when she makes them. it takes time, often, but she recovers and moves forward realizing the fool she once was.
and that is where the breakdown starts.
because see…
a heartbroken man will remain heartbroken & die that way. and no one will be able to save him.

the irony comes in here: the woman, afraid to get her heart broken, will do everything in her power to avoid this (sometimes) inevitability.
but the man…will often not see it coming – but when it comes he will accept it as something that had to happen – roll with the punch and live in silence for the remainder of his life.

yeah. germany and darfur must have known such sundays.

—–

let’s make this week new. i don’t know how. i don’t know what. but let’s do it.
let us do something fresh and different.
let us notice the color of the buildings. and if we stand still long enough, let us hear the squirrel’s heart beat.

two of the three movies that ever made me cry are on now:
crooklyn & alfie.
the third is the classic: my girl.
remember when thomas j. died. DAMN!!!!
“he can’t see without his glasses. where are his glasses?”
*wipe tears*

—–

but the sun shines through the blinds as it sets over behind the navy base.
and i’m planning to be further with this script than i am now.

so i bid you farewell until the next post.
let’s learn to mend broken hearts and live with smiles.

make me good, god


i seem to do my best writing when i’m angry or sad.
i’m neither right now.

actually – in real life – i just need a hug.
you ever get that feeling? that feeling like everything is at a standstill and you’re not sure what to do, which direction to walk, run or jump, and you look around for some soft chested individual, hoping they’ll see the melancholy on your face and offer you a hug.

i need a hug.

and somewhere, laying on a bed with a scooby doo fitted sheet is who i want to hug me.
right now, i’ll settle for don julio or jose cuervo and a conversation with my paper towel roll.

—–

and i think what my summer romance ’03 girl said a few months ago is right on the nose:
i’ve fallen in love so many times with everything unsustainable that what can be great will come with sacrifice.

so i’m learning to sacrifice.
i used to live by the che guevara quote:
“i know how I love you and how much I love you, but I cannot sacrifice my inner freedom for you; it means sacrificing my self, and I am the most important thing in the world, as I have already told you.”

but now i’m learning to live differently. i’m doing the unselfish.
the me i am now doesn’t know greed as much as he knows sacrifice.
and i’ve loving that part of me. but honestly, it also scares the shit out of me.
because the folks i used to watch doing this are the same folks who sit miserably at dinner tables in buffets, across from their mate, never saying a word unless it’s about the kids.

that won’t be me.
i promise.
okay?
i promise.

i sit across from those people, staring in amazement, wondering when they exhausted all possibilities.

—–
side note: all the birth control pills in the hoods have been swapped for tictacs. BAN ALL PINK AND YELLOW PILLS!
—–

i spend 10 minutes tonight with my grandmother, discussing lottery tickets, and family members. it was an in and out visit to my hometown & i never go and not see her. she’s among my top 5 favorite people.
and now she’s part of the reason i need hug, as well.

she’s going through the cycle of old age, and memory loss, and so much has changed from the woman i used to wake up to in the living room with a plate of fried eggs, bacon, biscuit, fried apples and apple butter sitting there.
she’s the reason i love coffee. i must have been the only 4 year old on the block drinking full cups.
it’s amazing i’m as tall as i am.
i love her. but it hurts sometimes to see her now.

so i need a hug.

—–

i did not like the man part of me was becoming, so i cut his hair and threw away the old clothes.
and the man i am now – i treat him like a partially wanted girlfriend…but i love him just the same.

i think the two of us are waiting on summer. at least spring.
or at least sunday.
i want my spirit back.

there was something about me being an axxhole that excited the world.
they loved to hear me showing up.
this square i’ve become is just as fun – but not to them.

they lied: you can go back home.

—–

remember being 9 years old and the lunch tables being integrated.
shxt was so innocent then.
life was easier. lunch money was the hardest thing to come up with.

now we’re worried about making rent – bill money – etc.
this is that middle section of life they never teach us about.
that part they leave out in sex education.

i want to go back to the integrated lunch tables and little girls like lashay breckinridge rocking the fat double strand twists on the playground so i could make fun of her. (we became friends in middle school).
i miss learning what “bastard” meant then calling the girl that would later become my good friend a bastard repeatedly until the school had to call her dad to pick her up from school because she was crying to hard. they couldn’t do anything to me because i used it in the right context. hahahaha. (8 months ago she killed herself and i miss her)
—–

and now i’m learning not to act on impulse.
9 months ago if i felt like i needed a hug, i would have went to my secret flight website, booked me a flight to nassau and sat on a beach for 4 days until god spoke a few words through my pen and gave me that moment of clarity.

and in a low rumble beneath the water he’d say:
you can go home now.

and i’d buy some sheep tongue soup and head home.

but now i sit here and write to you.
i let you in.
i do what pee wee herman did in the porn flick theater: i expose myself.
if you’re gonna keep up with jones, i want you to know me through and through.
—–

today: january 29th, 2010: i will be at a happy hour on u street, giving money at the bar that will go toward haiti relief and my liver. supporting both.
come join me.

—–

and i’m not sure if god will speak to me tonight.
but i will speak to him.

when you have one request of god…what is it that you ask for?

“make me good, god. but not yet.”

fxck comfort

so i turn on my tv last night and i see ol’ boy from the old (now irrelevant) group CITY HIGH on INTERVENTION because of his alcohol problem. what the hell is that about. and i felt bad for a little bit, then i was like “what the fxck is wrong with you?”
you once had a little, and now you’re drinking what’s left of your fame away? cool. pass the bottle.

(okay…i know the above rant may have made no sense, or it was stupid…but you’re still reading, so cool)

—–

so i was having a conversation with my boy on being comfortable.
so many fall into this comfort zone & become afraid to leave it.

90% of my friends are in this zone.
every time i leave one place for another, i hear: “you need to settle down somewhere.”
why the fxck would i want to do that. so i could be like the rest of world, unable to leave, never looking up or down?
fxck that. that’s a depressing life.
i do not have what it takes to wake up at 5am to be at work by 8am and dedicate my time to making my boss’s dreams come true, and taking care of mine on the weekend.
i have not found any COMFORT in that thought.

and i am not knocking those who do it.
it’s just not for me.
i’d die.
i’ve tried the suits, smiles, offices & classrooms.
i’m happier with my coach class seats and suitcases & duffles.

do not get comfortable, folks.
look up every once in a while and notice the things hanging from the ceiling.
notice the new blades of grass.
and if you sit still for just a second, admire the squirrel’s heartbeat.
then go!
—–


relationships, i’ve found, are rather odd. not mine, of course, but other folks. i hear the stories and watch from afar, and i just laugh at some of the stupid shit couples do, say, or contemplate.
what’s also funny is when women & men get mad when someone’s looking hard at their mate. WHY?!
who wants to be with someone that no one wants to strip down naked and take full advantage of?
i mean – FINE! YOU be the only one that’s attracted to ’em.

but for the modern socialite: date only those who’ve been stalked at least once.

—–

i don’t know if you know – but: i fxcking love oodles of noodles (maruchen are the best brand) & today while at giant they had 60 for $10 – so of course i had to stand there and contemplate, look at my basket – then back at the noodles.
60 packs of noodles
oh! and potato bread was buy one get one free. so woo hoo!

and i hate to be late, but : WHEN IN THE HELL DID THEY START CHARGING 5cent FOR BAGS at the grocery store?
the convo went just like this:

cashier: how many bags did i give you?

me: five. why?

cashier: i forgot to tell you we charge 5cent per bag.

me: well, you better put all this food into one bag.

cashier: hahahaha.

me: give me a receipt for these bags, please. i will be returning them.

and then i walked my broke a** up outta the store.

—–

i was going over the numbers (money sent to haiti for relief & rebuilding) and i’m loving what i see.
i sent a tweet saying “stop sending money to haiti”

let’s see what’s going to be done with the funds we sent over there so far.
much less than half the money we sent to haiti could be used repairing new orleans schools and communities so families can move back.

and i’m all for holding hands across the world, but what’s more important to me (at this moment) are those whom i have to live with. the money sent over can more than rebuild better structures. what we need to do now is work on educating the communities in the effected areas, teaching them how to sustain their communities.
fuck france for coming & going.

(if above photo is not funny to you or you think i am insensitive, then feel free to comment or kill yourself. lighten the mood folks)
—–

so next week, new york shall find me again – fast pacing it through the parks and streets.
holding midnight cyphers on the brooklyn bridge with a crowd egging me on.
let’s make it happen.

there are straws i keep in my bag.
every so often, i toss them at joe (my fake camel).
and a few weeks ago i dropped one of my straws from the second floor window onto joe’s back & injured it (joe’s back – not the straw).
i guess that was the straw that broke the camel’s back

so it’s time for me to be out.
(was that above line corny? yeah?! okay).

side note: school is still in effect. i’m transferring. if you’ve been keeping up with me, you already know my feelings about my current institute of higher learning.

—–

quick blog point:

celebrities and their lives:
i used to give a fxck. now i give a fxck less.

—–

this is why members of omega psi phi should not be allowed to teach at a public or private school.

—–

but i would like to touch on this!
how in the hell could hampton university allow this to happen!? and then…look at the black girls’ faces in the picture.
here’s what they’re thinking:

black girl in pink: it’s cool. i’ve always thought of hampton as a white institution for higher learning anyway. we’re just making strides int he right direction.

black girl in white: this is really gonna fxck up my social life. who’s gonna wanna run train now? i guess the golf team is still up for grabs.

girl in black: i knew i’d lose…but damn, to a peckerwood? that’s fucked up. my mama told me to go to famu. damn damn damn.

white girl who won: i beat all these bitches. ha ha ha. first we re-gentrify neighborhoods. now hbcu’s. next: the white house.

—–

oh: my my found me on facebook. it’s time to delete the account. 3 more months, then bye!

—–

bob dylan said:
I think the truly natural things are dreams, which nature can’t touch with decay

peace.

i hope god laughs


so i was tweeting the other day asking where in the hell my w2’s were.
well i’ll be a sonofabxtch ’cause they are here!
god delivered them to my job & i need to go pick them up.
i feel like putting on some naughty by nature and waving my hands in the air like i just don’t care (or give a fxck).
but i’ll just pick them up and file them. woo!
—–
okay okay okay.
before you read any further, i must write this disclaimer:

disclaimer: if you are one of those sensitive devout christians, please do not go further because you may leave this page crying, wishing to sell me out like judas. and my feelings will remain in tact.

so…does god have a sense of humor? i sure hope so.





—–

i’m sitting back and thinking about two relationships i had with christian women.
things began getting a little out of control as they began to find more and more pieces of jesus(hay-zoos).
so we sat down and talked.
long conversation short, they both used the words: “unequally yoked.”
and we were no longer together.

and i understood that. i understood what it meant, and why some people followed that theory.
what i did not understand was why these women said it.
i mean, get the fxck outta here with that bullshxt.
if you’re going to employ this type of thinking, it needs to be reflective in all of your life: love, friends, all relationships!!
these chicks hung around whores who thought nothing of fxcking in porta-potties. they stood beside women with esteem to match the gas tank on the 87 grand marquis i had. EMPTY.

so i grabbed the bible:

“Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?”

and although i would think nothing of moving this book from the religious section to the fiction section in barnes & noble, i do respect that they follow it, however, not as much as they should.

when a woman of righteousness is the only righteous wanderer among five heathens, what should happen? do they get equally dismissed?

oh well.

—–

side note: do not be afraid to die only. be afraid to die with nothing to show for your life.

—–

side note: brag as much as you want if you earned it. fxck those with sensitive feelings that sit on couches hoping everyone is as lazy as they are.

—–



—–
fella’s tip for the day: surprise her with a letter: (steal this one if she doesn’t read my blog):

dear beautiful (first amongst equals):

today i will tell you you’re beautiful in case no one else ever has.
i’ve imagined you before all this. before the breakfasts i’ve cooked us and the bus trips north.
it was purely a matter of daydreaming, nothing more – so i brushed it off.
but they occur at night now – smiling in your face. they’ve become true stories.

let us trip to places most are afraid to go.
places only our fingertips and one plane can reach.
let’s turn 1000 miles into a few blocks.

i don’t want to show up at the departure door without you anymore.
ok?

—–
poem: the housewife she became:

he turned her into a housewife
she spent hours cleaning the blood from her panties
the floors and dishes never had seconds
the rule had been set in place for reasons
they kept her eggs from being fertilized

we don’t need no mo’ immaculate conceptions

she had already pulled one dead rabbit from a hat left hanging from her knob
but couldn’t tell if it belonged to tom dick or harry – the tricks and the johns
the hats – not the rabits
and any new rabbits would need owners

he turned her into a housewife
and birthed babies who’d never love men right
daughters who’d pray sons stretched forth so they wouldn’t be raised the same
daughters who’d forgive her for not teaching them to recognize bullshit men
and one daughter who’d fogive her for not always being a housewife

she’s been a housewife so long she’s taught herself to tend to things
and every now and then she tends to forget her past life belongs to jezebel

and there’s nobody to blame but him

—–

so i keep a tablet beside my bed so i can write down the list of folks i hope are killed or removed from the business before they produce anything to further dumb down the masses.
and as many of you know, Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em is on the list.
if i ruled the world, the population would be well controlled.
it sort of began with this 2008 interview with Toure:

“Then came Soulja Boy Tell Em. I asked him, “What historical figure do you most hate?” He was stumped. I said, “Others have said Hitler, bin Laden, the slave masters…” He said, “Oh wait! Hold up! Shout out to the slave masters! Without them we’d still be in Africa.

My jaw, at this point, was on the ground. “We wouldn’t be here,” he continued, having no idea how far in it he’d stepped, “to get this ice and tattoos.”

now…
usually i would write my thoughts here about this ignorant son-of-a-syphillitic whore…
but i won’t.
i will let you all comment on it.

you all who dance to his music.
—–

make them eat spam

so what i’m saying is this: the problem with today’s youth is they weren’t raised on fried spam sandwiches like my generation was.

fantasy is what people want – but reality is what they need. i’m retiring from the fantasy world soon. (inspired by lh)
—–

so i’ve been sitting back relaxing, drinking grapefruit juice, eating oodles of noodles, staying clean and reading the newspaper.
apparently the earthquake of haiti has opened up the old auction blocks i thought had finally closed down.
#wrong.

the earthquake isn’t even a few days old and the great white hopes are already stepping in and bidding on the children with the good bone structures and pretty teeth. way to go. i’m not too shocked. and while i do agree that these kids are probably headed to a lifestyle many dream of, this may not be the best thing. it could actually cause more harm. and what if these children aren’t orphans at all. what if they’re being sold by the shady ones? the untrusted ones? damn.

—–

so my brother @pnoty and his love of many years held on to god’s unchanging hand and tied that knot this past saturday. way to go. she became ms. sills and we became the group of guys he may not be able to kick it with too much any more. lol. see how that works? hahaha.


and we attempted to send him out properly, but between the strippers, bottles of expensive liquor, phones being dead and stolen, and searching for cocaine, x and other illicit drugs, i’m not sure if we succeeded. but we did have a good time.

and yes, i said stolen phone (in case you really gave a shxt).
suspects description:
white woman – late 20’s – trailer trash blonde hair – 5’6″ – kswiss shoes.


and as i filed the report with the police, i was quickly reminded where i was: racist florida.
it didn’t take 5 police cars and 8 cops to find out about a missing cell phone.
nor did they have to run my social security number.
you should have seen the look on their face when they found out i was a victim.
wow.
fuck all florida cops…(except those who are friends + their mom -shoutout to @ladyneuro)

and when i find the suspect – i’m going to do her like ol’ boy did on TAKEN.
“good luck”

note: if i had naked pictures of you in my phone – i pray your face wasn’t attached. hahahaha.
O_o

—–

ladies & gentlemen: introducing: The Clone


—–
brushing off my howard university sweatpants, i realize that i make this life look too easy.
i mean, don’t get me wrong: my life is fxcking awesome. but…that’s really because i make it look this way.
you never see photos of the bad days.
you never see the decisions i often have to make that could make shxt more difficult.
you weren’t there when the blood – sweat and tears were left on the wall.
so i gotta show you now:


but those days are few and far between. so don’t expect pictures of the bad days often. just once in a blue when the money is low & the rent is due. and the hustles seem impossible.

side note: difficult takes a hour. impossible takes a day.

—–

side question: how soon after katrina did the new orleans jokes start?

—–

i think we should punch all the teachers who tell their students: “i won’t take off points for incorrect spelling.”
they’re the reason i have to read tweets and blogs and papers that piss me off at the american system of learning.
fxck!!!

Stop Rewarding Mediocrity

—–

i was having a conversation with one of my circles of friends about the old college days and the crazy things we used to do. and we somehow got on the subject of trains. not the choo-choos.
and one of the women of the women at the table asked:

“well, what do you think the girls are thinking now – years later?”

they’re not thinking anything.
they didn’t see it as being a whore. they saw college as the “doing me” chapter of their life.
or that one night of being a freak.
and when the story gets told to their best friends (bff’s), they’ll call it a threesome and forget about the other 5 dudes present.
they’ll forget about the face masks they opted to wear at the climax of the night.

then they become school teachers, mothers & grandmothers themselves, and we smile at them during homecoming, shaking their husband’s hand saying:

“that’s a good woman you got there.”

and we smile.

yeah – i miss college.

—–

and right now i’m in west palm beach.
not looking forward to that security gate tomorrow.
it’s where we part. it’s where we leave a few things.

—–

i end with this:
if ever {body] in your clique is rich – your clique is rugged.
nobody would fall ’cause everyone would be each others’ crutches.

lighten the load


see-
what had happened was i’ve been trying to write for the last few days.
something entertaining. a few jokes for shxts and giggles for you folks, but that proves difficult when the brain is cluttered with images of children flattened by structures meant to last.

and truthfully –
my mind has been cluttered for years.
yeah, this week we mourn for haiti. next week we celebrate birthdays and football games forgetting the troubles of the world.
but some of us hold on to those troubles like old tshirts that still feel good against our backs.

no one is crying for diallo – mumia – louima – sean bell – tyisha miller – bobby hutton – darfur – the original blacks of south africa anymore. no one is crying any longer.

south sudan must have known such sundays.
so there will be no laughs – shxts or giggles.
just real shxt.

dear god:
please lighten the load this one time.













—–

this new slave smell i have


sitting here at the island in my kitchen – hungry as a mofo – looking a the bread bag and noticing nothing but the butts in there. and i damn sure ain’t eating the butts of the bread. i’ll eat these chips.
seriously, who’s eating the butts? (yes, i realize the humor here).
#eatchips

———-

let me start by saying this:
because of the shxt i write – my mom will probably never get the link to my blog – but i’m finna talk about her anyway. positively, because she is the shit.

when was the last time you called your mother out of the blue and just said something like:
“i was thinking about you and wanted to call and said HEY and I LOVE YOU.”

you can tell that to your mom, too, you know.
not just those whores you call after midnight. hahahaha. you know what i’m saying.

and my mom quit smoke cigarettes (and that’s the only thing she’s ever smoked. well, a little weed back in her day, too…but who didn’t get high in the 70’s and early 80’s?)
so i sent her a poem and made her a video telling her how proud i was of her.
she probably cried at work and shxt and had her co-workers going home smacking their slacking ass sons upside the head like “you lazy sonofabxtch, why don’t you write me anything?”

yeah yeah yeah i’m an over achiever.

so dear mom: they say i killed a man. i got the dagger back. i love you mom. keep being the shxt.

(woman and child in picture are not me and my mother)
———-

and last night, most of y’all know i went to a hollywood chic event in the name of fellow wildcat & all around good guy davon b. i like to think i was dressed fresh. no what i mean.
i mean – i damn near choked myself with the shirt collar, but i was determined to wear the red bowtie (the only bowtie i have since losing the others).

the boots – the jeans – the cardigan & the moxy i have go well together.

for the less enlightened:

Main Entry: mox·ie
Pronunciation: \ˈmäk-sē\
Function: noun
Etymology: from Moxie, a trademark for a soft drink
Date: 1930
1 : energy, pep
2 : courage, determination
3 : know-how

and as i was lifting the not-so-hot-anymore meatballs from the serving dish onto my plate, i heard a voice pushing out patti labelle’s “if only you knew” – and immediately i needed a drink to get into the mood the vocalist was trying to bring across. i got a whisky sour – pushed in a meat ball & stood there listening.

singer: coco from swv.



side note: fellas: be careful when you’re eating meatballs in public. there may be unwelcoming eyes in the corner watching you, and one of the only things more uncomfortable than you girl watching you wash your ass int he shower, is another man watching you enjoy a swedish meatball. (and banana. break the banana with your hand and put it in your mouth. do not eat it directly from the peel)

and my old fellow wildcats were in effect. the music was definitely where it should have been and EVERYONE had a great time. who could complain.
and in the words of chalie boy: i looked good.

———-

back when i used to be a writer – a poet of sorts – i wrote this on october 29th 2008 – honor of the upcoming election:


i’m saving my tears for november.
at night i tuck them behind my eyelids.
no one watches me sleep – so i feel safe.

i’ve hidden my tears in old buckets on porches no one knows exist.
porches only hold sentimental value and potted plants and occasionally glass pitchers filled with lemonade.

i haven’t seen them in 6 years
but i know they exist
because i still do.

i’ve left a few sobs on curbs
and a few sighs on bridges.

i’m saving my tears for november.
when the sun performs its magic i put my tears in my coat pocket to keep them from drying.

my feet hurt and the lights are too bright.
and my eyes are swelling beyond belief.
and 6 more days to go.

i’m saving my tears for november
in case no one cries for me.


and i’m sitting here thinking about all the folks that were screaming YES WE CAN – and now they’re NOT.
but i stand behind obama with a rifle and a vest waiting for somebody to come out the mouth wrong.
if you want to blame somebody for the bullshit that happened to your out-of-work family member, blame the man that went to bed every night at 9pm. (G.W.B. – the republican jesus)
———-


until we stop letting the media spoon feed us that bullshxt they keep in their fridge, we will always smell like this!
and i’m attempting to wash away this salty slave smell from my skin.
but i’m debating.
there’s a part of me that’s proud to be a field employee (in lieu of ‘nigger’).

we allow the media to make us followers by assigning us a ‘black leader.’
and i FUCKING REFUSE to allow al ‘the do’ sharpton become my leader. and anyone who follows him is a fucking fool.

moving on:

what’s been fucking me up for the past few weeks is folks’ willingness to accept selling out.
what she told me was this:

“face it – you’re going to have to sell out at some point in your career if you want to be heard.”

what i did was hang up and went with another company.
i would never put myself in that situation.
a friend works for tyler perry studios – but i will not apply.
7 friends work for BET – but i will not apply.

i’m for educating and free thinking.
let’s plow these fields and kill THE MAN.
and i’m really not that opposed to taking out women and children if they get in the way.
kill the laugh tracks.

side note: when i use the word ‘nigger’ i speak about ALL people.
———-

and i will close with a few words from malcolm:
“The [Democratic] Party that you backed controls two-thirds of the House of Representatives and the Senate, and still they can’t keep their promise to you, ‘cause you’re a chump. Anytime you throw your weight behind the political party that controls two-thirds of the government, and that Party can’t keep the promise that it made to you during election time, and you’re dumb enough to walk around continuing to identify yourself with that Party, you’re not only a chump, but you’re a traitor to your race.”


peace.