Welcome To The Bond
Today is my fifth birthday in the bond. I love my fraternity and had to announce it.
We smoke the dope
We drink the wine
Nupe Nupe mutha*****
It's party time
We wear the clothes
We pimp the ****
Nupe Nupe mutha*****
That's the way it goes
A do this
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NUPE! NUPE! YO!
Kappa Alpha Psi
Achievment since 1911
Separation Anxiety
“Your just a baby boy you aint the real McCoy.” Those words reverberated and bounced off the left wall of my cerebral cortex hit the right banister of my heart and crash landed on an X in the center of my soul. We aint the real McCoy anymore.
As I got in from my new office the other day I sat on my couch, reached for my mp3 player and television remote simultaneously. I always joke about being able to find irony and coincidence in every aspect of life so; obviously this next statement will be exactly that. An ironical coincidence or is it coincidental irony? I’ll allow the reader to decipher.
What song was my mp3 player on? Tupac’s Young Black Male. Then I turn on the television on. What station was the television on? BET (Black Entertainment Television that is now majority owned by Viacom, go figure). What movie was coming on? Baby boy. What was coming on after that? On the Down Low (About secretly homosexual black men). Pardon the previous frag
ments. However, that is how I have been feeling lately. Like an incomplete sentence in paragraph of correct grammar.
Fuck it yall. This one aint following the rules of writing etiquette and it will not be for the sensitive, faint of heart or paraplegic, polluted, politically correct, pussy willowed conspiracy hypothetical, delusional.
We are allowing what is rightfully ours to be taken from us and we are not even mustering a semblance of what resembles a fight. Hell as usual we do not even know it is being taken. No it is not being taken by white people. No it is not being embezzled by the government. Neither of those parties has to steal this from us. It is being pilfered by none other than us. We black people the original people from the basin of the Nile and creators of technology in Kemit that is screen played by the likes of Michelle Pfeiffer and Liz Taylor. We are the ones doing it. What is it we are stealing? We are thieving our birthed ability to love each other. We are gradually stealing from each other and each time we steal from the next woman or man their capacity to love gradually decreases until they finally say fuck it. Eventually we will reach a point where we have a race of people saying fuck it. Now think about that one.
How are we taking love from each other? We are doing too much damn in-fighting with each other! Yall know what I am referring to. All black women have bad attitudes, all black men are dying or are in prison, all black women are looking for a meal ticket and all successful black men marry white women. Damn I might as well get a t-shirt reading I love watermelon, grits and fried chicken with a picture of lil Sambo dancing a jig to a banjo and moonshine bottle band. All the classic sweeping generalizations are our favorites and here comes another by the creator of this internet manuscript. We do this shit because we are
lazy. Yep black folks are lazy. We are too lazy to get off our collective asses and work with each other. Love takes effort. I had that occupation for seven years and was on the cusp of consummating occupational vows. However, like everything else we half-ass our job.
Check the method. We simply take jobs just to get by. Translation: We get into relationships just to say we have someone. Stop settling.
We work jobs that we do not love. Translation: We stay in relationships that are not healthy just because we are afraid of being alone.
We start coming into work later and later and then cannot handle when our peers get promotions. Translation: We gradually stop doing the special things we used to do in the early stages of the relationship and then can not understand why all of our friends are getting married.
We do not perform our job to the best of our ability. Translation: We are not giving our significant other everything they deserve so they leave. Then we end up bitter and badmouthing that person to other people.
We end up fired from or quitting our jobs. Translation: We end up fired from or quitting our relationships!
Ego. As a community we are all ego-tripping. I am not referring to self-bravado or self-indulgence. I am referring to the emotion that has simultaneously caused the downfall of great civilizations and gave the motivation to build new societies. Pride (P.R.I.D.E. Possible Reasons In Defining
EGO). We are too damn prideful and it is causing us to be stubborn. I am guilty of it at times as well.
How many times has one seen this scenario? Dude is feeling a woman but, he never approaches her because he is afraid of rejection. She is a good woman and there is a possible chemistry but, he is never able to experience it because his ego tells him that his feelings cannot handle her rejecting him. A love never gained is a love lost. How about this scenario? A sista is doing reasonably well for herself. In fact sista is more financially stable than over half the brothas that she encounters. So she decides in her mind that his pocketbook is more important than his personality. I guess his bank statement will keep her warm when he is away from home 80 percent of the time doing what he has to do to keep money in that same bank account. Stop ego-tripping.
Finally we need to know our place in this society. Throughout world history we have always had to depend on each other. When we were the original beings all we had were each other. When we were slaves in Jerusalem all we had was each other. When we were teaching the druids how to build Stonehenge in order to navigate time, all we had was each other. When Europeans came and raided our countries all we had was each other. When we were helping build railroads as slaves in America all we had was each other. When were marching for equal rights in the 1960’s all we had was each other. Finally, as we navigate the sea of love in this new millennia,
all we have is each other…………
-
Peace-
Statistical Analysis
Tonight I was going to write a blog about the "perceived attack" on black men but, I am in one of those moods where I am simply tired of discussing the plight of our people and the denigration of my brownskinned counterparts. When I regain my energy I will shed some light on this from an untapped (that is right) perspective.
Name translation: "Young Warrior that carries a spear"
Age: 26
Height: Thank God for that three inch growth spurt (in college) or I would be 5'8''. Do yo math
Weight: X= (1o*8)2 Now solve for X. Hey I have not eaten meat in almost a year what would you expect. A washboard.
Zodiac Sign: Leo
Favorite Vegetable: Broccoli
Favorite Fruit: Pineapples
Favorite Snack: Toss up between Vegan Strawberry Muffins and Fried Plantains from the Reggae Bodega by my crib
Actor/Actress: Lawrence Fishburne/Too many to name
Movie: Higher Learning
Music Genre: Rap (honorable mention to Soul)
Rapper: Rakim
DJ: DJ Premier (Primo the legend)
Favorite Quote: "If you did not know your age. How old would you be?"- Tupac-
Poet: Honestly I hate how this sounds but
I am my favorite poet. I try to make every line the most complete and futuristically timeless one of the poem.
Writer: Alice Walker
Favorite Words: Balance and Contradiction
Superhero: Assasta
Presidential Nomination: Maxine Watters
Pastime #1: Putting my pen to work
Pastime #2: Thinking too damn much
Guilty Pleasure: Playstation 2 (not sure if I am really guilty) and Heinekens
Tattoo/s: Lion (Leo) left arm. Ethiopia Right forearm
Out the Box: I love Japanese animation. Yu Yu Hakusho, Ruroni Kenshin and Naruto are my favorites. Dominoes, Spades, Monopoly (I got the tophat), Scrabble and any game. I am ultra competetive. I play to win. So bring it if you are on my team.
How long have you known your best friend: 11 years (he is my little brother and mentor)
Imperative: That I make time for my mother, father and brother each week.
Children: Hell yeah. I love them. I had a dream I saw my daughter.
One thing that annoys me: People that are not genuine
Vehicle of Choice: Motorcycle
Fear: None
...except having a woman fall out of love with me againBest Compliment ever given: I was told that I am genuine
Investment Strategy: Only invest in what you believe in
Tickers:DJO, LUC, Love
Gave up: Meat, Dairy, MaryJane and a bad temper
Got into: History, Myself and clearer thoughts
Mission: Self-awareness that I can spread.
Two sentences about you: I was never that person that battled traffic everyday because I was afraid of being late to work. I found a backroad which no cars travel and got to my destination quicker.
Outwardly Immobile
T he homegoing celebration of friend was this morning. Yet, I left this celebration feeling not so celebratory. In fact, I was and still am guilty.
This emotion is not because I feel responsible for the loss of a friend (which I do share some responsibility). It is because I did not share my grief with the world.
As I sat in on the ceremony my senses were keen to the way people showed their collective sorrow. There were moans, questions of why, occasional outbursts of disapproval, anger and the most traditional emotional display, tears. This display is one that has alluded me since 2001, when I was at the homegoing celebration of my line brother B-Ash. While sitting inmy seat I even put my head down for a moment just because I wanted those around to know that I was in fact feeling the pain of loss. How bogus is that?
The interesting thing about this is I was hurting for my boy, for his family, for our mutual friends, for his friends that I do not know, for my people and for humanity in general. Yet, my inability to demonstrate this hurt consumed me so that I allowed it to fester and reveal itself in the form of selfishness. I was selfish. Instead of giving my hurt to the room I was too focused on why I could not publicly display that same hurt. That was not fair to all of those that were in attendance or to those who have experienced grief at some point in their lifetime.
Why? Why am I so quasi-emotional when it comes to showing my fear and pain?
Honestly, I feel it just like all other people. Perhaps I have become desensitized from my experiences. I have dealt with a few losses in my lifetime. Granted I know there are millions of people out there that had more adversity than I but, my experiences are mine and they are all I know. Age 8 I lost a five year old sister, Age 14 a close friend, Age 15 a basketball teammate and close friend, Age 16 a close friend while he was incarcerated, Age 18 a friend of the family in a barber-shop robbery and a youth league teammate, Age 20 a motor cycle accident and a prophyte, Age 21 a line-brother and last week at 26 a college buddy. Maybe this is not a lot. Maybe the way I worded it makes it seem like more than it is. However, for me this is too many when I factor in other experiences that have simply came with living life.
Perhaps I feel tougher on a sub-conscious level. I mean as much as women like to exalt about wanting a man that shares his emotions, I know most of these same women would wonder about the masculinity of a male that openly sheds tears. I want to find that balance. I know I will find it.
Perhaps it is going to take something tragic of epic proportions to bring the kinetic cries from my depths. I pray to my creator that this is not what is necessary.
Perhaps I am as I suspect. Sell.fish (selling salt water animals to a freshwater world). Sub-consciously I may simply have a problem with allowing another person to see a vulnerability. Hell that is why I ran from blogging so long. Well I hope the world knows I am working on it. Just like I worked on my explosive temper a few years back and reached a level of "laid-backness" that would rival Thelonius Monk himself. I am going to grow into those tears.
I refuse to be outwardly immobile.
Shallow Water
"The apple don't roll too far from the tree." "Like father like son." "History repeats itself." We have all heard these phrases repeatedly throughout our collective lifetime as apart of this creation we call humanity. However, it remains an anomaly that we still fall victim to the actions that directly result in these phrases being uttered.
Why does she continually dive head first into a pool in which she can see the bottom?
Her great-grandfather did it. Granddad did it. So did her father. Then that cycle repeated itself in the manifestation of her first serious boyfriend. She was playing a role. That role, an Oscar worthy one, was that of an overpowered, overmatched, overplayed and emotionally abused obsequious damsel.
Age 4 was the first time she saw daddy scold mommy. It shocked and scared her. It left an indelible mark on an impressionable mind. As she progressed through youth towards adulthood her frustrations with her parent's "arrangement" mounted and fueled an innate instinct to not trust men that she deemed to have good character. That is correct. She-does-not-trust-men-with-good-character.
Why should she trust them? Afterall, the supposed most influential male figure in a woman's life is her father and her seed sewer frequently neglected her cultivator. Henceforth, the notion of a male treating her like royalty is somehow wrong. It is not natural because that is not what she is accustomed to. See those four lines that have just been formed around her. They form what is referred to as a box. A box that she does not even know she is in (Ignorance- the concept of being unknowing to vital information). A box full of emotional, mental, physical and even spiritual abuse from all potential significant and insignificant others.
Today she hates her self and thinks the only way he can love her is through giving her a feeling of self-despondency. Lack of affection means he is a man. Harsh words only means he cares. Black eye defines his love. Soon she forgets why God made her. She loses her purpose and assumes his. This woman now has no self-identity because she lives only to appease the man that is inappeasable. She then awakens and realizes why her mother stayed with this same man for 40 years.
She dove in pool of shallow water.
The ?est.shuns
Who am I to think that I know when a person should pass from this plane?
What am I going to be doin in 25 years?
Where will I be living in 2 years?
When do I get to a point in which I am satisfied with myself?
How do I find directions to that place where my soul match may be dwelling?
Why am I not one of those guys who is afraid to pull over and ask for directions?
Who do I ask though?
What is the purpose of being a male in today's day and age?
Where is my biological father at today?
When do I stop asking ?est.shuns and start giving answers.
How do I shake my desire for revenge?
Why do I tend to over analyze things?
Who am I to be angry at some dudes that are doing the same thing that I have done before?
What is the purpose of having a gift if no one sees it?
Where did my boy go?
When do we start our awakening process?
How old would I be if I did not know when I was born?
Why does my writer's block run in cycles?
Who is the best if there is always someone better?
What is a ?est.shun that has no answer?
Where is Tiffany, Cool, D-Rose,Bobby, Ramone, Candyman, Pick, Sterling, B-Ash and now C-Murder?
When do I stop over analyzing every little detail of things?
How come I am off-center right now?
Why do I feel pain but no moisture from my ducts?
Bonus Question: If I can not take material posesstions with me to the afterlife. Why not enjoy them now?
Hearts of Men
I was forced to recollect this past weekend. Friday morning I made my customary bi-daily call to my line brother of five years and best friend of seven. My call was simply to discuss our pending living arrangement as future roommates and also to dialogue about a joint business venture in the local real estate market.
After breaking through proverbial barrier of small talk. He asked a question that is almost always followed by the type of news that engages the receivers buttocks to the nearest sitting vessel.
"Man, you didn't here what happened, he said."
"No. What happened?, I responded."
"Charles got shot three times by some dudes from New Orleans."
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Charles was a friend of mine back in undergraduate days of college. I was introduced to him through my two best friends, who happen to be brothers and also line brothers of mine as well. I fondly remember us getting together in the fall of 1999 and having our own makeshift John Madden football tournaments. Charles had a play called key corners that he repeatedly ran out of the single back formation. That damn play always worked. We would always complain that he only
ran one play. He would usually tell us that we can not stop it.
I also remember C-Murder, as we used to call him, for never using profane language. To the average person out there that may not appear to be that unique. After all, there are a lot of people walking this mortal plane that do not speak with a swearing tongue.
However, it was C-Murder's other side that presented his stance on foul language as an enigma. We did some illegal things. Nothing major though. Do not start thinking we were hardened criminals. We did the typical dude.from.the.block.that.was.broke.in.high.school but, learned.the.power.of.hustling.to.get.by.stuff. The only difference is we carried it over into college with us. I will allow you to cogitate about what exactly we did that was bound by the limits of this country's version of a legal Pentateuch.
We all reached that perpendicular angle where maturity and common-sense became bed fellows and found other ways to hustle. Other being the optimal word in that aforementioned sentence meaning less lucrative but, legal ways to get by.
Cutting hair, web design, security and soliciting donations for the school were my trade. My two best friends both found refuge in a little place called financial aid refund. It is amazing what those refund checks allowed us graham crackers to do.
C-Murder was different though. He was progressive and money making was at the forefront of his mental Stonehenge. He was hardheaded. We all have heard momma's and grandmomma's and even great- grandmomma's saying about hard heads. It makes for a soft backside. Especially for the youth. Especially for black youth. Especially for male black youth.
C eventually left school and took a job for a communications company in Texas. He was making close to 80k a year. Damn good for the then 24 year old. After working for the company for a year it folded like many of the businesses of the early 2000's. C was not going to go from making 80k, none of which he saved, to barely getting by. Too prideful to finish his degree at the 25, C made a decision. Back to the block.
Fast-forward to 2006. C was still on the grind. Doing work with some new patrons from the city formerly known as New Orleans. The jazz capital. The food capital. The Vegas of the south. However, on this night the deal goes wrong and he takes three shots at point blank range.
Shot one in the hip.
Shot two in the elbow.
Shot three in the chest.
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"Damn! What was he doing?"
"You already know what he was doing."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
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At what point does a man lose himself trying so hard not to be what he was but, at the same time trying not to forget where he came from?
-True Story-
Hip-Hop vs. Crack-Rock the 10 percent nation
On a wind scorned day a 16 year old boy hustles on the block. Hustling dimes to make pennies. He makes his moves to and from the block like clockwork. 9 pm, on the corner handshakes go to every hype that comes his way. 5 pm on the corner still giving handshakes to hypes. 7pm, avoids the police. 9pm, a black Mercedes 500 appears from under the starlight that is hidden by the light pollution of the city.
"How we doing?"
"I got one thousand. That is about a hundred an hour."
"Aiight count it out."
"Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty....................nine-hundred ninety, one thousand."
"Good shit yo. Keep moving and I will take care of you."
This was thier dialogue. As the mysterious figure from behind the dark tint speeds off the boy looks at the diminished roll of money remaining in his hand. One hundred dollars. One hundred dollars as in nine hundred dollars less than what he had so stealthily hustled to make. Gone in ten minutes. He did the math in his head. One hundred dollars an hour to make the money. One hundred dollars a minute for him to have the money taken.
Then he begin to think about the other ten hustlas that the driver of the black benz had. Simple arithmetic came down from the blinking street light and told him. That is nine-thousand dollars a day and all this guy does is drive.
Imagine being an artist on a record label. You are hot. I mean back to back number ones on the Billboard. Four- hundred thousand the first week. The album even goes on to platinum status. That is one million copies at ten dollars a pop. That is ten million dollars you just made right. Wrong! Try three- hundred thousand for you and nine point seven million for the record label. How is this possible. How can their number that follows their comma be more than your number all together. Did I mention that out of your three-hundred thousand half of it is going to the budget for your next album. So you on MTV's cribs and you just made one hundred fifty thousand off your last album. Now you are frustrated. I think I want to leave my record label. Not so fast my friend. They have you inked for four more records and you know what happens to those that breach their contract.
They get sued. Welcome to the new block. Crack-rock the 10 percent nation.
Was a little shine worth all of this? Would it have been better to have stayed local and kept selling fifty thousand records at ten dollars each in your region and never reached mega-star status. Yeah but, what do you know. You were out hustling while the CEO over at Sony was driving a Benz 500 and doing pick-ups in the middle of the night.
My people.
Do your math.
-Peace-
Haiku
There is so much to
Say but, so little room to
Say it in Haiku
My ego gives me
The strength to know that I am
Weak when I am strong
I want to have what
I need but, I need to have
What I need to want
Beautifully
Constructed dialogue is
So beautiful
How can my ego
Be joined to my feelings of
Knowing how to love
Ambition is how
To define a hustla's life
and ability
How Come
How come I never brag about myself
How come I was taught to be humble
How come I sometimes want to let people know what I am doing
How come I am a 26 year black male
How come I am close to commanding a lot of cake
How come I own a web and graphic design company
How come I just became the vice-president of operations for a Media Company that has the potential to become a small cap in a couple years
How come it is a parternship between my business and thiers
How come VP at 26
How come Damn!
How it feels wierd seeing these words
How come all of this and my passion is still writing
How come Urban Preafterlife is my novel
How come I get excited thinking about it
How come I have been working on it for 4 years
How come the last year I have been serious about it though
How come I have done all this yet
How come I have no woman that I am serious about in my life
How come I am an attractive guy
How come "No for real. I am attractive."
How come I get women all the time but
How come something has just been missing
How come there was one but...............
How come I ............................................
How come impossible............................
How come I wish I had .....................................nevamind
How come I am so confident in myself
How come it is a quiet confidence
How come I do not get intimidated
How come I seek knowledge religiously
How come I love Hip-Hop
How come I have only met a few people that love it as me
How come I spend so much time on a computer
How come they love the prose
How come the pen spills what I feel cuz what I feel is real and what is real is what my pen spills
How come I have learned so much about myself over the past 6 months
How come "how come"
How come?
Beginning Blog (Bloggers Beware)
This is a test of the Emergency Blogcast System...beeeeeeeeeep........................
A number of individuals have asked me if I blog and my response has been. I do not have the time. Okay well folx. I found the time. Today's blog will simply be a notice to the world of bloggers. I want to put you on notice. The writer is here. I love responses. Hit me up and let me know if you are feeling my blogs (Whenever I finally decide to share my address with some people). Here is something to get to know me by:
His.toy.rec.to.me
My mind was blown
When as an infant the seed was sewn
To take Tonka trucks and push Barbie away
I was blue collar and she was easy bake oven
Baking brownies
Playing dress up at tea parties
Sitting with her legs crossed
I was Joe
She was Jane
I was Larry
She was Linda
I was a King to her princess with a my little pony
Inferior to my black stallion
Call me stud because
My five-card draw was the bridge to her pitty pat
Clean your plate boy so you can get big and strong
But stop eating so many princesses
In this society a woman should never be fat
Scrapes and scars made boys stars
While stitches were stripes earned from the cracks of concrete
Suck it up don't cry because a man knows how to fight back those tears
They can burn running down a face
Leaving irremovable stains
But emotions of the little woman were embraced
Baby it's okay to cry on Daddy's shoulder
It's big and strong
All the time little boys were being socialized
They gained a limited view on the girl's role
Takin big wheels and driving over cabbage patches made for girls by some man named Xavier
My behavior was taught to be that of a savior
Looking like Tarzan saving Jane when I pounded my chest
Had to be stronger than the rest
Until today……………
I sit here…….
With this beer……
Looking at women in a Victoria Catalog…..
Embracing the term dog
Not giving a sh*t
Cuz I am here for one reason and one reason only…..
To get mine…
So if she's fine
She's a dime
Damn what she got to say
Damn if she wants me to be sensitive
And damn my son cuz he's gone be a man
Just like daddy is
So ask that man that for years has not given birth to tears
Never shows his fears
Calls homosexuals queers
Starts his letters with To Whom It May Concern instead of Dears
Gets annoyed when women are his peers
It began in the early years
From taking Tonka trucks and crashing into Barbie
That was his.toy.rec.too.me
-Peace-
