life is like the cosby show:

i typed this all on my phone at 3am – so ignore the loss of my train of thought.

so life is like the cosby show: there’s a lesson to learn every day. (i made that up).

lesson one:
i relied on too many people this past weekend. i’ve been called a fool several times for allowing folks to start the maze with my trust and respect. “they should earn it,” my people say. but eff that – they begin with it. the only way is down.

i hired a team of filmmakers to shoot my film. their hunger and creativity is why i hired them. saturday, the day before my shoot, i got an electronic message from the team saying they couldn’t make it sunday do to equipment scheduling conflicts. (sigh).

i relied on friends and folks i believed were equally hungry to come thru and let their light shine. they didn’t come. only those starving and a few well-fed folks came.

lesson learned in #1: too many people claim to be hungry. before feeding the children i’ll need to see their ribs.


lesson two: i (we) are not responsible for the emotions of others.

i complete me. complements are optional and welcomed – but not needed.

side note one: i want to be so deep in love that when i die – people do not mourn me – they mourn the heart of the one i leave behind because they know how it has now shattered.


where you disappear to, son? maintaining.
i’ve always found it funny that – where i’m from – when folks go missing for a long period of time it’s either jail or death came to claim the body. it’s never to regroup, destroy/rebuild, maintain.

i’m disappearing soon. oh so very soon. i gotta maintain. i gotta make sure my screws are tight (almost at the point of stripping the grip). i gotta make sure those who want to enter the ring on my side spent their days sparring against those bigger than themselves.


i’m on the queens-bound E train headed to JFK. not to disappear but to hit vegas and do what i do best: bring smiles & memories.

the people i know say i travel too much. they say i dream too big. they don’t understand why i’m not the one standing at alters or the loan officer’s desk asking him to help me buy a house.

instead – i’m at the american airline counter with a backpack, a thermal top and bags under my eyes trying to figure out how i left my toothbrush. i’m happy.

when i am on my deathbed, it won’t be the house and comforts and things i settled for that make me smile. it will be the yellow lines down the middle of the highway – the millions of times i’ve said “they look like ants down there” – the booze – the thousands of letters written on nights i didn’t think i’d live through – and the kids i hoped would love like me.

yeah – fuck your house.


i had a conversation with a beautiful woman who can’t cook. “your mom had hopes you’d marry a banker who’d take care of you,” i said. then she said “that’s boring.” i agreed. i told her about the poems, and artwork and songs that should be dedicated to her. she deserves spontaneity. so i’m about to teach her to cook & swim & live like me.

maybe one day she’ll fall in love with a man like me and remember why.


and now i am at gate 44 – tired. so i am going to explore these dreams soon.


One Comment Add yours

  1. @wizardofoz321 says:

    I clearly haven’t read your blog in quite a while because this is an inspiring post. You are an inspiration. Bless.

    P.S. Holla at me if you’re ever in London (again). Gonna be here for a while.

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