Sinners Have Soul Too. Move Yourself And Save.

About a month ago, i penned a new joint that i was compelled to write because of some recent feelings of dismay and delusion. I had false visions that my life thus far had been in vain because for every forward step there seemed to be a backpedaling going on in my mental.

Yet, it was more like a surreal sense of hopelessness that overpowered my senses when I visited a local high school and ended up taking an errant turn on a small side street. It was a street that literally only amounted to one block. But there were three memorials on it. My face dropped. And it was obvious in the millisecond that it took between me noticing those memorials and making eye contact with those folks who were out on the block that this was not Mayberry.

So I wrote that poem with a fervor in my heart hoping to share it with those willing to listen. But then I decided to append to it an unscripted monologue. It had to be the most nerve-racking performances I have ever done. I almost broke into tears on that microphone. Fear consumed my body and it wasn't because of where I was, but because i knew exactly where I was in life and had an inkling of my next steps but couldn't come to grips with the the blank horizon that colors the daydreams of my people.

I say people generically, but also specifically, for certain folks whom I either come into contact with or know personally. Fast forward to October, and as I head back to work after eating lunch at home, I walk by hordes of students being dismissed from school for the day. The next morning, more tears knock on the heels of my eyelids as I learn about the shooting of an 8th grade-student from that very school the previous night.

Not too long ago, I found a picture of a shooting victim covered with a white sheet and shell casing markers all around and uploaded it. I noted how the phenomenon of these evil streets had clouded my mind since pre-puberty. Too many bad things witnessed by the eyes either cause blindness or bring forth new light. The parked U-Haul truck in the background won the award for understatement of the year. What lurks beneath the surface is often the source of solemn solace. Last night it was over a hundred purple balloons being released into the dark sky as a symbolic gesture of hope and celebration of life as opposed to mourning of a death. But tonight, the right words escaped me as I breathed in short hesitation after the call came in. A mere two weeks ago, I returned home to the steady skies that molded me into the man I am today. I made sure to visit the physical places and spaces that held more meaning than others. yet it is always the unknown that underscores your afterthoughts and leaves you second-guessing when the bad news chirps you.

I got asked recently what my life's goals were and my answer was equally detailed and ambiguous. I had a clear plan and path, and yet it was littered with what ifs, maybes, and possibilities. There is no love or peace in the hearts of men. Simply a spirituality that has to be cultivated and sculpted into a figure of respectability. As I planted a kiss on the midget's forehead tonight, I thought of a well-thought out essay that I could write to focus my mind and could only muster this brain-dump of meandering rambles and strung-together sentences about my life and thoughts. I hope when I do die that I can rest in peace because as happy as I am right now and content with my life there is so much pain that i cannot help but share in that pain as a way to divert my mind from the immediate stresses that hover and try to seek solace by humming that scene from a Color Purple when Shug marched to church and hugged her father. Gos had been done told me something.

Critics will always be critics

"Old Man Can't is dead. I helped bury him."

So said Myers Anderson to his grandson, Clarence Thomas. That quote and other interesting stuff was shared by Supreme Court Justice Thomas in a recent 60 Minutes interview. Very interesting stuff indeed. He is a simultaneously polarizing and extremely intriguing character who begs for dissection and deeper analysis to truly unearth the intricacies, contradictions, and subtleties that make this place called America unique. His gramps' words take me back to some building block stuff I learned a scant 100+ miles north of Savannah. He has this new book, My Grandfather's Son, that is eerie because that is sometimes how I consider myself. I know it's a selfish thing to say in some respects, but justified for the most part. Such is life.

Am i the only person who is bewildered by the irony of the former Charles Street Jail being converted into a luxury hotel? The man interviewed in this article is someone I have met and have seen firsthand how the mistakes of the past should not be the only judgment of what the future holds. Some people really do turn their life around and truly make an positive impact.

this young cat i know did this short documentary and it's pretty dope. much respect. i love seeing heads put their creative energy on full blast. he's an ill lyricist, poet, and activist.

i love this video. and i love me some Styles P. some people will never understand that. some will.

paternal posturing

gone are the traces of my existence that i ecked out in a prior life.

the scars on my wrists are mere faint memories of the pain i self-inflicted in an attempt to cleanse my pores of the disease

i found myself caught up in the ebb and flow of life without ever having taken the time to just chill

and breathe

so now i sit back and reflect upon the days of my youth that helped mold the boy into a man to stand firm on his own two

until i look up at the mirror and see his image in me and then question the truth

who am i to teach if i ain't done learning

Make me wanna leave the city when I can't take a vacation

"It's hard to be patient with no VCR or PlayStation
Knowing your Rockports, somebody may be lacing"
-Common & Q-Tip, "Stolen Moments Pt III"

i took an ill break from blogging for so many reasons, it'd take a couple hundred posts to catch up. so instead, i'll do the quick re-cap and then keep it moving. because the temperature is dropping, the leaves are falling, but the sun is still out.

i did a lot of writing his summer. so much in fact that i think i had been upset when the summer started because i accidentally misplaced a couple of "sheets" of poetry. hola at neverland. so anyways, i went hard at it and came up with some modest stuff to hold me down. that was definitely a highlight; building and breaking bread with my peoples. my fellow poets. and i don't even like to consider myself as such. i'm just a cat that be writing shT that he feels like saying. it's kind of like the approach i take to talking. i like to use measured sentences and think before i speak. i enjoy the process of writing and revising my own words on paper until it sounds exactly how i want it to sound when emitted from the tip of my tongue.

aside from that, i got to do a lot of hanging out - much more than usual - due to an extended break. and that has seen its own dividends as well. music-wise, the pharaoh monch album is fuqin phenomenal. point blank. and i played mucho b-ball, too. but no tan. oh well. i'm mad dark-skinned as it is. lol. but i only had maybe 2 or 3 days off all summer, so i'm kind of drained to start the new school year. i need an energizer and some patron. ha.

in other news, i'm not going to even bother re-hashing all of the old news that has since passed. but i will say that I'm siding with Vick, Bonds, and the Jena 6. My Celtics game schedule will have to step it up a notch from the current 6-8 home games per season, to at least a good dozen with both KG and RayRay in town. but i don't think i'll ever make it to a patriots games. not in my lifetime. that wait is dumb stupid.