all the little pieces

first & foremost: forgive me for the randomness of this blog.

@chocolatedawl facebook status: It’s amazing how someone can break your heart, but you still love them with all the little pieces.

and i guess she couldn’t be any more real. though most of my life has been about being the suspect & not the victim – i have been broken once & those pieces still managed to act out without my permission. feel me? RIGHT ON, @chocolatedawl.

and so i’m building right now.
i figure we should treat relationships like homes we’re building from the ground up.
it’s all about a solid foundation & great support.
(i mean really – we need to apply this to ourselves as well. build a solid foundation for self, and don’t worry about the doors until the whole house is built perfectly – or close)
feel me?

side note: black folks need to go to the theater more. the real theater – not the minstrel shows they tend to call theater from time to time. something with real acting. cooning is NOT acting.

and i was thinking of buying my first p-coat. “look at his p-coat – tell me he broke” -kanye.


H.L Mencken wrote: every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats.

what did he mean by that? as a writer/poet/etc… i’ve learned not to take shxt for face value. but i think i will here.
every so often, we (the extraordinary) need to be ready to put in the work that makes us sweat. the work that requires casualties. Not literally – but the loss of a friend or a loved on. (in my case – my friends & loved ones are hard to tell apart).

so i’m spiiting in my hands, Mencken & i’m planting the flag into the concrete. this throat slitting part will prove difficult. not because i’m afraid to kill but because i have too many people on the list. (not physically killing anyone, snitches)

the list:

-my 9th grade english teacher: fxck you for attempting to put a limit on my writing.
-The skinny male guidance counselor for keeping most of my friends in our hometown by telling them they’d have a better chance applying to a vocational school.
-my friends who can’t figure out that their thoughts control their actions and their situations will always be the same as long as their thoughts are what they are.
-those who wake up every morning to the sound of an alarm clock so they can focus on nothing except another man’s dreams.


and the birthday is over. the work must begin. the hustle i speak of often.
-yesterday i was hired on as a freelance writer with LA’s Splash Magazine.
-saturday i have an audition for a film.
all days between are filled with lunches, brunches oscar-nominated short film viewings, wine tastings, liquor tours, kardashians, lees and hopefully a bit of sun.

a month ago i signed my first author – daven oglesby (@soulcypher) & today his first book of poetry hit the streets hard.
get your copy today.
by the way: i’m signing 2-5 more authors by may. get on board and be heard!

today a girl said it pisses her off when people work 2 or more jobs HARD and are barely getting by. living paycheck to paycheck – but she sees people who barely do anything traveling the world, buying expensive things….
naw – she wasn’t talking about me – but i did want to respond with the cliche:

you can do anything you put your mind to.

spring is around the corner & my inbox & blackberry calendar reminds me of my grandmother’s purse: full & heavy.


side note: talking to my little brother @thekaptainkirk – it may be a safe move for drake to disappear from young money and beg jay to pick him up. he’ll be ruined by 2011.5 (yes, .5)


and i wanted to take a picture similar to bob’s. i’m working on it though:


dear heartbroken people:

use those shattered pieces of heart you’ve pushed under your bed to make a weapon and stab the shxt outta whoever made you as foolish as you’ve become. then cry a rive – build a bridge and get over it.

and while i’m on the subject: stop putting down the opposite sex because YOU made the decision to date some fool.

follow: @mswoods03

(and please learn from my photo above how to do the “n-word please” expression.


take these words to heart:

“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”

— Rose Kennedy

i play dumb, homie

i’ve had this strange relationship with life for the last 25+ years & we’re finally coming to an understanding. i keep the bullshxt out of her way & she keeps her bullshxt to a minimum. and i’m fine with that.

fact: diagnosed with ataraxia in 2003. (google)

the me i am not is the best me i can be. right? yes. and yesterday i had an epiphany (is that the word i’m looking for? yeah, why not) about friendship – and it went something like: we need to learn the character of our friends – that way their actions and thoughts never surprise or disappoint us – unless they step outside of that character

that make sense?
“i play dumb, homie. but never been a fool.” – plies.

so – those who keep up with jones know that my birthday was two days ago. and what a great day that way.
the last few hours of the 16th found me in a mexican restaurant drinking pitchers of margaritas and talking to tyleesa(our waitress from the bronx) about what hood name she’d be giving her baby. don’t worry, i tipped her well for the insults.

the 17th (actual birthday) i found myself country hopping – chasing the sun west to gain three extra hours of celebration. and i finally landed in los angeles. i was nervous for a second because it seemed the land of beautiful people had become the land of muffin tops & too-small shirts. but beyond the airport – everything seemed to work out.

and after the $.25cent wings and rum buckets at big wangs & the 10oz prime rib, british pudding, mashed potatoes and gravy and creme brulee at lawry’s steak house – i decided to make the rest of black history month my birthday. so i cruised through beverly hills, spoke to a few models who remembered my name from my last stint here & decided to get in touch with all the old gang.

my days and nights look like brunches – lunches and lounges.
although life moves slow here – it’s kinda close to COOL.


real quick: i just wanna say GOOD MORNING/AFTERNOON to the 3 people who are determined to make it when the millions before them didn’t.


and yesterday I got a great haircut that i paid $30 for. and it would have been worth it had he actually cut a lot off. he only lined me up and talked about the basketball game. but it’s cool. i mean – i look good.
well, in real life i could grow a wolfman and wear a trash bag and still look good – but this haircut did something for me.

a haircut can take a man’s self esteem from 1 to 12 in 35 minutes.


does the need for HBCU’s still exist?
being a graduate of the ONLY HBCU founded by a black woman – it saddens me to say the need doesn’t exist.
however, i deeply believe the purpose does, therefore i push for them. i would love to sit and discuss this with both sides.


side note: hate is not the opposite of love. indifference is.


and right now, it’s 11:00am and I’m sitting on the couch, listening to the construction taking place in the world outside this window & thinking about hitting the gym.

and i know you love reading my blog and shxt but i feel i must bring it to an end. okay? that cool? cool!
but how should i end this.

oh wait:

happy birthday to nancy smiziff (@sunyblack) – with her old, punk a**. (i can say that, you cannot)

now i can end this and get this day started.

follow me on twitter so you can keep up with my life: @skinnyjeanius


damn – before i pressed ‘publish now’ to publish the blog, @jefro5 hit me up and asked if i wanted to go to denny’s. so of course i went. and i’m not sure if i blogged about it or not – but i was supposed to be giving up beef for good. but damnit, the last few weeks have served me so much steak – and i just got in from denny’s and i had the tbone and egg meal.

“t-bone steak – cheese eggs & welch’s grape” – biggie.


side note: i need tickets to the image awards and oscar after party invitations NOW.
if you have some – or wanna get on the grind with me to search for them, get at me asap.


so i end this blog with this:

“If there is no struggle there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet deprecate agitation are men who want crops without plowing up the ground; they want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters.
This struggle may be a moral one, or it may be a physical one, and it may be both moral and physical, but it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will. Find out just what any people will quietly submit to and you have found out the exact measure of injustice and wrong which will be imposed upon them, and these will continue till they are resisted with either words or blows, or with both. The limits of tyrants are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress.” – frederick douglass (1857)


if my friends all live 100 more years – then let me live only 100 years minus one day – so i will not have to suffer too long without them.

happy birthday me

and i decided to write this blog while drunk. i spent the last few hours in a mexican spot with some of the greatest people in the world.
i know – i know: it is my birthday but i just wanna say in my drunk voice: i fxcking love my friends.
we laughed at the bullshit & the past and ordered more shots and more drinks.

and it’s hard to believe that 20-something years ago i came forth and declared this day my own.
well…my own & huey newton’s & michael jordan & the little girl (troy) from crooklyn.

sidenote: evan bayh thinks he’s slick. i’m pretty sure he’s retiring from the senate & will run from president in 2012.

i fxcking love jovie blaylock for being the first one to call me on february 17, 2010 to tell me happy birthday

why do my abs look like this? apparently because i’ve been neglecting them in bally total fitness – but i will get it together. i promise, abs. i got you.

and i’m fxcking wasted on margaritas and washington apple shots. reminds me of seattle with dom & reka & serita & clarise & donte & sometime bobby. good times, i tell ya. one day we’ll all meet back up and drink and laugh. in the meantime we’ll succeed and whatever the fxck it is we’re doing.
and it would be perfect to wake up to my grandma rene’s fried potatoes, fried eggs, bacon, biscuits, fried apples & orange juice. and maybe a coffee. instead, though, i’ll wake up to 67 text inbox “happy birthday” messages and the dry mouth. i don’t mind. i love this life regardless.

and i will gather my thoughts within 5 minutes & then remember that i will spend 7 hours on a flight – end up in los angeles – get picked up by @jefro5 – and head straight to the spot where drinking and laughter will commence. sound good?
fxck yeah.

in real life i’m headed to LA to produce a film & get some networking done during the image and academy awards. this is where i feel important.

and i’m waiting on the gifts to roll in.
wanna send me something?
click that “donate” button to the top right.

and my waitress tonight was 7 months pregnant and wanted to tell me about it all.
she’s naming the baby iesha or sidney & the father can’t decide between her & his ex – but in the meantime he’s laid up in her (the waitress) house.

so it’s my birthday – and i want to thank my beautiful mother before i thank all those who remember.
thanks MOM for doing what you had to do to get me where i needed to be.

and i’m in a sentimental mood. i’m realizing i have folks that i’ve been friends with for more than half my life.
i have dreams to remember (like otis).
i have folksi hope call instead of text and i have smiles that need to get out.

who doesn’t want to be happy?
so why aren’t you?


and remember: our deepest fear is…(you know)

side note: i’m drunk – so pay no attention to me making sense.

and on that note – i will allow the drunkenness to get the best of me & eat and maybe pass out on this leather couch.
i love you all.

and on this day

5 minutes ago i was standing over slow-cooking steaks and fried potatoes and veggies (all cooking) – smiling.
then i became slightly depressed thinking about the one guy i’d walk through hell with without a concern.

and those of you who know me – and those who’ve been keeping up know that i’ve spent the last 8 months or so developing emotions. this depression thing being something new.

on this day we should be full of hope & optimism.
full of whatever it is we love most. perhaps love. who really knows.

we write poetry – hit the day spas & ruth’s chris’s of the city and do it big in our stacy adams and heels. (people still wear stacy adams?)

but see – me line brother lost his girl a few months back.
and without warning or my permission i think i’ll think about that every valentines day & every birthday she would have had & every birthday he has. she was a friend and that’s some shit you never forget.

so he writes: “I wish i could build a ladder tall enough to come see you. I miss you.”

and if i could i’d help him build that latter.
in the meantime, though, i’ll call him and see how he’s doing.

and on this day – let’s love everybody.
tomorrow, we can go back to the hatred.


and here’s something old for you to fall in love to:

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 permit to occupy the right side of my queen.
i exhaled on an old sade joint:

‘when i lay eyes on you’

100th Post

i’ve discovered that it is humanly impossible to make a sandwich on which mayo or miracle whip is an ingredient and not get any on your finger(s). jeez!

and this is my one hundredth posting. who knew i’d make it this far & get so many people say they read my blogs and enjoy them. it’s quite amazing. really. i think i’d rather be quoted than famous. #truestory.

dear readers and followers:
i know i say “thank you” and “i appreciate it” when you tell me how fond you are of my shxt – but i really mean it. it throws me for a loop that i can make such an impact. i love it. keep reading.


and i don’t know where to go from here.
not in life, ’cause that’s pretty much figured out – but with this posting.

so let’s free write for a few minutes.

i had a friend kill herself over some bullshit. and although she was a friend, i kinda saw it coming 15 years ago in match class. that wasn’t the fucked up part. the fucked up part was her son found her swinging with the wind chimes from the back porch. that was the sad part.

i’ve been at a writing block with a few of my screenplays. oh how easy it is to wrote ignorant tyler perry-like shxt and make the people laugh. but i want to kill all laugh tracks. i want to piss the people off. i want to go into their homes and insult them and make them angry enough to change. i’ll say shxt like:

-one day i’m going to buy the projects & immediately evict everyone able to work ANY job.
-i was 21 years-old when i realized welfare didn’t run in families like diabetes and black fathers. but it is passed down just as easy.
-lincoln can kiss my ass.
-illiteracy does not mean you cannot read. it means you cannot read on an appropriate level, you illiterate bastard.
-don’t get mad when they call you “nigger” if you’d rather discuss an ignorant rapper’s diamond teeth over race relations.

and shxt like that.

and my grandmother is going through a few things right now & i’m occupying my time loving and living. and through her i’m realizing why i don’t open myself up as much as i should. well, at least part of the reason.

aside from the ataraxia i’ve been diagnosed with, it also comes from me not wanting to be empathized with. (is that the word i’m looking for? i hope so) i hate that. the same reason i rarely invite folks to my shows, and to my debuts, and screenings. because i dislike the applause and what not. it’s cool, but keep it to a minimum.


and my birthday is this coming wednesday the 17th. a day older than i’ll be on tuesday, i guess. and i love it, though. mainly because i have friends who grow older and cry on birthdays over store brought cakes and ice cream and cry from their place of self loathing. they have nothing to show for their 25+ years.

but i have:

-degreed young man
-2 published books
-i own my own independent publishing press
-member of two of the greatest fraternities
-the clone
-well traveled
-more friends in REAL LIFE than most people have on twitter
-the resources of jesus
-a cologne collection that makes me smell like God himself threw up on me
-a bunch of other shxt that slips my mind at 3:29 am.

so i look at this new number as another chance to work harder. last year i seemed to lap just about everyone, so i’m in no hurry to get too much done, but i will do it in a timely manner.


it’s already february and most of my friends still don’t have passports and i’m still not worried. i’m used to traveling alone. it forces me to meet new folks and have more fun and take more photos. woo!
where to next?
since deshaun snead handed me a copy of what became m favorite book: ‘the life and loves of mr. jiveass nigger’ by cecil brown, i’ve been NEEDING to go to copenhagen. so i will.
i’m thinking as soon as the weather there breaks.

get your fxcking passports, axxholes.


dear youknowwho:
there aren’t many places i won’t go with you or many people i wouldn’t slam on their heads if you asked.
because when we’re old, i just want to sit across from you, eating something soft – talking about how good wheel of fortune used to be.


nelson mandela was freed 20 years and 2 days ago and it seemed no one gave a shit except me and @milesfan79 (gs) and a few others. such is life, huh?



soft comforters and fluffy pillows have been put in place to ease the falls. and rules have been set to limit the experience. i’ve run through the alleys of tucson drank hot tea on the upper east side of new york city and swam in two of the world’s oceans. i know how and why people are people pass through life in a cozy, comfortable, stifling state.
it’s not for me.

i do not want, nor do i seek a comfortable life.
i buy old cars because i enjoy the bumps in the road.

i want to do more than breathe – reproduce – die.

i do not want to go gentle into that good night with smooth skin and no regrets.

i want to die cursing the sun from a park bench with bread crumbs in my left hand, and a walking cane in my right. i want to scream at those who walk by as drool falls from my lip.
i want them to say “look at that old man. that’s sad. he’s talking to himself.”

i will hear them and spit back:

“you are the ones who hated every moment you spent at your job. you are the ones who fueled the petty arguments with your husbands and wives. it was you broke your back to fulfill a dream you didn’t even conceive. you who softly whispered ‘no’ when your soul screamed ‘yes,’ are said. the wind wishes it was as free as i have become. the sun and i share secrets the night will never hear.”

and i will sit back on my bench and hope those sad folks will drop a dime into my cup.


so i have ice cream in the freezer & lemon chiffon yogurt in the fridge (do people still say ‘no homo’?)
and as soon as this blog is done, i’m eating them all.

so on this one hundredth posting, i want to raise a glass to the following:

-women who buy tampons with no applicators.
-people who wake up in the morning wishing they were dead & unemployed.
-those who dream – wake up – achieve – dream new dreams.
-those who have something to show for their age.
-those who refuse to apologize for their intentions.
-me & my friends.
-the idiots who’ve had their hearts broken & gave up on love

-@sunyblack who i may not spend my bday with again. maybe next year. (sigh). but she knows she’s necessary regardless of it.


side note: the children of the 90’s are starting to have kids. i’m killing the first baby with minaj, kardashian, gucci, vuitton, or wack ass puntuation attached to their name.


side note: i’m not happy all day every day – but i am happy everyday. (thanks @okholden)


and so i end with this:

“and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same” -nelson mandela

even super man died

every now and then, we must pull out our hard hats & learn to play the architect.
we must take long looks at what we’ve built – then gather the courage it takes to destroy it.
then rebuild.

it’s all about rebuilding.


and i’m learning that the me i am now is the best me i can be.
and that’s fine & acceptable.
the me i am tomorrow may be different – but i will be doing my best impression of self.
feel me?


so i’ve spent the last few days in a mock sports bar learning the ins & outs of the bartending industry.
and i’m loving it.
all these years of college & i’m learning that bartending is my life’s calling?
wtf is that?
but oh well.
it wasn’t a complete waste. if you can believe it, my college career was much like that of Ron and Dwayne’s on A Different World. i loved every second of it.
and not because of the foolishness alone – but also because it was fxcking awesome.
the marching wildcats, the horrible cafe food, the panty raids, the FOOLISHNESS!!!!

but bartending. wow.
and i’m like the valedictorian in there, which really boosts the ego.

so we finish friday & i’m looking forward to being employed in a bar, maybe topless, counting money.

so i’m writing this poem & titling it:


rose are red
violets are blue
i owe sally mae, via and dicover’s ass too
i ain’t got it


you ever want to just be forgotten for a few days?
hoping your phone’s not taking any incoming calls and your house is too far to drive to on a humbug?
relive a langston hughes poem or a cobain attempt – but temporarily…

the good news is that life is still great!

side note: those that don’t read are no better of than those who cannot.

i should be sleep right now – doing the REM thing.
but i’m not. i’m up playing the failed architect, attempting to fit my life into some grand design.
destroy. build. and keep building.

taylor swift won, lady gaga turned me into a fan and beyonce managed to match my grandmother’s drapes.
jay stopped boycotting, and kanye was probably sitting home holding a picture of his mom in one hand, a bottle of scotch in the other, his head in wissaname’s lap and kicking the tv every time taylor went on stage. sounds appropriate.

but i’m just blogging to blog at the point.
i need to get back to this editing and chilling and grapefruit juice before my eyes shut.
oh shxt – i forgot to tell y’all i’ve been sleeping recently.
but hey – even superman died.