Randomness...
Through my headphones Erykah Badu is massaging my shoulders with her strong, rapsy melody. ... Maxwell guides my thoughts into tranquility. ... Sade provides the haze of smoky incense. .... I gotta get up, Jill Scott says. "Sometimes I feel like I'm working for nothing, trying to get something. Everywhere I turn I'm faced with another bill." .... But I gotta get up, she said. .... That's what I say. I gotta get up. Complacency is an endless path to nowhere. Spinning wheels. ..... Who do the strong turn to? Damn that's a good question. .... Sometimes sharing really is caring. .... I look in the mirror and I don't always see me. ... I see the me that I used to be sometimes. Other times I see the person I think I am. But whoever that person is, he's beginning to feel like a stranger. ... Being trapped inside yourself is pretty weird. .... Who has the key to that dungeon? .... Oh right. That would be me. ... Common just came through on Pandora. Good timing. .... Seven presidents tried to reform health care. More presidents than I've been alive for. Now Obama wants to wrap "Change" in a box with a red bow and have this bill signed before Friday. Merry Christmas America. ... Funny that no matter how much I read about it and listen to people talk about it, I still don't really understand how it's going to change my life personally. Maybe less cash getting jacked from my check. Shit, Merry Christmas to me. ... Cincinnati Bengals wideout Chris Henry died during a domestic dispute with his fiancee after falling off the back of the pick up truck she was driving. Don't know if she killed him on purpose but I do know that he jumped onto the rear of the car shirtless with his arm in a sling. ... They both clearly did something stupid. But it's amazing to me that people make jokes when men are injured and even killed in domestic arguments. Steve McNair. Arturo Gatti. Chris Henry. Tiger Woods is the only one not dead although he's being killed by the media outlets across the country. ... Then some broad named "Snookie" on MTV's Jersey Shore get clocked in the face and then there's all kinda of domestic violence conversations and information on hotlines being aired. .... It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt. Unless it's a man. Then it's still fun and games. ... Knicks are 6-2 in their last eight games and I got to take my nephew to his first Knick game about 10 rows back from the visitor's basket at the Garden. I think I would have pissed myself in excitement if I did that when I was 12. .... He may not have truly appreciated the experience. But he will one day. And I'm grateful for that. ... I'm really fighting the urge to hate Christmas this year. I almost went ape shit in Green Acres last night. And it wasn't even packed. I was just tried of roaming around looking for stuff to buy with money that I didn't have. So I left before I planted a bomb by the Haagen Dazs stand. ... Last night I talked to God. He didn't answer. But I hope He heard me.
C
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Thoughts in Flight
I got on the plane like I normally would. Just boarded behind everyone, falling into line then looking for my assigned seat. When I’m going on a long trip I tend to fall into a zone. Faces become mostly indistinguishable. Something like leaves passing each other in wind.
I took my seat. I almost always fly next to the window. I clipped my seat belt and immediately pulled out a book. I don’t sleep on planes. Or in cars. Or any other mode of transportation for that matter. A dark-skinned girl with tight corn-rowed braids sat in the aisle. She looked oddly familiar. Odd because I felt like I had known her briefly at some point in life. Maybe we had a conversation once.
An older white woman sat in the middle and seconds after I had sat down she asked someone in the row ahead of us if she wanted to switch seats so that she could seat with her friend, who turned out to be my familiar stranger. She also looked familiar. But not like we knew each other but familiar in the kind of way that people in New York City look familiar. Like she surely resided in one of the five boroughs and because on first glance, in my estimation, she was either Dominican or Puerto Rican, she was either from the Bronx or somewhere in uptown Manhattan.
In truth, it didn’t matter to me. I’m mostly anti-social. Especially when I’m traveling. So cracked open my book, “Blink” by Malcolm Gladwell. Something about the completely white cover had always drawn my attention but even the foreword grabbed me. I hadn’t finished one page before my familiar stranger leaned over her friend and made a joke I barely remember. Something about what I was going to do to keep my seat since that friendly white lady had given up hers. I smiled and chuckled to be nice, even though I had barely heard her.
I kept reading but I couldn’t shake this feeling. I just knew that these girls were going to talk to me at some point during this flight. And since it was nearly six hours from JFK airport to Phoenix (I was on my way to Portland), I was hoping that they would strike conversation later rather than sooner. I only have so much stamina for small talk. I could tell they were good friends. The kind that laugh at nothing together because their presence makes each other happy. I buried myself in my book. My familiar stranger promptly sunk in her chair and dropped asleep and her rotund Latina friend in the middle plugged her ears with her Ipod. A couple silent hours passed.
“Whatcha reading?”
I knew it was coming. The rotund Latina with the Ipod eyeballed my book in a way that said she wasn’t really interested in my choice of literature but that she felt like talking and her friend was sleeping and that I never do a good enough job of seeming unapproachable.
“This book called “Blink.”
“What’s it about?”
“I just started but so far it’s about how we make snap decisions. It sort of about how we process things unconsciously before you can even think about them. Or something like that. So far he’s just talking about how some people brought this thing called a kouros, which is statue of a boy standing with his left foot forward and his arms to his sides, to a new museum and they had all these experts and historians look at it to make sure it was legit. They ran all these tests and decide was real. Then some other people came in and peeped that it was fake on first glance. And it turned out that the status was fake – some hybrid of a bunch of variations of the same type of statue. I’m not sure where it’s going but it’s interesting so far.”
It was a long-winded answer, which made me laugh at myself but it only made it seem like maybe I really did feel like talking. I told her it’s not the kind of book that I’d typically read.
“What kind of books do you read?”
I walked into that one.
“Eh, I’ll read anything I can get my hands on mostly. I don’t really know. I secretly want to be a nerd so I’ll read just about anything. Like the last book I read was The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown, the guy that wrote Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons.”
I knew it was the end of the reading time. She wanted to talk and it was a long flight and it was be polite and hopefully interesting to indulge her. Turned out she was from the Bronx and works across the street from my in Washington Heights. So I was right on both accounts of her Latina-ness. She went to school in Plattsburgh, where I was two weeks earlier, but dropped out because there’s nothing to do in Plattsburgh except find trouble. So she came home.
She was into photography and took a few pictures across my lap and out the side window of the mountains and that were somewhere on our way to Arizona. She was on her way to Vegas for her birthday. Just decided to up and go with her friend two weeks ago. Found a cheap flight. She was the type that would probably do almost anything for the thrill, including hurling her probably-275-pound self out of a plane at 16,000 feet because her white friends in Plattsburgh thought it would be cool to burn some weed, get sauced and go sky-diving. She gained my respect right there.
We talked a little more. I got tired and started thumbing through pages of my book which signaled to her that I needed a break from talking to strangers. Even if this one was particularly interesting. We landed. She gave me a weak handshake and said that since we worked across the street we would probably bump into each other. She paused as thought she was waiting for my to ask for her contact information. I didn’t. She told me her name. I promptly forgot.
I often say I hate to talk to people. Although that’s what I do for a living. I told her I was a reporter so I write for a living. She said that made me a nerd. I took the compliment. I told her to behave herself. She was going to Vegas. She said she wouldn’t. She was right. Vegas is for misbehaving. I was going to Oregon for work. Behaving was my only option. That was fine with me. Sometimes I’m content to be a leaf blowing in the wind.
Occasionally when I’m covering a race out of state (I’m a track and field reporter), I see a team that I cover. I usually pretend that I don’t see them. I’m sure they do the same. I think I spend enough time invading their personal space when they’re panting and holding down vomit and wiping spit off their faces after a race. So I try to stand clear if I see them in the airport or anywhere else that’s not a track or a cross country course. So when I saw Burnt Hills in the terminal in Phoenix, I tugged my hat a little lower and tucked my chin to my chest and lost myself in my Blackberry.
Then next time I looked up I saw Bernard Lagat, one of the best distance runners in the world waiting outside a Starbucks in the terminal with Abdi Abdiramhnan. They both competed at the University of Arizona and I knew that Lagat lived in Arizona and was sponsored by Nike, which told me they were both headed to Portland as well for the meet as Nike representatives. Not long after, I saw Brian Grant walk by. I only remembered that he played for the Miami Heat but later learned that he was from Oregon and the people out there remembered him as a Portland Trailblazer. They were all on my flight. You’d think I had chartered a Nike jet or something.
But Lagat and Abdi definitely walked into coach with me while Grant lounged in first-class. Being the best in the world in track and field doesn’t always mean you’re rich.
I walked on the plane after everyone else. Everyone but Abdi and Lagat. Somehow I ended up between them as we handed our tickets to the gate clerk and entered the vestibule that takes you from the gate to the plane. I asked Abdi if he wanted to wait for Lagat (I called him Bernard for some reason) and he just nod as if I had known them both and let me go ahead.
“Where’d you get that bag from?” he said behind me.
I was wearing an USA Olympic Trials backpack I’d bought in Eugene, Oregon when I covered the 2008 Trials. I casually told him that I went out there for work, that I wrote about track and that it’d be a long time since I’d raced. I had to throw in that part so that he knew that at least I used to run. He seemed genuinely disappointed, like somehow he was no longer allowed to speak to me. By then Lagat had joined us and we chatted a bit about the fact that they were making us check our bags. Some nonsense about there not being any room in the overhead bins, which seemed strange to me since the people telling us that didn’t have on headsets or walkie-talkies and were outside of the plane just like us.
Either way, I spoke to a couple Olympians, saw an NBA player and chatted with a overweight girl who happened to work across the street from me and wasn’t afraid to plunge to out of a plane to potential demise soon after rolling up an L.
The plane landed and I picked up my rental and headed toward the hotel. My phone rang.
“How was the flight?” a friend asked.
It was cool I guess.
I took my seat. I almost always fly next to the window. I clipped my seat belt and immediately pulled out a book. I don’t sleep on planes. Or in cars. Or any other mode of transportation for that matter. A dark-skinned girl with tight corn-rowed braids sat in the aisle. She looked oddly familiar. Odd because I felt like I had known her briefly at some point in life. Maybe we had a conversation once.
An older white woman sat in the middle and seconds after I had sat down she asked someone in the row ahead of us if she wanted to switch seats so that she could seat with her friend, who turned out to be my familiar stranger. She also looked familiar. But not like we knew each other but familiar in the kind of way that people in New York City look familiar. Like she surely resided in one of the five boroughs and because on first glance, in my estimation, she was either Dominican or Puerto Rican, she was either from the Bronx or somewhere in uptown Manhattan.
In truth, it didn’t matter to me. I’m mostly anti-social. Especially when I’m traveling. So cracked open my book, “Blink” by Malcolm Gladwell. Something about the completely white cover had always drawn my attention but even the foreword grabbed me. I hadn’t finished one page before my familiar stranger leaned over her friend and made a joke I barely remember. Something about what I was going to do to keep my seat since that friendly white lady had given up hers. I smiled and chuckled to be nice, even though I had barely heard her.
I kept reading but I couldn’t shake this feeling. I just knew that these girls were going to talk to me at some point during this flight. And since it was nearly six hours from JFK airport to Phoenix (I was on my way to Portland), I was hoping that they would strike conversation later rather than sooner. I only have so much stamina for small talk. I could tell they were good friends. The kind that laugh at nothing together because their presence makes each other happy. I buried myself in my book. My familiar stranger promptly sunk in her chair and dropped asleep and her rotund Latina friend in the middle plugged her ears with her Ipod. A couple silent hours passed.
“Whatcha reading?”
I knew it was coming. The rotund Latina with the Ipod eyeballed my book in a way that said she wasn’t really interested in my choice of literature but that she felt like talking and her friend was sleeping and that I never do a good enough job of seeming unapproachable.
“This book called “Blink.”
“What’s it about?”
“I just started but so far it’s about how we make snap decisions. It sort of about how we process things unconsciously before you can even think about them. Or something like that. So far he’s just talking about how some people brought this thing called a kouros, which is statue of a boy standing with his left foot forward and his arms to his sides, to a new museum and they had all these experts and historians look at it to make sure it was legit. They ran all these tests and decide was real. Then some other people came in and peeped that it was fake on first glance. And it turned out that the status was fake – some hybrid of a bunch of variations of the same type of statue. I’m not sure where it’s going but it’s interesting so far.”
It was a long-winded answer, which made me laugh at myself but it only made it seem like maybe I really did feel like talking. I told her it’s not the kind of book that I’d typically read.
“What kind of books do you read?”
I walked into that one.
“Eh, I’ll read anything I can get my hands on mostly. I don’t really know. I secretly want to be a nerd so I’ll read just about anything. Like the last book I read was The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown, the guy that wrote Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons.”
I knew it was the end of the reading time. She wanted to talk and it was a long flight and it was be polite and hopefully interesting to indulge her. Turned out she was from the Bronx and works across the street from my in Washington Heights. So I was right on both accounts of her Latina-ness. She went to school in Plattsburgh, where I was two weeks earlier, but dropped out because there’s nothing to do in Plattsburgh except find trouble. So she came home.
She was into photography and took a few pictures across my lap and out the side window of the mountains and that were somewhere on our way to Arizona. She was on her way to Vegas for her birthday. Just decided to up and go with her friend two weeks ago. Found a cheap flight. She was the type that would probably do almost anything for the thrill, including hurling her probably-275-pound self out of a plane at 16,000 feet because her white friends in Plattsburgh thought it would be cool to burn some weed, get sauced and go sky-diving. She gained my respect right there.
We talked a little more. I got tired and started thumbing through pages of my book which signaled to her that I needed a break from talking to strangers. Even if this one was particularly interesting. We landed. She gave me a weak handshake and said that since we worked across the street we would probably bump into each other. She paused as thought she was waiting for my to ask for her contact information. I didn’t. She told me her name. I promptly forgot.
I often say I hate to talk to people. Although that’s what I do for a living. I told her I was a reporter so I write for a living. She said that made me a nerd. I took the compliment. I told her to behave herself. She was going to Vegas. She said she wouldn’t. She was right. Vegas is for misbehaving. I was going to Oregon for work. Behaving was my only option. That was fine with me. Sometimes I’m content to be a leaf blowing in the wind.
Occasionally when I’m covering a race out of state (I’m a track and field reporter), I see a team that I cover. I usually pretend that I don’t see them. I’m sure they do the same. I think I spend enough time invading their personal space when they’re panting and holding down vomit and wiping spit off their faces after a race. So I try to stand clear if I see them in the airport or anywhere else that’s not a track or a cross country course. So when I saw Burnt Hills in the terminal in Phoenix, I tugged my hat a little lower and tucked my chin to my chest and lost myself in my Blackberry.
Then next time I looked up I saw Bernard Lagat, one of the best distance runners in the world waiting outside a Starbucks in the terminal with Abdi Abdiramhnan. They both competed at the University of Arizona and I knew that Lagat lived in Arizona and was sponsored by Nike, which told me they were both headed to Portland as well for the meet as Nike representatives. Not long after, I saw Brian Grant walk by. I only remembered that he played for the Miami Heat but later learned that he was from Oregon and the people out there remembered him as a Portland Trailblazer. They were all on my flight. You’d think I had chartered a Nike jet or something.
But Lagat and Abdi definitely walked into coach with me while Grant lounged in first-class. Being the best in the world in track and field doesn’t always mean you’re rich.
I walked on the plane after everyone else. Everyone but Abdi and Lagat. Somehow I ended up between them as we handed our tickets to the gate clerk and entered the vestibule that takes you from the gate to the plane. I asked Abdi if he wanted to wait for Lagat (I called him Bernard for some reason) and he just nod as if I had known them both and let me go ahead.
“Where’d you get that bag from?” he said behind me.
I was wearing an USA Olympic Trials backpack I’d bought in Eugene, Oregon when I covered the 2008 Trials. I casually told him that I went out there for work, that I wrote about track and that it’d be a long time since I’d raced. I had to throw in that part so that he knew that at least I used to run. He seemed genuinely disappointed, like somehow he was no longer allowed to speak to me. By then Lagat had joined us and we chatted a bit about the fact that they were making us check our bags. Some nonsense about there not being any room in the overhead bins, which seemed strange to me since the people telling us that didn’t have on headsets or walkie-talkies and were outside of the plane just like us.
Either way, I spoke to a couple Olympians, saw an NBA player and chatted with a overweight girl who happened to work across the street from me and wasn’t afraid to plunge to out of a plane to potential demise soon after rolling up an L.
The plane landed and I picked up my rental and headed toward the hotel. My phone rang.
“How was the flight?” a friend asked.
It was cool I guess.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Selfish bastards...
Think about what your perfect relationship will be. Think about all the things you want from a relationship, all the things that perfection entails. Actually, forget perfection, think about what cohesion entails. The ideal relationship for you. Now stop.
If you all the things that you listed in your head have anything to do with what you can do for the your potential mate, if you didn't think about what you can bring to the table, what you can do to make the relationship ideal for your mate as well then congratulations you are well on your way to being a selfish partner. Correction: you can't be a selfish "partner" you'll be more like a leech in the relationship. You take but don't give and then believe that your presence allow qualifies as the reward -- "allowing" that person to be with you.
So I had this conversation with a couple of friends at different times. And I swear they listed all the things they require from a man they plan to marry or date. It went from everything to how much money he should make, to what time he should come home from work, how much time he should spend with his friends, what his responsibilities should be in the house, what nationality he should be and lots of other superficial things. Now I'll say for the benefit of the doubt that this was meant to be a conversation about the superficial things women want from relationships. Yet somehow these requirements seemed unyielding and concrete. But when I asked them what they plan to bring to the relationship in order for qualify all these requirements somehow a bunch of crickets found their way into the room and I couldn't hear an answer.
It's fine to believe in yourself, to believe that your presence alone will better someone else's life. But it's not fair to walk into a relationship knowing all the things you want and yet have no clue what you're willing to do to earn those things. I might be wrong, but I find that many women are working hard to be strong and independent. They expect to be courted and spoiled. My question is how can you expect to be spoiled and not being willing to "spoil" your partner? I don't mean spoil like you would a child. What I mean is to make your partner feel special, feel wanted. To make them feel great. You should remind your man that he is great and that you appreciate his greatness. Men should be doing the same. If they are not, they are failing you and your relationship is severely unbalanced and you will undoubtedly begin to feel both unappreciated and under-valued.
Too many people give only in hopes that they will get something in return. Make someone feel special because they ARE special. Not because you hope they will return the favor. If you don't feel inclined to do things to make your partner feel special then you probably don't like them that much. In that case, don't be so selfish that you keep them around simply because you enjoy the way they make you feel.
Stepping down off my soapbox now.
Randomness
"I've got some issues that nobody can see.... And all of these emotions are pouring out of me. ... I'll bring them to the light for you." ... Or maybe I won't because that's not really my style.... I deal with things myself because something inside of me tells me that I'm built for that. I refuse to be anyone else's burden but my own. ... So the Soundtrack to My Life will be played by a set of headphones that only I can hear. .... I'm Mister Solo/Dolo. .... At least I feel that way sometimes. ..... Clearly Kid Cudi's in my speakers and I feel like this dude is speaking directly to me. .... Maybe someone understands. .... I can't believe the Knicks didn't pick up Iverson. Actually I can believe it. Why would we want Iverson? What the Knicks should do is go find out where Fredric Weis is and go re-sign him. Assholes. .... Miles to go before I sleep. .... Great line. ..... I don't know what it is but the very second I walk through the door at work my entire disposition changes. Today I sat on the train for an entire hour to go ONE stop and I didn't get mad. But as soon as I wanted into the office I felt ready to punch the first person I saw. ... Today is one of those days where I wish I could press the Reset button like Life was a Nintendo game. Then I'd take out the cartridge, blow on it and hope Life works better when I put the game back in. .... Somehow when the air is a little smokey I tend to see things more clearly. How's that work? *wink* ....
C
If you all the things that you listed in your head have anything to do with what you can do for the your potential mate, if you didn't think about what you can bring to the table, what you can do to make the relationship ideal for your mate as well then congratulations you are well on your way to being a selfish partner. Correction: you can't be a selfish "partner" you'll be more like a leech in the relationship. You take but don't give and then believe that your presence allow qualifies as the reward -- "allowing" that person to be with you.
So I had this conversation with a couple of friends at different times. And I swear they listed all the things they require from a man they plan to marry or date. It went from everything to how much money he should make, to what time he should come home from work, how much time he should spend with his friends, what his responsibilities should be in the house, what nationality he should be and lots of other superficial things. Now I'll say for the benefit of the doubt that this was meant to be a conversation about the superficial things women want from relationships. Yet somehow these requirements seemed unyielding and concrete. But when I asked them what they plan to bring to the relationship in order for qualify all these requirements somehow a bunch of crickets found their way into the room and I couldn't hear an answer.
It's fine to believe in yourself, to believe that your presence alone will better someone else's life. But it's not fair to walk into a relationship knowing all the things you want and yet have no clue what you're willing to do to earn those things. I might be wrong, but I find that many women are working hard to be strong and independent. They expect to be courted and spoiled. My question is how can you expect to be spoiled and not being willing to "spoil" your partner? I don't mean spoil like you would a child. What I mean is to make your partner feel special, feel wanted. To make them feel great. You should remind your man that he is great and that you appreciate his greatness. Men should be doing the same. If they are not, they are failing you and your relationship is severely unbalanced and you will undoubtedly begin to feel both unappreciated and under-valued.
Too many people give only in hopes that they will get something in return. Make someone feel special because they ARE special. Not because you hope they will return the favor. If you don't feel inclined to do things to make your partner feel special then you probably don't like them that much. In that case, don't be so selfish that you keep them around simply because you enjoy the way they make you feel.
Stepping down off my soapbox now.
Randomness
"I've got some issues that nobody can see.... And all of these emotions are pouring out of me. ... I'll bring them to the light for you." ... Or maybe I won't because that's not really my style.... I deal with things myself because something inside of me tells me that I'm built for that. I refuse to be anyone else's burden but my own. ... So the Soundtrack to My Life will be played by a set of headphones that only I can hear. .... I'm Mister Solo/Dolo. .... At least I feel that way sometimes. ..... Clearly Kid Cudi's in my speakers and I feel like this dude is speaking directly to me. .... Maybe someone understands. .... I can't believe the Knicks didn't pick up Iverson. Actually I can believe it. Why would we want Iverson? What the Knicks should do is go find out where Fredric Weis is and go re-sign him. Assholes. .... Miles to go before I sleep. .... Great line. ..... I don't know what it is but the very second I walk through the door at work my entire disposition changes. Today I sat on the train for an entire hour to go ONE stop and I didn't get mad. But as soon as I wanted into the office I felt ready to punch the first person I saw. ... Today is one of those days where I wish I could press the Reset button like Life was a Nintendo game. Then I'd take out the cartridge, blow on it and hope Life works better when I put the game back in. .... Somehow when the air is a little smokey I tend to see things more clearly. How's that work? *wink* ....
C
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Guess I felt like writing...
I find that one of the most frustrating things about being a writer is not being able to write. How can you be defined by an action that you don't do? It's frustrating and discouraging and almost embarrassing. Sort of makes me a fraud. I keep waiting to have this epiphany. Some inspiration. I keep waiting for the light to shine from above that beckons me to my true calling. Grand Divine Intervention.
My phone vibrated the other night. I picked up. Text message. "When God tells you to sit down, you don't go looking for a chair!!!"
I've gotten that same text message more times that I remember. More often that not, I file it under Worthless and Ridiculous Utterances and then toss the phone with no response. That message baffled me for years. Maybe because I never really took the time to decipher it. If God told me to sit down, I'd sit down. Of course I'd need a chair. But when you're a kid and your mother tells you to sit down right now, you don't walk into the next room to pull out a chair from the dining table. You sit down where you are. On the floor. On a couch. On your hands. You just sit down.
I've been admitting hiding lately and when you're alone, your thoughts tend to come keep you company. Now instead of backing in a corner and letting my thoughts attack me like some wild-eyed mob, I decided to sit down and have a round table. So I sat down with my thoughts and made more time for self-reflection and introspection. I've come to absolutely no decisions yet but it's been exciting, scary and extremely frustrating, once again trying to find out who I am. Because you are defined by the things that you produce. You're labeled, even by yourself, by the things that you do.
So I decided that I'm going to follow my instances instead of waiting for the sky to open and for the gods to grant me a grand vision of my illuminated life path. I'm going to get a cutlass and cop through the bush. I'll carve my path. I'll sit on the floor. And once I find my way, I'll get up and run like the trackstar that I should have been.
Randomness....
Damn it's been a while. ....Apparently Trey Songz is my friend in my head. .... Bet the Neighbors Know My Name.... That shit is hilarious. .... I hope the Knicks get Iverson. Not because it'll make them better. They suck. But at least it'll give people a reason to watch. .... It's either that or I say that we get together and kidnap Brandon Jennings. .... I think about writing every day and yet nothing comes out. It's like being constipated. We all know how annoying that is. ... I think Drake's song "Forever" is one of my favorite rap songs of all time. No bullshit. .... Right now I'll read anything I can get my hands on. ... People really are inconsiderate bastards. I saw this lady on the train the other day with her ass literally about one inch from this other lady's face. It was completely hilarious to me. But if I was that women there would have been a misunderstanding on that train. .... Precious was a great movie. It baffled me that a lot of people were laughing inappropriately in the movie theater. I can only believe that most of them didn't read the book and didn't fully grasp the severity of the situation. .... Either that or people, in their adult lives, went to the movies to laugh at the type of kids they made fun of in school. I was two seconds off slapping the lady next to me. And her boyfriend would have got it worse. ... Girl I got that dope dick. Now come and let me dope you. You gon' be a dope fiend. Your friends should call you Doppy. ... Sometimes music is so fun. .... Today's public schools SUCK. Social promotion SUCKS. Bloomberg sucks. Bill Thompson sucks so much that he could only talk about how much Bloomberg sucked. .... Should I be more concerned about the Swine Flu? Especially being that I've met about 10 people in the last two weeks that said they had it. .... "Everyday a star is born. Clap for 'em.".... Clap for me. ... I'm reborn.
Yup.
-C
My phone vibrated the other night. I picked up. Text message. "When God tells you to sit down, you don't go looking for a chair!!!"
I've gotten that same text message more times that I remember. More often that not, I file it under Worthless and Ridiculous Utterances and then toss the phone with no response. That message baffled me for years. Maybe because I never really took the time to decipher it. If God told me to sit down, I'd sit down. Of course I'd need a chair. But when you're a kid and your mother tells you to sit down right now, you don't walk into the next room to pull out a chair from the dining table. You sit down where you are. On the floor. On a couch. On your hands. You just sit down.
I've been admitting hiding lately and when you're alone, your thoughts tend to come keep you company. Now instead of backing in a corner and letting my thoughts attack me like some wild-eyed mob, I decided to sit down and have a round table. So I sat down with my thoughts and made more time for self-reflection and introspection. I've come to absolutely no decisions yet but it's been exciting, scary and extremely frustrating, once again trying to find out who I am. Because you are defined by the things that you produce. You're labeled, even by yourself, by the things that you do.
So I decided that I'm going to follow my instances instead of waiting for the sky to open and for the gods to grant me a grand vision of my illuminated life path. I'm going to get a cutlass and cop through the bush. I'll carve my path. I'll sit on the floor. And once I find my way, I'll get up and run like the trackstar that I should have been.
Randomness....
Damn it's been a while. ....Apparently Trey Songz is my friend in my head. .... Bet the Neighbors Know My Name.... That shit is hilarious. .... I hope the Knicks get Iverson. Not because it'll make them better. They suck. But at least it'll give people a reason to watch. .... It's either that or I say that we get together and kidnap Brandon Jennings. .... I think about writing every day and yet nothing comes out. It's like being constipated. We all know how annoying that is. ... I think Drake's song "Forever" is one of my favorite rap songs of all time. No bullshit. .... Right now I'll read anything I can get my hands on. ... People really are inconsiderate bastards. I saw this lady on the train the other day with her ass literally about one inch from this other lady's face. It was completely hilarious to me. But if I was that women there would have been a misunderstanding on that train. .... Precious was a great movie. It baffled me that a lot of people were laughing inappropriately in the movie theater. I can only believe that most of them didn't read the book and didn't fully grasp the severity of the situation. .... Either that or people, in their adult lives, went to the movies to laugh at the type of kids they made fun of in school. I was two seconds off slapping the lady next to me. And her boyfriend would have got it worse. ... Girl I got that dope dick. Now come and let me dope you. You gon' be a dope fiend. Your friends should call you Doppy. ... Sometimes music is so fun. .... Today's public schools SUCK. Social promotion SUCKS. Bloomberg sucks. Bill Thompson sucks so much that he could only talk about how much Bloomberg sucked. .... Should I be more concerned about the Swine Flu? Especially being that I've met about 10 people in the last two weeks that said they had it. .... "Everyday a star is born. Clap for 'em.".... Clap for me. ... I'm reborn.
Yup.
-C
Monday, August 3, 2009
Trust is earned... kinda
So clearly for months now I've been slacking with this. I've been blogged about my writer's block. I've vented, argued with myself. I've given myself pep talks on this blog and made promises to get better and at the end, nothing. But I didn't get on today to talk about the things that I haven't done. I guess I needed someplace to escape to and something I forget that my keyboard, despite the fact that it can be the root of some agony, it truly is my sanctuary. It's the place where I can let loose, even if it's under the guise of flowery words, imagery and a flow that's meant to captivate and entertain.
But a friend of mine said to me recently that they wanted to her my own voice in my blog, not Def Poetry Jam. I laughed. I thought, this is my voice. It's not the way I speak but these are my thoughts, my ideas and my painting but I guess the paint sometimes hides what's behind the canvas. I'm the canvas. (Damn, there goes the imagery again.)
So this blog is meant to be more personal. This is my voice. This is me. Alright, so recently a lot of my conversations have revolved around a central theme that is at the core of every relationship, friendship, marriage, partnership, etc. The issue is Trust. It's the ultimate co-sign, the great equalizer. It truly decides every social interaction you have and will ever have.
Now the saying goes that Trust is earned, not given. I personally think that's bullshit. Trust is given. It's handed out to strangers like a gift bag and inside there's a little note that reads, "Now you have this trust, if you don't fuck it up I'll give you more." People trust you when you're dependable, when you're there if they need a favor, or if you're always available, if you do what you say you're going to do and you're accessible. Trust to most people, means that you'll be there if they ask for you. Now I say all this and in the same breath I'll admit that I don't have a lot of friends. I feel like many people make this claim but I can legitimately say there are about two people that I speak to every single day and the way things are going that number is about to be cut in half. Part of the reason for that is trust. It's the reason why the number was 2 in the first place and why 2 is transforming to 1. I ask myself frequently if this speaks to my own trustworthiness.
I realize that I've never had a lot of friends or I should say "kept" a lot of friends. People in my life have been "seasonal" and some seasons last longer than others. But I can't say that there's one person in my life that I speak to on a regular basis that I've known since I was a kid. There's no one that you'll see me with in a club or bar or randomly coming to my house to chill or me in their house that can tell you that they've known me my whole life. Now there are people like that that are in my life, people that my brother and I grew up with. But somehow as we got older they became more my brother's friends than mine. That also goes with family. I have a lot of family that speak to my brother much more than they speak to me. Does that mean I'm not a social person? Does it mean that I'm not friendly or likable or approachable? Or does it simply mean that there's no trust built between those people and myself?
I find that I learn things about my brother from his friends and sometimes even my friends. I find out things about my father from my mother and things about my sister from my brother. Or maybe I'm just a loner or an outsider. I know that I'm very comfortable being alone. I hate to depend on anyone for anything. I hate to ask for help. Sometimes I don't mind venting to friends. I have no issues complaining about all the money that I don't have or my thoughts about my job or my career path but I have my most revealing moments when I'm alone in the dark. So my friends may know that I'm stressed but not how stressed I truly am. They may know that I'm angry but never know that I was on the verge of tears earlier or that I hadn't slept in 3 days. Those are roads that I've chosen to travel alone. Does that make me seem untrustworthy or just an introvert. This is not to say that I've always been the best friend ever, that I haven't done things that are "unfriendly" but I think all of us have had these moments right? I guess the thing is that I rarely have had the type of relationship where once the relationship is damaged it's clear whether it's worth salvaging.
Because of that I've become increasingly accepting of that pattern. I know that people will come and go in my life. Some will seem so close to me today but pack their bags tomorrow and never be seen again. I guess whatever their reasons are I've come to expect that even more than I accept it. And I certainly play my part in that. I allow people to come and go at their leisure, simply opening and closing the door behind them. Again, I'll say that I am by far not a perfect person and there are relationships that have been damaged or eliminated at my hands. Either way, I'm rambling now. Back to the point.
Even when trust is lost, in reality there is nothing you can do to "rebuild" it. You can do all the things you did before your indiscretion but it's up to the person to hand over the trust again. If they never "decide" that you're trustworthy again then all the "earning" in the world isn't going to change that. That's why people talk about forgiveness being an essential part of life. It's why having faith in someone is one of the most important parts of a friendship or relationship. Now, I'm no expert but that's my opinion. Sometimes I don't even think I trust myself. There have been more than enough times that I've swore to myself that I wouldn't do something and then did it anyway; plenty of times I've betrayed myself. But I can't get away from me so all I can do is rebuild, accept and forgive then improve.
I did a lot of talking in this blog. More than I've done in awhile. I'm going to end here. Suffice it to say that trust isn't earned, it's given. And you're given more once you don't fuck up the trust that you got for free. That includes the person in the mirror. Even when the person in the mirror is me.
Ok I'm done venting. Congratulations if you made it to the end of this post.
But a friend of mine said to me recently that they wanted to her my own voice in my blog, not Def Poetry Jam. I laughed. I thought, this is my voice. It's not the way I speak but these are my thoughts, my ideas and my painting but I guess the paint sometimes hides what's behind the canvas. I'm the canvas. (Damn, there goes the imagery again.)
So this blog is meant to be more personal. This is my voice. This is me. Alright, so recently a lot of my conversations have revolved around a central theme that is at the core of every relationship, friendship, marriage, partnership, etc. The issue is Trust. It's the ultimate co-sign, the great equalizer. It truly decides every social interaction you have and will ever have.
Now the saying goes that Trust is earned, not given. I personally think that's bullshit. Trust is given. It's handed out to strangers like a gift bag and inside there's a little note that reads, "Now you have this trust, if you don't fuck it up I'll give you more." People trust you when you're dependable, when you're there if they need a favor, or if you're always available, if you do what you say you're going to do and you're accessible. Trust to most people, means that you'll be there if they ask for you. Now I say all this and in the same breath I'll admit that I don't have a lot of friends. I feel like many people make this claim but I can legitimately say there are about two people that I speak to every single day and the way things are going that number is about to be cut in half. Part of the reason for that is trust. It's the reason why the number was 2 in the first place and why 2 is transforming to 1. I ask myself frequently if this speaks to my own trustworthiness.
I realize that I've never had a lot of friends or I should say "kept" a lot of friends. People in my life have been "seasonal" and some seasons last longer than others. But I can't say that there's one person in my life that I speak to on a regular basis that I've known since I was a kid. There's no one that you'll see me with in a club or bar or randomly coming to my house to chill or me in their house that can tell you that they've known me my whole life. Now there are people like that that are in my life, people that my brother and I grew up with. But somehow as we got older they became more my brother's friends than mine. That also goes with family. I have a lot of family that speak to my brother much more than they speak to me. Does that mean I'm not a social person? Does it mean that I'm not friendly or likable or approachable? Or does it simply mean that there's no trust built between those people and myself?
I find that I learn things about my brother from his friends and sometimes even my friends. I find out things about my father from my mother and things about my sister from my brother. Or maybe I'm just a loner or an outsider. I know that I'm very comfortable being alone. I hate to depend on anyone for anything. I hate to ask for help. Sometimes I don't mind venting to friends. I have no issues complaining about all the money that I don't have or my thoughts about my job or my career path but I have my most revealing moments when I'm alone in the dark. So my friends may know that I'm stressed but not how stressed I truly am. They may know that I'm angry but never know that I was on the verge of tears earlier or that I hadn't slept in 3 days. Those are roads that I've chosen to travel alone. Does that make me seem untrustworthy or just an introvert. This is not to say that I've always been the best friend ever, that I haven't done things that are "unfriendly" but I think all of us have had these moments right? I guess the thing is that I rarely have had the type of relationship where once the relationship is damaged it's clear whether it's worth salvaging.
Because of that I've become increasingly accepting of that pattern. I know that people will come and go in my life. Some will seem so close to me today but pack their bags tomorrow and never be seen again. I guess whatever their reasons are I've come to expect that even more than I accept it. And I certainly play my part in that. I allow people to come and go at their leisure, simply opening and closing the door behind them. Again, I'll say that I am by far not a perfect person and there are relationships that have been damaged or eliminated at my hands. Either way, I'm rambling now. Back to the point.
Even when trust is lost, in reality there is nothing you can do to "rebuild" it. You can do all the things you did before your indiscretion but it's up to the person to hand over the trust again. If they never "decide" that you're trustworthy again then all the "earning" in the world isn't going to change that. That's why people talk about forgiveness being an essential part of life. It's why having faith in someone is one of the most important parts of a friendship or relationship. Now, I'm no expert but that's my opinion. Sometimes I don't even think I trust myself. There have been more than enough times that I've swore to myself that I wouldn't do something and then did it anyway; plenty of times I've betrayed myself. But I can't get away from me so all I can do is rebuild, accept and forgive then improve.
I did a lot of talking in this blog. More than I've done in awhile. I'm going to end here. Suffice it to say that trust isn't earned, it's given. And you're given more once you don't fuck up the trust that you got for free. That includes the person in the mirror. Even when the person in the mirror is me.
Ok I'm done venting. Congratulations if you made it to the end of this post.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Lost...
Sometimes I wake up in the morning and don’t know where I am. Everything looks familiar. The bed. The nightstand. The television is mine and the cable box on top of it and the DVD player on top of that. Those hats are mine. Those books belong to me. I bought those shoes.
But somehow this place seems strange. Foreign. It’s like I know here, but I don’t. I’ve been here many times but this feels like the first time – uncomfortable, restless. I’m searching for a way out but I’m not sure where I’m headed. So then the question becomes, what do I do? If I walk out the door, I have no idea which direction I’m headed. Or I could stay here, where it’s warm and where somehow I know instinctively where everything is.
Damn I wish I had a map.
Randomness….
Maxwell station on Pandora is, eh, okay. …. Common station is poppin though. …. Is Nate Robinson really going oversees? I think that’s just going to piss me off. … My friend told me to stop being a bitch and figure out what I’m going to do with my life. … She’s right. … Except for the bitch part. That was mucho. … .I think that’s my new phrase. …. Mucho Mucho. … I love it. … But not as much as I love FTS. It’s a movement. Get right or get left. …. Give me the green light. Give me just one night. I’m ready to go right now. … I always find it funny when someone asks for my help with writing. I’m thinking, “damn I’ve really got them fooled, don’t I?” …. Why the fuck is Jordan Hill a Knick? Damn I’m getting pissed all over again. … When Golden State comes to New York I swear I’m going to kidnap Stephen Curry. … Great now the feds are investigating my blog. Dear Mr. Agent, please read the first blog. Yeah the one where I said I’ll write what the fuck I want. Thanks. … I miss Passa Passa nights. Get Fresh Crew, Handsome Family , GNS. What up! … It’s still amazing to me that I can walk into work whenever I want and leave whenever I want. So sometimes I’m in late and out early yet there’s always someone that comes in after me and leave before me. Now that’s a SMH moment if I ever saw one. … Really sucks that I need a new car. But I’m exciting for all the losing I’m about to do. … I need the kind of change that only Sam Cooke can bring. … Sade in my head right now. … I’d wife it.
C
But somehow this place seems strange. Foreign. It’s like I know here, but I don’t. I’ve been here many times but this feels like the first time – uncomfortable, restless. I’m searching for a way out but I’m not sure where I’m headed. So then the question becomes, what do I do? If I walk out the door, I have no idea which direction I’m headed. Or I could stay here, where it’s warm and where somehow I know instinctively where everything is.
Damn I wish I had a map.
Randomness….
Maxwell station on Pandora is, eh, okay. …. Common station is poppin though. …. Is Nate Robinson really going oversees? I think that’s just going to piss me off. … My friend told me to stop being a bitch and figure out what I’m going to do with my life. … She’s right. … Except for the bitch part. That was mucho. … .I think that’s my new phrase. …. Mucho Mucho. … I love it. … But not as much as I love FTS. It’s a movement. Get right or get left. …. Give me the green light. Give me just one night. I’m ready to go right now. … I always find it funny when someone asks for my help with writing. I’m thinking, “damn I’ve really got them fooled, don’t I?” …. Why the fuck is Jordan Hill a Knick? Damn I’m getting pissed all over again. … When Golden State comes to New York I swear I’m going to kidnap Stephen Curry. … Great now the feds are investigating my blog. Dear Mr. Agent, please read the first blog. Yeah the one where I said I’ll write what the fuck I want. Thanks. … I miss Passa Passa nights. Get Fresh Crew, Handsome Family , GNS. What up! … It’s still amazing to me that I can walk into work whenever I want and leave whenever I want. So sometimes I’m in late and out early yet there’s always someone that comes in after me and leave before me. Now that’s a SMH moment if I ever saw one. … Really sucks that I need a new car. But I’m exciting for all the losing I’m about to do. … I need the kind of change that only Sam Cooke can bring. … Sade in my head right now. … I’d wife it.
C
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Tryin to get right...
It’s crazy that I haven’t been here for awhile. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t abandon this and I won’t. But the idleness of this space only reminded me of a single thing: that I am perpetually afraid of not being perfect. So this experiment reinforced that. I am back now because I refuse to let this space die, this space that has allowed to me to completely be myself and purge my thoughts before someone else had a chance to call them into question.
I told a friend recently that everyone needs a place where only their thoughts exist. Everyone needs a place where only their ideas are relevant. The side effect to that is that it opens the possibility for you to challenge yourself and then convince yourself that you can’t. I think I had convinced myself that I can’t. Well, not that I “can’t” but that I “couldn’t.” I couldn’t find something that sounded perfect, something that would earn me a pat on the back, a tap on the head. Then the other day I overheard a conversation between brothers where the older one exclaimed, “I don’t need anyone to feel me. I feel myself enough.”
I don’t need anyone to feel me. I feel myself enough.
Why was I looking for someone else to feel what I’m saying? How did this place become a workshop for validation instead of my haven of freedom? I’m writing this to remind myself that I’m good at what I do.
This is what I do.
So I wouldn’t need anyone to tell me how great I am. I don’t need for my words to inspire anyone. I will inspire myself and hopefully the crowd will form behind me like the kids chasing Rocky through Philly or better yet the folks to trailed Forrest Gump around the country and found inspiration in something he did simply because he felt like it. “I just felt like running.”
I just feel like writing. I just feel like being better than I’ve ever been. I just feel like finding greatness. Wait, this sounds familiar. Here’s the thing about these blank pages – I can say whatever I want. So let me correct myself, if this is supposed to be one of the few places were unfettered honesty is embraced. I’m done waiting for greatness to find me, standing here with my arms open with this silly yet welcoming smile. This is my responsibility. My promise to myself. To be great each day. Somehow better each day.
OK, great pep talk. Let’s get to work.
Randomness…..
On plane from Houston to NY …. 13 hours of traveling, a 90-minute flight delay, bad airplane food, a seat that doesn’t recline and somehow the “upright position” has me oddly leaning forward. … It’s amazing that I haven’t been aggravated once today. … Could be that I had four of the best days of my life back-to-back-to-back in Panama. … Un Paradiso por favor y 17 shots of vodka? …. Hey that’s all the Spanish I got. … Oh yea and I figured out that hookah is dulce fumar … So is something else (evil laugh). …. Jill Scott is beasting in my headphones right now. … Lauryn Hill demolished that MTV Unplugged show. Remember that? … Think about the last time a contemporary artist directly challenged our complete social structure in a song or in her case 14 songs. … Jay-Z turned his Unplugged session into a poetry Slam. … Name five rappers that could sit on a stool and shut down a coffee bar. … There’s only so much you can drink before even the sight of a bottle makes you want to yack your brains out. …. There’s only so many times a person can say “I’m not drunk” before they have to come to grips with reality. … Or walk in a straight line. … I couldn’t take a phone call or get on the internet for four straight days. … And I loved every second of it. …. Ok back to reality. Oops, there goes gravity. … I enjoy anyone that I can talk to about the Knicks, hip-hop, the Vybz Kartel vs. Mavado battle, the greed that stems from capitalism, the pros and cons of socialism and what exactly is the difference between good head and great head. …. Now that’s a soul mate. … She’s from the Chi…. Kanye in the IPod now.
C
I told a friend recently that everyone needs a place where only their thoughts exist. Everyone needs a place where only their ideas are relevant. The side effect to that is that it opens the possibility for you to challenge yourself and then convince yourself that you can’t. I think I had convinced myself that I can’t. Well, not that I “can’t” but that I “couldn’t.” I couldn’t find something that sounded perfect, something that would earn me a pat on the back, a tap on the head. Then the other day I overheard a conversation between brothers where the older one exclaimed, “I don’t need anyone to feel me. I feel myself enough.”
I don’t need anyone to feel me. I feel myself enough.
Why was I looking for someone else to feel what I’m saying? How did this place become a workshop for validation instead of my haven of freedom? I’m writing this to remind myself that I’m good at what I do.
This is what I do.
So I wouldn’t need anyone to tell me how great I am. I don’t need for my words to inspire anyone. I will inspire myself and hopefully the crowd will form behind me like the kids chasing Rocky through Philly or better yet the folks to trailed Forrest Gump around the country and found inspiration in something he did simply because he felt like it. “I just felt like running.”
I just feel like writing. I just feel like being better than I’ve ever been. I just feel like finding greatness. Wait, this sounds familiar. Here’s the thing about these blank pages – I can say whatever I want. So let me correct myself, if this is supposed to be one of the few places were unfettered honesty is embraced. I’m done waiting for greatness to find me, standing here with my arms open with this silly yet welcoming smile. This is my responsibility. My promise to myself. To be great each day. Somehow better each day.
OK, great pep talk. Let’s get to work.
Randomness…..
On plane from Houston to NY …. 13 hours of traveling, a 90-minute flight delay, bad airplane food, a seat that doesn’t recline and somehow the “upright position” has me oddly leaning forward. … It’s amazing that I haven’t been aggravated once today. … Could be that I had four of the best days of my life back-to-back-to-back in Panama. … Un Paradiso por favor y 17 shots of vodka? …. Hey that’s all the Spanish I got. … Oh yea and I figured out that hookah is dulce fumar … So is something else (evil laugh). …. Jill Scott is beasting in my headphones right now. … Lauryn Hill demolished that MTV Unplugged show. Remember that? … Think about the last time a contemporary artist directly challenged our complete social structure in a song or in her case 14 songs. … Jay-Z turned his Unplugged session into a poetry Slam. … Name five rappers that could sit on a stool and shut down a coffee bar. … There’s only so much you can drink before even the sight of a bottle makes you want to yack your brains out. …. There’s only so many times a person can say “I’m not drunk” before they have to come to grips with reality. … Or walk in a straight line. … I couldn’t take a phone call or get on the internet for four straight days. … And I loved every second of it. …. Ok back to reality. Oops, there goes gravity. … I enjoy anyone that I can talk to about the Knicks, hip-hop, the Vybz Kartel vs. Mavado battle, the greed that stems from capitalism, the pros and cons of socialism and what exactly is the difference between good head and great head. …. Now that’s a soul mate. … She’s from the Chi…. Kanye in the IPod now.
C
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Cause I feel like being Random
Randomness....
Listening to The Calm.... Waiting for the Storm.... Damn outside is Warm. ... Damn I miss my Dorm. .... I wanna take it Back. .... This real life shit is Wack. .... Feel like the whole world's on my Back. .... Damn I need a Track..... I got flows. .....What if writing was like being a rapper? What if all I had to do was write about all the expensive crap I want and the women that I've been with? Would you still read it? What you still be a fan? .... I moved on to Biggie's Ready to Die. ... I'm all that and a dime sack. Where da paper at? Gimme da loot! .... I've decided that I'm the opposite of a feminist. I'm not a chauvinist. I'll call myself the Defender of the Degradation of Men. And with this position I promise to fight against women who spread the stereotypes of me and fight the men that constantly co-sign them. .... Men are not inherently immature, savage, whore-mongering, selfish, insensitive cavemen. ..... Every man is different just like every woman is different. Some are whores. Some are insensitive. Some are selfish and stupid and mean. ... Some will love you so hard it'll make your face hurt. Others will ignore you, the way men are "supposed" to. ....There are a couple songs on Drake's album that literally pull words from my mouth. .... I just wanna be successful. ... I don't need to be rich. I don't need a Bentley coupe or a sky-rise apartment. I don't need to be have a suit for everyday of the year and my sneaker game so crazy that I can wear two pairs of sneakers everyday for a year and never repeat. .... I just want to be able to pay my bills without trying to gauge how much money I'll have to eat until my next pay day. I just want to be able to go on vacation without having to have a "fuck it" moment. .... I just want to feel accomplished. I want to feel like what I do matters to someone other than the people that generally like me as a person. ..... I'm glad that Obama made a new regulation to better gas mileage on cars but really, who's buying American cars anyway? .... I'm reading the Audacity of Hope too. This dude really got me convinced that he really just wants to do the right thing for the country, not the Democratic thing or the Republican thing, not the left thing or the right thing but the RIGHT thing. ... I met a girl the other day that quit her job, the job that she went to school to do, to become a make-up artist. Because that's what she wanted to do. I couldn't possible have any more respect for her. She's my idol right now. .... Not just because she took a risk and quit her job but because she could pinpoint the thing that would make her most happy in life. Then she found the courage to allow success into her life. ..... I feel like I'm an explorer trying to find the treasure in my own life. Not really sure what I'm looking for but I know that "something" is in this jungle somewhere. ... I'll know when I find it. .... Oh yeah, me and Procrastination are sooo back together. Gym told me to go fuck myself and I think I've run about twice since I wrote that wonderful piece about running. FML ....
Listening to The Calm.... Waiting for the Storm.... Damn outside is Warm. ... Damn I miss my Dorm. .... I wanna take it Back. .... This real life shit is Wack. .... Feel like the whole world's on my Back. .... Damn I need a Track..... I got flows. .....What if writing was like being a rapper? What if all I had to do was write about all the expensive crap I want and the women that I've been with? Would you still read it? What you still be a fan? .... I moved on to Biggie's Ready to Die. ... I'm all that and a dime sack. Where da paper at? Gimme da loot! .... I've decided that I'm the opposite of a feminist. I'm not a chauvinist. I'll call myself the Defender of the Degradation of Men. And with this position I promise to fight against women who spread the stereotypes of me and fight the men that constantly co-sign them. .... Men are not inherently immature, savage, whore-mongering, selfish, insensitive cavemen. ..... Every man is different just like every woman is different. Some are whores. Some are insensitive. Some are selfish and stupid and mean. ... Some will love you so hard it'll make your face hurt. Others will ignore you, the way men are "supposed" to. ....There are a couple songs on Drake's album that literally pull words from my mouth. .... I just wanna be successful. ... I don't need to be rich. I don't need a Bentley coupe or a sky-rise apartment. I don't need to be have a suit for everyday of the year and my sneaker game so crazy that I can wear two pairs of sneakers everyday for a year and never repeat. .... I just want to be able to pay my bills without trying to gauge how much money I'll have to eat until my next pay day. I just want to be able to go on vacation without having to have a "fuck it" moment. .... I just want to feel accomplished. I want to feel like what I do matters to someone other than the people that generally like me as a person. ..... I'm glad that Obama made a new regulation to better gas mileage on cars but really, who's buying American cars anyway? .... I'm reading the Audacity of Hope too. This dude really got me convinced that he really just wants to do the right thing for the country, not the Democratic thing or the Republican thing, not the left thing or the right thing but the RIGHT thing. ... I met a girl the other day that quit her job, the job that she went to school to do, to become a make-up artist. Because that's what she wanted to do. I couldn't possible have any more respect for her. She's my idol right now. .... Not just because she took a risk and quit her job but because she could pinpoint the thing that would make her most happy in life. Then she found the courage to allow success into her life. ..... I feel like I'm an explorer trying to find the treasure in my own life. Not really sure what I'm looking for but I know that "something" is in this jungle somewhere. ... I'll know when I find it. .... Oh yeah, me and Procrastination are sooo back together. Gym told me to go fuck myself and I think I've run about twice since I wrote that wonderful piece about running. FML ....
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Mirror
There are days when I ask myself who I am. There are days when I wonder how it became so, that I would do certain things and say certain things. There are days when I wonder how my passions were molded. Why do my eyes see the world this way?
On those days I look in the mirror.
I stare until I find what I'm looking for. I search my own eyes for answers. I search my own face for resolution. Then I watch while my jet black hair sprouts and grows near my shoulder while some gray uniformed strains infiltrate my scalp. My cheeks round and my skin's hue darkens a few shades. There are lines on my face from when I smiled too much. It shows that I cried too. Big cries. The kinds that scar the inside. The kind that time heals.
I find wisdom in my own eyes -- eyes that have seen growth and success and failure. These eyes have seen life and survived death. These eyes are hopeful and resilient, compassionate and experienced.
My heart beats differently.
This heart is big enough to love the world. This heart has a capacity that I've only strived to. This heart has been broken over and over and yet defiantly beats stronger each time it has healed all by itself. This heart gives with no thought of restitution. The heart knows Life. It knows that Life will find repayment, whether it's today, tomorrow or in the next lifetime. I look down.
My hands shrink smaller. My fingers are thinner. These are a teacher's hands, a molder's hands.
A Mother's hands.
There is nothing I have accomplished without your hand pressed against my back. There is no truth I have spoken that you didn't insert into my thoughts. My successes are yours. My failures are my deviations from the path that you illuminated for me. You make me smile in a way that warms me like the sun. You are my light. You are where I seek salvation. You are where I find my truth.
You are my example. You are my friend. I love you.
Thank you. You didn't just make me.
You made me.
-Your Son.
On those days I look in the mirror.
I stare until I find what I'm looking for. I search my own eyes for answers. I search my own face for resolution. Then I watch while my jet black hair sprouts and grows near my shoulder while some gray uniformed strains infiltrate my scalp. My cheeks round and my skin's hue darkens a few shades. There are lines on my face from when I smiled too much. It shows that I cried too. Big cries. The kinds that scar the inside. The kind that time heals.
I find wisdom in my own eyes -- eyes that have seen growth and success and failure. These eyes have seen life and survived death. These eyes are hopeful and resilient, compassionate and experienced.
My heart beats differently.
This heart is big enough to love the world. This heart has a capacity that I've only strived to. This heart has been broken over and over and yet defiantly beats stronger each time it has healed all by itself. This heart gives with no thought of restitution. The heart knows Life. It knows that Life will find repayment, whether it's today, tomorrow or in the next lifetime. I look down.
My hands shrink smaller. My fingers are thinner. These are a teacher's hands, a molder's hands.
A Mother's hands.
There is nothing I have accomplished without your hand pressed against my back. There is no truth I have spoken that you didn't insert into my thoughts. My successes are yours. My failures are my deviations from the path that you illuminated for me. You make me smile in a way that warms me like the sun. You are my light. You are where I seek salvation. You are where I find my truth.
You are my example. You are my friend. I love you.
Thank you. You didn't just make me.
You made me.
-Your Son.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
I don't usually does this but uh........
I want to say that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. But the truth is that I wake up and roll off the same side of the bed every morning. It's just this morning Life was waiting at the front door with his fists up. I'm not sure what got into him but he was clearly pissed and was looking for company this morning. So now I'm pissed. We're both pissed. So what did his aggression solve?
Sometimes it takes a lot not to turn into that guy that shoots up the McDonald's because his Big Mac didn't look like the one in the picture. So today I want to spaze because this life doesn't look like the one I wanted to buy in the picture. This is a soggy ass, thin, despicable excuse for a burger and I wish I could pull a sawed-off shotgun on the cashier and calmly say, "Excuse me Sir, but this isn't what I ordered."
Today is that day when if they can't get my burger right I swear I'm gonna shoot up the place.
Today, I had to find money that I didn't have to help pay for something that I can't afford. And that's not the annoying part. The prize is that it still wasn't enough to fix the problem so not only did it plant a small bomb in my pocket but it served as reminder the size of one of those flying advertisement banners that reads, "You're broke...... And you're an asshole. ..... Asshole." Then when I decide to drive to work, I roll through the e-z pass lane only to stop when barrier doesn't lift itself to let me pass. There goes the e-z part.And there goes that damn flying advertisement again. Off to work. Nothing better than walking into a place that generally pisses you off than walking in pissed off already. Oddly enough though, I wasn't pissed. Yet. I had the great fortune of receiving a Dunkin Donuts coffee cup with a small hole in it. Apparently the cup knew that my shirt was feeling somewhat parched and decided to offer it a taste of toasted almond coffee. Great.
So currently I'm expending the majority of my energy restraining myself from cracking a stranger in the face. I think it's only fair that they feel what I feel. These are the days that I imagine myself having a Samurai sword that's magically connected to my spirit so it belongs to only me. Then I slip through Manhattan stealth-like. I'm a ninja and it will be my honor to take home several heads with me as sacrifice to the gods.
But I'm getting off topic. Clearly the e-z pass is no longer easy. It's the line to be embarrassed because everyone who's impatiently waiting behind now knows that you have an issue with your bill. Maybe I should have taken the train today. Wait, I just looked at the newspaper. Fare hike. Again. The MTA official call it a doomsday plan. Another called it "horrific." Where's my sword? Scratch that. Where's that shotgun. To hell with it, I'm carrying both.
Is this venting or plotting? Am I crazy or frustrated? Blood-thirsty or fed up? So the sun is going to come out tomorrow. But what good is that if it shines on the same pile of shit and makes it stink worse? This is an attempt to turn the pen into a broom. No, maybe the pen can be the gun or the Samurai sword. I'll use the words to cloak in darkness while Life pays for its indiscretions. No, no, the pen will be the broom so that I can sweep up the pile and tomorrow the sun will shine on me.
If not, the gun is still loaded.
C
Sometimes it takes a lot not to turn into that guy that shoots up the McDonald's because his Big Mac didn't look like the one in the picture. So today I want to spaze because this life doesn't look like the one I wanted to buy in the picture. This is a soggy ass, thin, despicable excuse for a burger and I wish I could pull a sawed-off shotgun on the cashier and calmly say, "Excuse me Sir, but this isn't what I ordered."
Today is that day when if they can't get my burger right I swear I'm gonna shoot up the place.
Today, I had to find money that I didn't have to help pay for something that I can't afford. And that's not the annoying part. The prize is that it still wasn't enough to fix the problem so not only did it plant a small bomb in my pocket but it served as reminder the size of one of those flying advertisement banners that reads, "You're broke...... And you're an asshole. ..... Asshole." Then when I decide to drive to work, I roll through the e-z pass lane only to stop when barrier doesn't lift itself to let me pass. There goes the e-z part.And there goes that damn flying advertisement again. Off to work. Nothing better than walking into a place that generally pisses you off than walking in pissed off already. Oddly enough though, I wasn't pissed. Yet. I had the great fortune of receiving a Dunkin Donuts coffee cup with a small hole in it. Apparently the cup knew that my shirt was feeling somewhat parched and decided to offer it a taste of toasted almond coffee. Great.
So currently I'm expending the majority of my energy restraining myself from cracking a stranger in the face. I think it's only fair that they feel what I feel. These are the days that I imagine myself having a Samurai sword that's magically connected to my spirit so it belongs to only me. Then I slip through Manhattan stealth-like. I'm a ninja and it will be my honor to take home several heads with me as sacrifice to the gods.
But I'm getting off topic. Clearly the e-z pass is no longer easy. It's the line to be embarrassed because everyone who's impatiently waiting behind now knows that you have an issue with your bill. Maybe I should have taken the train today. Wait, I just looked at the newspaper. Fare hike. Again. The MTA official call it a doomsday plan. Another called it "horrific." Where's my sword? Scratch that. Where's that shotgun. To hell with it, I'm carrying both.
Is this venting or plotting? Am I crazy or frustrated? Blood-thirsty or fed up? So the sun is going to come out tomorrow. But what good is that if it shines on the same pile of shit and makes it stink worse? This is an attempt to turn the pen into a broom. No, maybe the pen can be the gun or the Samurai sword. I'll use the words to cloak in darkness while Life pays for its indiscretions. No, no, the pen will be the broom so that I can sweep up the pile and tomorrow the sun will shine on me.
If not, the gun is still loaded.
C
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Random writings..... (unfinished)
It felt like I woke up before the world. I felt like I was all alone, knowing that the rest of the world existed but that they only existed because of me. When I woke up, someone pressed the Play button on life and every scene waited for me to enter at Stage Left before Action. Do people really exist when they aren't around me. Is this world real or am I part of someone else's imagination?
Somehow everything became a silent movie and even though I was sitting there as a character, I felt outside. I was a spectator. Maybe I just turned the channel. Do I belong here?
But there is something tranquil about observing the world in its stillness. Those are the few minutes that you witness life in its daily purity, before it's corrupted by people and curse words and stereotypes and pressures and failures and greed and selfishness. It's the time before people corrupt space by their inner. Each night the darkness cleans the earth and each morning ushers in freshness. I guess the morning is good.
And if this wasn't random enough.....RANDOMNESS
Ryan Leslie is more talented that I've imagined being. I just need him to button his shirt. .... Drake is a monster. Even though he looks like Al B. Sure's kid. I'd buy his album twice though. .... Steve Harvey's book is propaganda. Public Service Announcement: No man can tell you how ALL men think. .... Why does that thought just sound stupid to me yet people are reading this book like he's the Pied Piper. .... Read PUSH. I'm 70 pages in and it's one of the best books I've ever read. .... T.I. had machine guns in his house and went to jail for a year.... machine guns, semi-automatic rifles, pistols, loaded magazines and $10,000 cash in his car. Yet Weezy goes on TV and tells Katie Couric that he's a gansta because he says what he wants. .... If I'm supposed to be a writer, why has writing been so hard? .... Either I'm afraid to be good or I'm just not that good at this. .... Sometimes I want to disappear. Not out of existence. Just out of the world. Give me a house in Middle Earth right next to Frodo. .... We out here angry that President Obama bowed his head to the leader of another country. We should be happy that our leader can show some humility instead of being arrogant fucks like the rest of us. See how far that "We rule the world" shit got us last time. ... I haven't visited Gym in awhile. But I'm good. Running is keeping me company. .... Sometimes I feel so fly, I'm satellite and my swag is playing catch up. .... Sometimes I wear Swag like clothes to cover up the fact that I feel naked underneath. .... People have no problem being analytical but think that introspection is a made-up word. .... Randomness is healthy because it doesn't force me to color inside the lines. .... If I can run for 30 minutes a day, I can write for 30 minutes a day.
I hope reading isn't exhausting.
Somehow everything became a silent movie and even though I was sitting there as a character, I felt outside. I was a spectator. Maybe I just turned the channel. Do I belong here?
But there is something tranquil about observing the world in its stillness. Those are the few minutes that you witness life in its daily purity, before it's corrupted by people and curse words and stereotypes and pressures and failures and greed and selfishness. It's the time before people corrupt space by their inner. Each night the darkness cleans the earth and each morning ushers in freshness. I guess the morning is good.
And if this wasn't random enough.....RANDOMNESS
Ryan Leslie is more talented that I've imagined being. I just need him to button his shirt. .... Drake is a monster. Even though he looks like Al B. Sure's kid. I'd buy his album twice though. .... Steve Harvey's book is propaganda. Public Service Announcement: No man can tell you how ALL men think. .... Why does that thought just sound stupid to me yet people are reading this book like he's the Pied Piper. .... Read PUSH. I'm 70 pages in and it's one of the best books I've ever read. .... T.I. had machine guns in his house and went to jail for a year.... machine guns, semi-automatic rifles, pistols, loaded magazines and $10,000 cash in his car. Yet Weezy goes on TV and tells Katie Couric that he's a gansta because he says what he wants. .... If I'm supposed to be a writer, why has writing been so hard? .... Either I'm afraid to be good or I'm just not that good at this. .... Sometimes I want to disappear. Not out of existence. Just out of the world. Give me a house in Middle Earth right next to Frodo. .... We out here angry that President Obama bowed his head to the leader of another country. We should be happy that our leader can show some humility instead of being arrogant fucks like the rest of us. See how far that "We rule the world" shit got us last time. ... I haven't visited Gym in awhile. But I'm good. Running is keeping me company. .... Sometimes I feel so fly, I'm satellite and my swag is playing catch up. .... Sometimes I wear Swag like clothes to cover up the fact that I feel naked underneath. .... People have no problem being analytical but think that introspection is a made-up word. .... Randomness is healthy because it doesn't force me to color inside the lines. .... If I can run for 30 minutes a day, I can write for 30 minutes a day.
I hope reading isn't exhausting.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Why I Run.....
The reason why some people become addicted to running is because it offers an almost absolute truth. It is objective. It is forthright. Unrelenting. Painfully honest. Joyfully cruel.
Running will never tell you that you can do something that you can't. If X then Y. If you work then you will be rewarded. The rewards are minimal. But every reward is personally noticeable and provides a reason to attempt torturing yourself through another 30-minute run tomorrow. Running is not racist. It doesn't show class bias. It's not sexist. It doesn't judge based on religion or whether you're a mean person or nice or funny for fat or skinny or bald or stupid or ignorant. Running doesn't care if you're Democrat or Republican or if you give to charity or mentor children. It doesn't care if you're selfish or a recluse.
But running cares if you run. It cares if you challenge yourself. And Running will punish you if you don't. It might even punish you if you do. Running challenges you to punish yourself, to torture or body. Call it sadomasochistic meditation.
Running allows you time to push your limits and the only judge of success is You. The watch presents the facts. You decide if the mission is failed or accomplished.
And despite your own personal limits, running has none and it inspires you to follow suit. It tells you that there is always something better than what you've done, yet gives you the leeway to enjoy today's improvement.
Today my legs didn't feel like I was lugging two tree trunks. Today my heart didn't feel like it would tear a hole in my chest. Today my body cursed me out for running those first four miles and then decided to come along for the fifth mile anyway.
Today I shaved five seconds off the 3-mile loop that I ran last week.
Today I endured a run in the rain.
Today, I actually finished my run.
Today, I didn't walk.
Today, I survived.
My legs aren't what they used to be. I remember when my chest felt like an inexhaustible engine and my legs were more like wheels. Some days my body was more ready to run than I was. My legs would beg my mind to get me off this bed so they could please get a workout. Now my legs are spoiled, fat and spiteful. They resist my every stride. They are angry about the 50 extra pounds they are forced to carry and disgusted by the aching they must endure afterward.
The hard part is that I remember what it's like to be fast. I remember when six-minute miles were normal. When 6:45 was "conversational pace" and anything slower than that was a jog. Now anything faster than 9-minute pace is an all-out sprint. Now if I raced my best friend barefoot down the block, an ambulance and oxygen mask better be on stand by.
Well, not now. That was before.
Now I don't need to be fast. Now I just need to finish what I start. Now I'm just happy to put one foot in front of the other. I'd be happy to see the numbers on the scale recede. I'd be happy if my legs weren't so damn disagreeable. But they're getting the point. We're going to run whether they like it or not. And every day will be a reward. Every second shaved. Every breath that wasn't an uncontrollable pant. I'm happy just to run. I'm happy just to finish.
Running will never tell you that you can do something that you can't. If X then Y. If you work then you will be rewarded. The rewards are minimal. But every reward is personally noticeable and provides a reason to attempt torturing yourself through another 30-minute run tomorrow. Running is not racist. It doesn't show class bias. It's not sexist. It doesn't judge based on religion or whether you're a mean person or nice or funny for fat or skinny or bald or stupid or ignorant. Running doesn't care if you're Democrat or Republican or if you give to charity or mentor children. It doesn't care if you're selfish or a recluse.
But running cares if you run. It cares if you challenge yourself. And Running will punish you if you don't. It might even punish you if you do. Running challenges you to punish yourself, to torture or body. Call it sadomasochistic meditation.
Running allows you time to push your limits and the only judge of success is You. The watch presents the facts. You decide if the mission is failed or accomplished.
And despite your own personal limits, running has none and it inspires you to follow suit. It tells you that there is always something better than what you've done, yet gives you the leeway to enjoy today's improvement.
Today my legs didn't feel like I was lugging two tree trunks. Today my heart didn't feel like it would tear a hole in my chest. Today my body cursed me out for running those first four miles and then decided to come along for the fifth mile anyway.
Today I shaved five seconds off the 3-mile loop that I ran last week.
Today I endured a run in the rain.
Today, I actually finished my run.
Today, I didn't walk.
Today, I survived.
My legs aren't what they used to be. I remember when my chest felt like an inexhaustible engine and my legs were more like wheels. Some days my body was more ready to run than I was. My legs would beg my mind to get me off this bed so they could please get a workout. Now my legs are spoiled, fat and spiteful. They resist my every stride. They are angry about the 50 extra pounds they are forced to carry and disgusted by the aching they must endure afterward.
The hard part is that I remember what it's like to be fast. I remember when six-minute miles were normal. When 6:45 was "conversational pace" and anything slower than that was a jog. Now anything faster than 9-minute pace is an all-out sprint. Now if I raced my best friend barefoot down the block, an ambulance and oxygen mask better be on stand by.
Well, not now. That was before.
Now I don't need to be fast. Now I just need to finish what I start. Now I'm just happy to put one foot in front of the other. I'd be happy to see the numbers on the scale recede. I'd be happy if my legs weren't so damn disagreeable. But they're getting the point. We're going to run whether they like it or not. And every day will be a reward. Every second shaved. Every breath that wasn't an uncontrollable pant. I'm happy just to run. I'm happy just to finish.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Standoff...
A blank page is so disrespectful. It looks at you, defiant and proud. Clean. Just waiting for you to paint the picture. But when your mind is as blank as the page in front of you all the emptiness just leaves room for frustration to crawl its sneaky ass into your mind. Fucker.
So I got a plan. I’m going to keep soiling this page with my words until a story forms. I’m going to be as persistently, blindly flagrant as this blank page. I wish I could just throw a pail of genius on the page and cover it in its entirety. Then throw the next page up to do the same. But you have to be methodical with these pages, cover it line by line, inch by inch, word by word until it drowns in your thoughts. You have to watch while it fades into the sea like the villain and disappears into the pool of lava until his index finger is the last thing slowly sinking in.
This is the standoff. Me and you Page. I’m going to sit here until I dress you to my liking. Or at this point, dress you at all, because I’ve let you remain naked too long. At this point your outfit doesn’t matter. You’ll wear what I tell you to wear.
I’ve been subordinate too long. I waited for you to come to me. I waited for you to then validate me. I’m taking control now – of you and myself. I will focus here. I will decide my pace or I will sit here and stare at each other until I feel I’ve concentrated on one thing for a sufficient amount of time.
You’ve been winning. But I’m gonna take this thing back. Inch by Inch until you’re as filled as I know my mind is.
So I got a plan. I’m going to keep soiling this page with my words until a story forms. I’m going to be as persistently, blindly flagrant as this blank page. I wish I could just throw a pail of genius on the page and cover it in its entirety. Then throw the next page up to do the same. But you have to be methodical with these pages, cover it line by line, inch by inch, word by word until it drowns in your thoughts. You have to watch while it fades into the sea like the villain and disappears into the pool of lava until his index finger is the last thing slowly sinking in.
This is the standoff. Me and you Page. I’m going to sit here until I dress you to my liking. Or at this point, dress you at all, because I’ve let you remain naked too long. At this point your outfit doesn’t matter. You’ll wear what I tell you to wear.
I’ve been subordinate too long. I waited for you to come to me. I waited for you to then validate me. I’m taking control now – of you and myself. I will focus here. I will decide my pace or I will sit here and stare at each other until I feel I’ve concentrated on one thing for a sufficient amount of time.
You’ve been winning. But I’m gonna take this thing back. Inch by Inch until you’re as filled as I know my mind is.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Purge....
What do I do when the pen betrays me? I know I'm supposed to be in control. But there were so many times when the pen took over. There were so many times that I watched while the pen did the work and all I need to do was read. The pen provided not only the words, but the creativity, the rhythm, the method, the pull and the insight.
What do I do when the pen refuses to do my work for me? Could it be the pen is just tired, sick of me, allowing it, to fly solo. Maybe my pen is challenging me. Do I have a gift? Or is the pen the gift?
Does being a great writer require arrogance or self-consciousness? Does it require both? What makes someone talented? How many people have to co-sign your talent for it to be certified?
What if everyone co-signs but me?
How can I get my pen to trust me again? It wasn't always like this. The pen was my vessel. My foundation. My picture when words escaped my breath. So I want the team back. Me and the pen. I'll pull my load this time. I still can't believe the pen turned on me so quickly.
Maybe this will be the re-creation of me. Let's call it the Perfection of C.
I'll cut this short while we make a mends. Baby steps.
What do I do when the pen refuses to do my work for me? Could it be the pen is just tired, sick of me, allowing it, to fly solo. Maybe my pen is challenging me. Do I have a gift? Or is the pen the gift?
Does being a great writer require arrogance or self-consciousness? Does it require both? What makes someone talented? How many people have to co-sign your talent for it to be certified?
What if everyone co-signs but me?
How can I get my pen to trust me again? It wasn't always like this. The pen was my vessel. My foundation. My picture when words escaped my breath. So I want the team back. Me and the pen. I'll pull my load this time. I still can't believe the pen turned on me so quickly.
Maybe this will be the re-creation of me. Let's call it the Perfection of C.
I'll cut this short while we make a mends. Baby steps.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Some advice....
This took me two weeks to write. That's how hard it's been for me to write anything lately....
I went to a press conference today. It was mostly boring, probably too long and more disorganized than it looked. Plus it seemed that most people, the press included, didn’t care to be there. To some extent the invited athletes cared. Probably because they got a chance to feel important in a sport that usually leaves them feeling largely ignored outside of those closely related to the sport.
But the most interesting thing that happened was that a kid gave me his card. He said that he remembered me and that he wanted to talk to me. That maybe I could help him. For the most part, I’m flattered. But in my head I’m saying, “Shit I was hoping that you’d know somebody that can help me. I ain’t nobody.” He was impressed by me because of my job and I was impressed by him because he’s a great athlete. Which brings me to a larger question: Why aren’t we more impressed with ourselves?
There’s something to be said for humility of course. My arm is certainly long enough to pat my own back. But where is the line between acknowledging yourself and being an arrogant fuck? Now the phrases seem far in relation but the reality isn’t. It’s as simple as someone says, “Hey, that shirt is hot.” To which you respond, “I know. It is kinda fire ain’t it?” But you could also say thank you, knowing that you’re shirt is hot and then go to the mall and look for an even hotter shirt. You could also simply appreciate the fact that you made a good choice that day in the mall and take that moment to feel good about yourself.
I digress. The long analogy is simply to say that we live in a world obsessed with success, however one defines it. And because of that we’re in a chase to find something intangible, something that you’ll likely define and then redefine once you think you’ve gotten closer to it. Whenever I’ve gotten a raise I decided I needed to make even more money. Whenever I’ve gotten a job I decided that I need a better job. Now to some extent that is just fine. Never being satisfied forces a person to continually look to improve themselves and their current situation. But at some point we all need to take inventory.
We need to look at our college diploma and smile and the accomplishment. Look at the fact that you still have a job or that your boss maybe paid you a compliment last week. If you don’t have a job, then you should be proud of yourself for not turning to the streets yet. Commend yourself for holding back from knocking off the local liquor store or kicking the first person in the face that tells you how much they hate their job when all you’ve been asking God to provide for you for months is a paycheck. Take account of how diligent you’ve been in looking for a job or making the most out of the job you do have, or at least trying to.
Sometimes you need to be proud of yourself. Even if you need to look for a reason to. If you don’t suck your own dick, who will?
Sometimes you need to take account of your talents. Get in touch with your star player. Yes, the star player on your team is you. If it’s not, then you need to spend extra time in practice changing the plays and making yourself the go-to guy.
Thank yourself for being exactly who you are. Then challenge yourself to be even better.
Randomness......
Knicks just pissed me off. ..... I hear Robin Thicke in my mind. His first album. Well, his first hot one. .... In the past month at work I've met Tiki Barber, Carl Lewis and Kim Smith who is one of the fastest distance runners in the history of the world and a lot of times I'm still sick of being in the office. .... It's Black History Month so I bought The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes. I'm happy about that. .... Having money's not everything, not having it is. .... Damn Kanye drops some gems. .... I had to pay $1316 to fix my car the other day. Man I wish I could have kicked the mechanic in the nuts. I woulda pissed myself laughing. ... I need a haircut so bad I'm about four days off from officially being a vagabond. .... Girls never want dudes to try to holla at them and then they complain about being single. Stupid. ..... Fuck yo couch Charlie Murphy!!!!.... LMAO.... Sorry I couldn't hold that one in. .... Is it counterproductive to try to go to the gym a lot and then go home and drink and smoke?? ... By the way, Gym and I aren't back together but we're trying to work things out. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank her for giving me a second chance and apologize for not visiting her today. Love you baby. See you Sunday. ... Procrastination is a fucking whore ass bitch and she's so tight right now that I've been ignoring her like the nerdy kid in third grade. .... How come if the White House lawn is full watermelons this year, it wasn't full of crackers last year and every year before. .... It's so much easier to think of all the things you don't have than all the crap that you actually do have. .... Sex advice for the day: Anything you do in the bedroom is so much better for all parties if you actually like doing it. And please, don't do anything in the sheets simply because you're hoping to get something in return. Ain't nothing worse than a girl looking at your dick, taking a deep breath and making the "OK lemme just get this over with" face. Then you'll give me wack head and we'll both be miserable and want you to leave before your teeth skims my head for the first time. .... I can't believe it's been a month since I've done this. Some folk had no qualms about reminding me of that. ... I appreciate it though. Thanks for reading. ..... I'm out. Promise I'll be back soon. Procrastination got wrapped. I'm working on Gym. I can't let Blog leave me. I love her.
C
I went to a press conference today. It was mostly boring, probably too long and more disorganized than it looked. Plus it seemed that most people, the press included, didn’t care to be there. To some extent the invited athletes cared. Probably because they got a chance to feel important in a sport that usually leaves them feeling largely ignored outside of those closely related to the sport.
But the most interesting thing that happened was that a kid gave me his card. He said that he remembered me and that he wanted to talk to me. That maybe I could help him. For the most part, I’m flattered. But in my head I’m saying, “Shit I was hoping that you’d know somebody that can help me. I ain’t nobody.” He was impressed by me because of my job and I was impressed by him because he’s a great athlete. Which brings me to a larger question: Why aren’t we more impressed with ourselves?
There’s something to be said for humility of course. My arm is certainly long enough to pat my own back. But where is the line between acknowledging yourself and being an arrogant fuck? Now the phrases seem far in relation but the reality isn’t. It’s as simple as someone says, “Hey, that shirt is hot.” To which you respond, “I know. It is kinda fire ain’t it?” But you could also say thank you, knowing that you’re shirt is hot and then go to the mall and look for an even hotter shirt. You could also simply appreciate the fact that you made a good choice that day in the mall and take that moment to feel good about yourself.
I digress. The long analogy is simply to say that we live in a world obsessed with success, however one defines it. And because of that we’re in a chase to find something intangible, something that you’ll likely define and then redefine once you think you’ve gotten closer to it. Whenever I’ve gotten a raise I decided I needed to make even more money. Whenever I’ve gotten a job I decided that I need a better job. Now to some extent that is just fine. Never being satisfied forces a person to continually look to improve themselves and their current situation. But at some point we all need to take inventory.
We need to look at our college diploma and smile and the accomplishment. Look at the fact that you still have a job or that your boss maybe paid you a compliment last week. If you don’t have a job, then you should be proud of yourself for not turning to the streets yet. Commend yourself for holding back from knocking off the local liquor store or kicking the first person in the face that tells you how much they hate their job when all you’ve been asking God to provide for you for months is a paycheck. Take account of how diligent you’ve been in looking for a job or making the most out of the job you do have, or at least trying to.
Sometimes you need to be proud of yourself. Even if you need to look for a reason to. If you don’t suck your own dick, who will?
Sometimes you need to take account of your talents. Get in touch with your star player. Yes, the star player on your team is you. If it’s not, then you need to spend extra time in practice changing the plays and making yourself the go-to guy.
Thank yourself for being exactly who you are. Then challenge yourself to be even better.
Randomness......
Knicks just pissed me off. ..... I hear Robin Thicke in my mind. His first album. Well, his first hot one. .... In the past month at work I've met Tiki Barber, Carl Lewis and Kim Smith who is one of the fastest distance runners in the history of the world and a lot of times I'm still sick of being in the office. .... It's Black History Month so I bought The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes. I'm happy about that. .... Having money's not everything, not having it is. .... Damn Kanye drops some gems. .... I had to pay $1316 to fix my car the other day. Man I wish I could have kicked the mechanic in the nuts. I woulda pissed myself laughing. ... I need a haircut so bad I'm about four days off from officially being a vagabond. .... Girls never want dudes to try to holla at them and then they complain about being single. Stupid. ..... Fuck yo couch Charlie Murphy!!!!.... LMAO.... Sorry I couldn't hold that one in. .... Is it counterproductive to try to go to the gym a lot and then go home and drink and smoke?? ... By the way, Gym and I aren't back together but we're trying to work things out. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank her for giving me a second chance and apologize for not visiting her today. Love you baby. See you Sunday. ... Procrastination is a fucking whore ass bitch and she's so tight right now that I've been ignoring her like the nerdy kid in third grade. .... How come if the White House lawn is full watermelons this year, it wasn't full of crackers last year and every year before. .... It's so much easier to think of all the things you don't have than all the crap that you actually do have. .... Sex advice for the day: Anything you do in the bedroom is so much better for all parties if you actually like doing it. And please, don't do anything in the sheets simply because you're hoping to get something in return. Ain't nothing worse than a girl looking at your dick, taking a deep breath and making the "OK lemme just get this over with" face. Then you'll give me wack head and we'll both be miserable and want you to leave before your teeth skims my head for the first time. .... I can't believe it's been a month since I've done this. Some folk had no qualms about reminding me of that. ... I appreciate it though. Thanks for reading. ..... I'm out. Promise I'll be back soon. Procrastination got wrapped. I'm working on Gym. I can't let Blog leave me. I love her.
C
Thursday, February 26, 2009
THE TWELVE STEPS OF SNEAKERHOLICS ANONYMOUS
So because I been doing everything in life but updating my blog. I got someone to do my work for me. This blog is for educational purposes. An emergency help dial-in will follow.
************************************
I know often you read about people in life who are plagued with addictions of all kinds that they find extremely hard to get over. You watch reality shows about drug addicts trying to make it through rehab in order to be a “functional member of society”. I guess addictions come in all shapes and sizes. Although some may seem easy to break or not worth being discussed, you can never judge until one day your that addict. Good Afternoon, My name is The Golden Child and I am addicted to Sneakers.
Just like Alcoholics Anonymous, we too have a 12 step process we must undergo. This is the 1st step in a 12 step series blog:
Step 1: You must first admit you are powerless over sneakers and that your life has become unmanageable. To do this you must recognize the signs of a sneaker addict, therefore allowing you to see your condition for what it truly is; an addiction.
Some of these signs are easily seen, but some are harder to recognize then others. Or maybe it’s our addiction that blinds us to these signs. Here is a list of common sneaker addict signs.
* If you own enough sneakers to start your own sneaker store, including several you have never even wore, you’re an Addict!!!
* If you spend your last $100 on a pair of sneakers, and eat cup a noodles for a week until your next pay check, you’re an Addict!!!
* If you arrive at a sneaker store before the employees of said sneaker store and then get mad when they won’t let you in right away because they have to set up, you’re an addict.
* If your making a list, and checking it twice, gonna find out which sneakers are wack and which are nice, Your not only an addict, you may possibly be qualified to work in the mall next Christmas.
* If you can make a adult size castle out of your sneaker boxes, you’re an addict
* If you accidentally bought the same pair sneakers twice, you’re an addict
* If you purposely bought the same pair of sneakers twice, you’re an addict
* If you rank your sneakers in order of importance, you’re an addict
* If you ever gave away a pair of brand new sneakers because you got tired of them even before u ever wore them, you're an addict
* If you ever had to call your Asian friend to translate the currency on an overseas website that you were ordering sneakers from because they aren’t made in the U.S., you’re an addict.
* If you ever rummage through your sneaker collection and stumble upon a pair of sneakers and repeat the phrase, “Oh there you are. I was looking for you for a minute”, you’re an addict.
* If you live in a 2 bedroom apartment were 1 bedroom is yours and the other is your sneakers you’re an addict.
* If you read sneaker magazines and have frequent flier miles on sneaker blogs, you’re an addict.
* If the guys in the sneaker stores know who you are and greet you when you walk in like Norm from Cheers, you’re an addict.
* If you know the Name’s of your sneakers and release dates better then the sales associates, you’re an addict.
Now that you’re aware of several sneaker addict signs, it should be easier for you to come to grips with what you are. Believe me I remember the first time I broke free from the denial of my addiction. But before you can rid yourself of any issue, you must first be able to recognize what that issue is. To all my sneaker addicts take things slowly, one sneaker at a time.
************************************
I know often you read about people in life who are plagued with addictions of all kinds that they find extremely hard to get over. You watch reality shows about drug addicts trying to make it through rehab in order to be a “functional member of society”. I guess addictions come in all shapes and sizes. Although some may seem easy to break or not worth being discussed, you can never judge until one day your that addict. Good Afternoon, My name is The Golden Child and I am addicted to Sneakers.
Just like Alcoholics Anonymous, we too have a 12 step process we must undergo. This is the 1st step in a 12 step series blog:
Step 1: You must first admit you are powerless over sneakers and that your life has become unmanageable. To do this you must recognize the signs of a sneaker addict, therefore allowing you to see your condition for what it truly is; an addiction.
Some of these signs are easily seen, but some are harder to recognize then others. Or maybe it’s our addiction that blinds us to these signs. Here is a list of common sneaker addict signs.
* If you own enough sneakers to start your own sneaker store, including several you have never even wore, you’re an Addict!!!
* If you spend your last $100 on a pair of sneakers, and eat cup a noodles for a week until your next pay check, you’re an Addict!!!
* If you arrive at a sneaker store before the employees of said sneaker store and then get mad when they won’t let you in right away because they have to set up, you’re an addict.
* If your making a list, and checking it twice, gonna find out which sneakers are wack and which are nice, Your not only an addict, you may possibly be qualified to work in the mall next Christmas.
* If you can make a adult size castle out of your sneaker boxes, you’re an addict
* If you accidentally bought the same pair sneakers twice, you’re an addict
* If you purposely bought the same pair of sneakers twice, you’re an addict
* If you rank your sneakers in order of importance, you’re an addict
* If you ever gave away a pair of brand new sneakers because you got tired of them even before u ever wore them, you're an addict
* If you ever had to call your Asian friend to translate the currency on an overseas website that you were ordering sneakers from because they aren’t made in the U.S., you’re an addict.
* If you ever rummage through your sneaker collection and stumble upon a pair of sneakers and repeat the phrase, “Oh there you are. I was looking for you for a minute”, you’re an addict.
* If you live in a 2 bedroom apartment were 1 bedroom is yours and the other is your sneakers you’re an addict.
* If you read sneaker magazines and have frequent flier miles on sneaker blogs, you’re an addict.
* If the guys in the sneaker stores know who you are and greet you when you walk in like Norm from Cheers, you’re an addict.
* If you know the Name’s of your sneakers and release dates better then the sales associates, you’re an addict.
Now that you’re aware of several sneaker addict signs, it should be easier for you to come to grips with what you are. Believe me I remember the first time I broke free from the denial of my addiction. But before you can rid yourself of any issue, you must first be able to recognize what that issue is. To all my sneaker addicts take things slowly, one sneaker at a time.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Give da people what they want......
Apparently this is the to-go... the special move. So no warming up. Just pull up the curtain. Showtime.
Randomness.....
I missed Pandora. .... It's like we don't speak for awhile, then have make-up sex. Then we decide we were meant for each other. .... She's GOIN IN right now, running tunes I ain't never heard. .... Nothing like the days when your girl feels brand new like the first night you touched each other. ..... I wonder if I could write a book full of Randomness. Would you read it? ..... There is a difference between Living Abundantly and living in abundance. Think about that. .... Ms. Procrastination is so pissed off right now because I've only given her tastes of me but for the most part she's getting the cold shoulder. ..... I told her I was trying to move on. .... Bitch. .... I can't believe I DVR'ed the Real Chance at Love reunion special. ... I feel like I should gouge my eyes out with a broken piece of glass for that. .... But then how am I going to watch Heroes next week?. ..... I actually spent an hour online looking at Harley Davidsons. Sounds like an early mid-life crisis if I've ever heard one. ..... I look up every once in a while and realize that many of the problems that weigh on me aren't specifically my own. But that doesn't mean that I shouldn't mean that just cause a problem isn't assigned to me that I can't solve it. ..... If you can fix something then why stare at it being broken because if you're on the assembly line and one part is broken and the shit hits the fan the feces will inevidently fly in your direction too. .... I'm feelin it. I feel the high that you get from the lie. Feelin it, if you feel it raise your L in the sky. .... Damn sometimes I wish I could be two places at once. But sometimes the second place only looks more enticing because you ain't there. .... It's funny that I keep geting older and somehow I don't feel grown up. What's that about? ..... Why can't I stop playing Brickbreaker? They should have a support group for this. I'm on the train like, "Okay one more game and I'm done. I swear. ..... 17 games later... Okay this is the last one. For real, I swear this time. ..... Life ain't a boomerang. ... The things you do will come back to you. Just not always from the place you sent it to. ... Apparently Dinosaurs makes the best potato salad in life. ... I think Insomnia and I have made friends. He only bothers me sometimes and when he does, I don't give him a hard time. I just like him talk to MJ. She takes care of the rest. .... I don't know what's better gettin laid or getting paid... Thanks Kayne, that was a good one. ..... It doesn't make me mad that I can't go on all the vacations I want to right now. I got a life full of vacations coming. .... Life really ain't that short. Name one thing longer. .... You're entire life you mom took care of you, what kind of person are you if you don't take care of your mother as soon as you're able? .... I want to end this blog with something thought-provoking and profound. But that's all I got so.....
Keep it pimpin Pimpin...
C
Randomness.....
I missed Pandora. .... It's like we don't speak for awhile, then have make-up sex. Then we decide we were meant for each other. .... She's GOIN IN right now, running tunes I ain't never heard. .... Nothing like the days when your girl feels brand new like the first night you touched each other. ..... I wonder if I could write a book full of Randomness. Would you read it? ..... There is a difference between Living Abundantly and living in abundance. Think about that. .... Ms. Procrastination is so pissed off right now because I've only given her tastes of me but for the most part she's getting the cold shoulder. ..... I told her I was trying to move on. .... Bitch. .... I can't believe I DVR'ed the Real Chance at Love reunion special. ... I feel like I should gouge my eyes out with a broken piece of glass for that. .... But then how am I going to watch Heroes next week?. ..... I actually spent an hour online looking at Harley Davidsons. Sounds like an early mid-life crisis if I've ever heard one. ..... I look up every once in a while and realize that many of the problems that weigh on me aren't specifically my own. But that doesn't mean that I shouldn't mean that just cause a problem isn't assigned to me that I can't solve it. ..... If you can fix something then why stare at it being broken because if you're on the assembly line and one part is broken and the shit hits the fan the feces will inevidently fly in your direction too. .... I'm feelin it. I feel the high that you get from the lie. Feelin it, if you feel it raise your L in the sky. .... Damn sometimes I wish I could be two places at once. But sometimes the second place only looks more enticing because you ain't there. .... It's funny that I keep geting older and somehow I don't feel grown up. What's that about? ..... Why can't I stop playing Brickbreaker? They should have a support group for this. I'm on the train like, "Okay one more game and I'm done. I swear. ..... 17 games later... Okay this is the last one. For real, I swear this time. ..... Life ain't a boomerang. ... The things you do will come back to you. Just not always from the place you sent it to. ... Apparently Dinosaurs makes the best potato salad in life. ... I think Insomnia and I have made friends. He only bothers me sometimes and when he does, I don't give him a hard time. I just like him talk to MJ. She takes care of the rest. .... I don't know what's better gettin laid or getting paid... Thanks Kayne, that was a good one. ..... It doesn't make me mad that I can't go on all the vacations I want to right now. I got a life full of vacations coming. .... Life really ain't that short. Name one thing longer. .... You're entire life you mom took care of you, what kind of person are you if you don't take care of your mother as soon as you're able? .... I want to end this blog with something thought-provoking and profound. But that's all I got so.....
Keep it pimpin Pimpin...
C
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I'm here.....
I'm going right in.....
Randomness......
Usually I'd apologize for talking so long to write but sometimes it just ain't there. ... For some reason whenever I sit down to write ANYTHING lately it simply feels forced. .... In retrospect, I should have been suffocated by issues, stifled by stress. Yet somehow I've remained calm. With a steady hand and an unwavering rhythm in my breath. .... They let people say bitch, ass and nigga on the radio and then when T.I. saying your "piss poor morally" they audio-distort the word "piss." I wish I could piss on the fuckin FCC heads. .... Lately I feel the most alone when I'm with people and when I'm alone I can't get my thoughts to stop crowding me. .... Listening to Tha Carter III. .... I'm just a soul whose intentions are good. Oh no, please don't let be misunderstood. .... People always ask questions they don't really want the answers to. Then if it's not the answer they expect, they either don't want to hear it or don't believe the answer. .... Just keep your mouth shut and believe what you want to believe. ..... I wish I could get paid for writing this. .... Anybody wanna buy an ad? ...... I have more followers than I ever thought I'd have. .... My mother reads this blog too. ... Go back and read some old ones and think about how flagrant that is. ..... Why do grown men have to say "No homo?"...... Listen, I pay bills. I pay taxes. I'm a grown ass man that clearly enjoys in the touch of a female. I'm not prefacing shit I say with "no homo" to qualify what I say next or to assure some next dude that I'm not down for the butt play. ..... Grow up. I say what the fuck I want. If you don't like... Ya Motha. ... We are not the same I am a Martian. .... Welcome to Planet C. ... Beyonce went to work on At Last for the post-inauguration celebration. I bang with that chick. She cried because she genuinely couldn't believe that she had the opportunity to sing for the first African-American president of these United States of America. ... I might actually put my hand over my heart for the national anthem now. .... Nothing worse that someone thinking that are flier than they really are. ... I can't help it. I'll never give affirmation to someone's who's ego is already out of check as it is. Wrap you. .... I haven't slept through the night in three weeks. Does that mean I'm haunted. .... Sleep's overrated. .... I know I need a change in my life. I just don't know what it is. ...... How can you just start walking down a road if you don't even know where it leads? What if you don't even know the name of the street? .... Is that better than just standing in the crosswalk looking side-to-side like an asshole? .... I don't know. .... For some reason I'd rather know where I am even if I don't know where I'm going. ..... That make sense?. ..... Why do I feel like I'm drowning sometimes and there's no water in sight? ...... I can't believe people still aren't up on Mike Phillips. .... It's time for this hair to go. .... Sometimes I wish I could just walk around with a giant middle finger on my shirt so that I wouldn't have to speak. ..... Damn I had cookies AND cookies last night. Sometimes life is grand. .... My job had a reception and pulled the streaming video of the inauguration and projected it on to a big screen so we could all watch it. ..... I have a new respect for my boss. ...... So I think me and Gym broke up but somehow I'm still paying alimony. ..... Me and Ms. Procrastination are practically wifed up and that bitch Sleep decided to leave me. .... My life is in shambles. ..... Even though it all, I still gotta put my Swag on a lease. Shit is getting outta control. ..... Why don't people read more? ..... Why can't I just write a book and live and work on the beach? ..... Why do rappers that are going to jail get countdown reality shows? .... Why does Ray-J have a dating show? .... Oh my God why did I watch Real Chance of Love? .... Clearly it's not the cookies making me loose brain cells.... It's VH1. .... Why do girls from Brazil look like that? .... There was a broad on the Tyra Banks show that eats toilet paper. Half a roll a day. .... I wish I could kick that chick in the face. .... Oh and if I can put a bat to the back of Tyra's head I swear I would. .... She was so much better when she was just in Sports Illustrated. .... I'll still probably watch the show anyway. .... Yes, I'm currently shaking my head at myself. .... I'm afraid to end this blog because then it'll just be me and my Thoughts again. .... Damn... I guess it's time to face fears.
C
Randomness......
Usually I'd apologize for talking so long to write but sometimes it just ain't there. ... For some reason whenever I sit down to write ANYTHING lately it simply feels forced. .... In retrospect, I should have been suffocated by issues, stifled by stress. Yet somehow I've remained calm. With a steady hand and an unwavering rhythm in my breath. .... They let people say bitch, ass and nigga on the radio and then when T.I. saying your "piss poor morally" they audio-distort the word "piss." I wish I could piss on the fuckin FCC heads. .... Lately I feel the most alone when I'm with people and when I'm alone I can't get my thoughts to stop crowding me. .... Listening to Tha Carter III. .... I'm just a soul whose intentions are good. Oh no, please don't let be misunderstood. .... People always ask questions they don't really want the answers to. Then if it's not the answer they expect, they either don't want to hear it or don't believe the answer. .... Just keep your mouth shut and believe what you want to believe. ..... I wish I could get paid for writing this. .... Anybody wanna buy an ad? ...... I have more followers than I ever thought I'd have. .... My mother reads this blog too. ... Go back and read some old ones and think about how flagrant that is. ..... Why do grown men have to say "No homo?"...... Listen, I pay bills. I pay taxes. I'm a grown ass man that clearly enjoys in the touch of a female. I'm not prefacing shit I say with "no homo" to qualify what I say next or to assure some next dude that I'm not down for the butt play. ..... Grow up. I say what the fuck I want. If you don't like... Ya Motha. ... We are not the same I am a Martian. .... Welcome to Planet C. ... Beyonce went to work on At Last for the post-inauguration celebration. I bang with that chick. She cried because she genuinely couldn't believe that she had the opportunity to sing for the first African-American president of these United States of America. ... I might actually put my hand over my heart for the national anthem now. .... Nothing worse that someone thinking that are flier than they really are. ... I can't help it. I'll never give affirmation to someone's who's ego is already out of check as it is. Wrap you. .... I haven't slept through the night in three weeks. Does that mean I'm haunted. .... Sleep's overrated. .... I know I need a change in my life. I just don't know what it is. ...... How can you just start walking down a road if you don't even know where it leads? What if you don't even know the name of the street? .... Is that better than just standing in the crosswalk looking side-to-side like an asshole? .... I don't know. .... For some reason I'd rather know where I am even if I don't know where I'm going. ..... That make sense?. ..... Why do I feel like I'm drowning sometimes and there's no water in sight? ...... I can't believe people still aren't up on Mike Phillips. .... It's time for this hair to go. .... Sometimes I wish I could just walk around with a giant middle finger on my shirt so that I wouldn't have to speak. ..... Damn I had cookies AND cookies last night. Sometimes life is grand. .... My job had a reception and pulled the streaming video of the inauguration and projected it on to a big screen so we could all watch it. ..... I have a new respect for my boss. ...... So I think me and Gym broke up but somehow I'm still paying alimony. ..... Me and Ms. Procrastination are practically wifed up and that bitch Sleep decided to leave me. .... My life is in shambles. ..... Even though it all, I still gotta put my Swag on a lease. Shit is getting outta control. ..... Why don't people read more? ..... Why can't I just write a book and live and work on the beach? ..... Why do rappers that are going to jail get countdown reality shows? .... Why does Ray-J have a dating show? .... Oh my God why did I watch Real Chance of Love? .... Clearly it's not the cookies making me loose brain cells.... It's VH1. .... Why do girls from Brazil look like that? .... There was a broad on the Tyra Banks show that eats toilet paper. Half a roll a day. .... I wish I could kick that chick in the face. .... Oh and if I can put a bat to the back of Tyra's head I swear I would. .... She was so much better when she was just in Sports Illustrated. .... I'll still probably watch the show anyway. .... Yes, I'm currently shaking my head at myself. .... I'm afraid to end this blog because then it'll just be me and my Thoughts again. .... Damn... I guess it's time to face fears.
C
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
There's a stranger in His house
I went to church on Sunday. Yes, that's news in and of itself. I went because I needed to. Because I needed to find a broom to sweep some of the dust out my closet. Because I needed to go tell God in his own crib that I'm not a heathen.
From the time I walked in, I felt a nervousness. Like, "Sorry God, I know it's been awhile." I kept feeling like when I walked in everyone would turn around and exclaim in unison, "Oh, fancy seeing you here."
I'm accustomed to going to church, listening to a bunch of white people sing in this angelical, holy, holy, holy Lord kind of way while the priest tells us to sit, stand, kneel, stand, sit, read, kneel and stand again. Then an hour later everyone tries to silently slide their jackets on and dip out before they see anyone they know.
But this people were standing for no reason, like they were trying to reach out and touch God. Or hoping that maybe they could grab hold of the words the chorus sang or maybe that maybe the pastor could put salvation in their hands.
I've only seen a chorus like this on television. I've never sat in church and had the preacher screaming at me.
But I needed to go to His house to find the broom. And sweep the dust out my closet. To talk to Him about all the things that I can't bring myself to talk to anyone else about. Before I even sat down the air in there hugged me. And it didn't let go. All the commotion became a silent movie and I looked around like I'd never seen people before. But the truth is, I've never seen people like this before. I listened to the chorus in slow motion and I panned the room. I didn't talk to God at first. I felt ashamed. We've talked lots of times.
But not like this.
So I didn't talk to him at first. I just sat in His house, in His chairs. And I let him watch me. It was my offering. My signal of submission. My act of gratitude. So after 20 minutes, a single tear escaped me. I didn't wipe it off. I owed Him that much. I listened after that. I listened to her explain that He was in me ready to guide me. That He was in everyone. Just read the instruction manual, she said. I could find solace in Him, comfort in Him. And it's not that I didn't know this before. I always thanked Him for whatever He gave me, whatever He offered me. Always thankful.
But I realized I don't ask for His help. The way I never ask for anyone's help. But He knew that my silence was out of humility. I asked for His help this time, His eyes, His guidance. I still have questions. Tons of questions.
But I felt clean when I left. He bathed me.
Thank you. All three of you.
C
Do I really need Randomness after that??
From the time I walked in, I felt a nervousness. Like, "Sorry God, I know it's been awhile." I kept feeling like when I walked in everyone would turn around and exclaim in unison, "Oh, fancy seeing you here."
I'm accustomed to going to church, listening to a bunch of white people sing in this angelical, holy, holy, holy Lord kind of way while the priest tells us to sit, stand, kneel, stand, sit, read, kneel and stand again. Then an hour later everyone tries to silently slide their jackets on and dip out before they see anyone they know.
But this people were standing for no reason, like they were trying to reach out and touch God. Or hoping that maybe they could grab hold of the words the chorus sang or maybe that maybe the pastor could put salvation in their hands.
I've only seen a chorus like this on television. I've never sat in church and had the preacher screaming at me.
But I needed to go to His house to find the broom. And sweep the dust out my closet. To talk to Him about all the things that I can't bring myself to talk to anyone else about. Before I even sat down the air in there hugged me. And it didn't let go. All the commotion became a silent movie and I looked around like I'd never seen people before. But the truth is, I've never seen people like this before. I listened to the chorus in slow motion and I panned the room. I didn't talk to God at first. I felt ashamed. We've talked lots of times.
But not like this.
So I didn't talk to him at first. I just sat in His house, in His chairs. And I let him watch me. It was my offering. My signal of submission. My act of gratitude. So after 20 minutes, a single tear escaped me. I didn't wipe it off. I owed Him that much. I listened after that. I listened to her explain that He was in me ready to guide me. That He was in everyone. Just read the instruction manual, she said. I could find solace in Him, comfort in Him. And it's not that I didn't know this before. I always thanked Him for whatever He gave me, whatever He offered me. Always thankful.
But I realized I don't ask for His help. The way I never ask for anyone's help. But He knew that my silence was out of humility. I asked for His help this time, His eyes, His guidance. I still have questions. Tons of questions.
But I felt clean when I left. He bathed me.
Thank you. All three of you.
C
Do I really need Randomness after that??
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Because I miss it....
Randomness....
I bet Eric Mangini is giggling his ass off right now. This dude got the blame for the Jets not making the playoffs (although it's definitely partly his fault) while everyone had Chad Pennington fantasies. ... Chad throws a Pick 4 against Baltimore which is exactly the reason New Yorkers are mad at Brett Favre. ... If Mangini ain't laughing I know I am. .... I love Anthony Hamilton but I think his new album is kinda suspect. I'm gonna give it another try. ... There are few things in life funnier than listening to someone go ape shit on the phone with a cell phone company. .... Sprint will give you all your minutes back, two free months and send a girl named Naomi to your house to give you a foot massages. Everyone else will talk to you on the phone for two hours giving you all kinds of explanations that can be summed up in one sentence: Sir, please take a long walk off a short pier. ... Wait... it's about 60 hours since I started this blog. But the Knicks beat Boston and it literally took 48 hours for my erection to fade. Then last night they lost to now 5-34 Oklahoma City and it took the rest of the time for me to get over my blind rage. I'm back now. .... Got out the train yesterday and saw a homeless dude squatting and wiping his ass after her just unleashing a mountain of dung onto a newspaper. ... A girl walked by in disgust and even when she got to the street she was still covering her nose and face. .... I wanted to slap her. Why should she be mad? Dude don't even have a house and she mad that he shitting in the subway station. That makes sense? ..... She should be happy that he was nice enough to do it on a newspaper. He should of lit it on fire, scooped some up with his hand and threw it at her. ... .I would've lost my shit. .... I feel bad that he gotta take a dump in the subway and wipe his ass in front of strangers. That's so much worse that walking by and seeing a homeless guy wiping his ass with the Newsday sports section. .... You could super glue an umbrella to my hand and I promise I'd lose that shit in 45 minutes. .... I really think if I keep holding all this shit in I'm going to literally explode. .... Either that or I'm going to end up like that guy in that movie that pulled a gun on the McDonalds cashier cause his Big Mac didn't look like the one in the picture. ... If I ask for something. Give me what I asked for. ...... Apparently many of the greatest war strategies originated from Mongolian wild wolves. ... Read a book. ...... Damn even the Blog can't always heal me. ..... Sometimes no matter what you do, loss is inevitable. ..... I can't believe I watch kids run in circles for a living. That just makes me laugh. .... Someone unexpected extended themselves to me. So I extended myself to them. It's only right. .... People do so much to make it look like they are less full of shit then they actually are. ... Maybe that includes me. I don't know. .... I hate when people say Society sucks. People suck. Society is made up of people. Get it.... So whenever you say that, instead just say, I suck. Or we suck .... Not me though. I'm pretty cool.
C
I bet Eric Mangini is giggling his ass off right now. This dude got the blame for the Jets not making the playoffs (although it's definitely partly his fault) while everyone had Chad Pennington fantasies. ... Chad throws a Pick 4 against Baltimore which is exactly the reason New Yorkers are mad at Brett Favre. ... If Mangini ain't laughing I know I am. .... I love Anthony Hamilton but I think his new album is kinda suspect. I'm gonna give it another try. ... There are few things in life funnier than listening to someone go ape shit on the phone with a cell phone company. .... Sprint will give you all your minutes back, two free months and send a girl named Naomi to your house to give you a foot massages. Everyone else will talk to you on the phone for two hours giving you all kinds of explanations that can be summed up in one sentence: Sir, please take a long walk off a short pier. ... Wait... it's about 60 hours since I started this blog. But the Knicks beat Boston and it literally took 48 hours for my erection to fade. Then last night they lost to now 5-34 Oklahoma City and it took the rest of the time for me to get over my blind rage. I'm back now. .... Got out the train yesterday and saw a homeless dude squatting and wiping his ass after her just unleashing a mountain of dung onto a newspaper. ... A girl walked by in disgust and even when she got to the street she was still covering her nose and face. .... I wanted to slap her. Why should she be mad? Dude don't even have a house and she mad that he shitting in the subway station. That makes sense? ..... She should be happy that he was nice enough to do it on a newspaper. He should of lit it on fire, scooped some up with his hand and threw it at her. ... .I would've lost my shit. .... I feel bad that he gotta take a dump in the subway and wipe his ass in front of strangers. That's so much worse that walking by and seeing a homeless guy wiping his ass with the Newsday sports section. .... You could super glue an umbrella to my hand and I promise I'd lose that shit in 45 minutes. .... I really think if I keep holding all this shit in I'm going to literally explode. .... Either that or I'm going to end up like that guy in that movie that pulled a gun on the McDonalds cashier cause his Big Mac didn't look like the one in the picture. ... If I ask for something. Give me what I asked for. ...... Apparently many of the greatest war strategies originated from Mongolian wild wolves. ... Read a book. ...... Damn even the Blog can't always heal me. ..... Sometimes no matter what you do, loss is inevitable. ..... I can't believe I watch kids run in circles for a living. That just makes me laugh. .... Someone unexpected extended themselves to me. So I extended myself to them. It's only right. .... People do so much to make it look like they are less full of shit then they actually are. ... Maybe that includes me. I don't know. .... I hate when people say Society sucks. People suck. Society is made up of people. Get it.... So whenever you say that, instead just say, I suck. Or we suck .... Not me though. I'm pretty cool.
C
Movie Couple...
A friend of mine always tells me that he has stories that play out in his head. He says that he imagines backgrounds of people on the train, what their home lives are like, who their families here, where they are going and where they are coming from. I think his imagination is better than mine.
But the other day I went to the movies and sat next to this couple. The only thing that caught my attention about them is how utterly impersonal they were toward each other, although they seemingly were together. Anyway, I decided to figure out who they were. So I started writing. Let me know what you think.
Movie Couple....
Her name is Susan. His name is Bill. They sit next to each other in the movie theater and never look at each other. Susan brings a coffee mug, the microwavable kind with sturdy handle, and reads files from work. Bill reads the sports pages. She wears glasses. They bring blankets and show up 30 minutes early.
They laugh at the movie separately. Susan never engages Bill. And Bill looks over periodically only to remember that he didn’t show up alone.
They used to hold hands in the movies. Bill would take Susan to the park for picnics. Susan would start cooking on Saturday night so that Bill would love Sunday dinner. She used to lay on his shoulder at the movies and clench his thighs when the drama built. They used to stay until everyone else left. Bill used to kiss her like no one was looking.
They met in high school. She would have never given him a chance. He was sweet she thought. Just not her type. But he lived two houses down. He’d carry her bookbag home from school. He helped with her Biology homework. She taught him not to be so uncomfortable around girls. He stayed up all night on her bedroom floor listening to her cry the night that Tyler Cunningham told that he just didn’t think it was going to work out. She ditched field hockey team dinner the night Bill’s parent had the big fight and he needed somewhere to run away to. He always chased her and she hid the fact that she enjoyed being chased until that summer when Bill spend two months in Florida with his uncle and came back suddenly came back four inches taller and with muscles. That’s when the roles reversed.
They went to the prom together. Susan followed Bill to college. He did landscaping in the summers. She started tutoring. They were married by the end of junior year. Bill went into construction with his friend Kevin’s dad. Susan became a teacher. They had three kids – two girls and a boy. They lived in a suburb just like the one they grew up in. They never had money problems. But they never lived beyond their means. He drove a pick up. Susan still drives the white caravan they purchased together when Amy, their youngest, was born. Sam played lacrosse. Amy loved ballet and Caitlin wrote poetry.
Bill and Susan would go to the grocery store together. They’d go to the mall. She’d buy his pants. Every Sunday they go over to Kathy and John’s and the men would do men things while they women did women things. They would fight about the kids or about money or about feeling unappreciated. She hated that he never talked about his feelings. Bill hated that Susan always talked about hers.
They are married. They loved each other.
They would get gitty on the days when the kids would all be out the house. They love Saturday afternoons when three kids could stretch freely and find their place in the world while husband and wife could pretend to be 23 years old again and sneaking into a dingy bathroom in a smoky bar and jumping each other like animals. Bill and Susan warned the kids about the day they’d all be gone, when they could be alone finally.
Then Caitlin got married and Sam could a job in Tennessee. And Amy went to study dance at UCLA. And Bill and Susan were alone. Then they woke up at 6:45am each day. Sam would take the shower. Susan made the coffee. She would come into brush her teeth while Bill shaved. Bill would put on his robe and head outside, wipe his face and then stoop down to pick up the Sunday paper. He brought it inside and dropped it on the coffee table. She started breakfast. Only the sound of their footsteps filled the house. After they ate, Susan started the laundry and he swept the front yard. It was his turn to pick today. When he came inside they walked by each other.
“What time?” she asked.
Tonight at 6:40, he said.
They fill the day with chorus and Sunday football on television. They sit at the table in the den. Bill paid the bills and she balanced the checkbook. He started to ask her something. She became alert, mouth open in anticipation until he remembered that he already asked the question. She went back the checkbook. They went on like this, completing daily tasks together and independently without words. She knew what he liked just as he knew what she liked. He went to work and came home, as she did. They went to Kathy and John’s, disappeared with their friends and reappeared when they were both sure it was time to go.
They got to movies 30 minutes early. He would read the sports pages. She would read files from work and bring her coffee mug, the microwavable kind with the sturdy handle. They would laugh separately and never engage each other. They would leave together but Bill would never look back to see if Susan was on his shoulder. She walked at her own pace.
They went to bed at the same time. They knew their routine. They didn’t have to ask about tomorrow. They both wore cotton pajamas. Bill only wore the pants and wore a white T-shirt on top. Susan wore the oversized top and some old sweatpants. They’d both stare at the ceiling. Someone had to break first. They both dreaded it. She holds her breathe. Here it comes.
He starts, “Do you remember that time when Amy was in the yard … “
Yeah, I remember, Susan says.
And remember when Sam ….
Yup.
And then Caitlin.
Sure, it was so funny.
That’s it. Wasn’t so bad tonight, Bill thinks to himself. Susan lets go a slow breath. Glad that’s over. They couldn’t wait for the kids to leave they used to think. Now the only sound in the house is their footsteps.
Alright, Susan says. They both grip a corner of the comforter and turn away.
They both say goodnight.
But the other day I went to the movies and sat next to this couple. The only thing that caught my attention about them is how utterly impersonal they were toward each other, although they seemingly were together. Anyway, I decided to figure out who they were. So I started writing. Let me know what you think.
Movie Couple....
Her name is Susan. His name is Bill. They sit next to each other in the movie theater and never look at each other. Susan brings a coffee mug, the microwavable kind with sturdy handle, and reads files from work. Bill reads the sports pages. She wears glasses. They bring blankets and show up 30 minutes early.
They laugh at the movie separately. Susan never engages Bill. And Bill looks over periodically only to remember that he didn’t show up alone.
They used to hold hands in the movies. Bill would take Susan to the park for picnics. Susan would start cooking on Saturday night so that Bill would love Sunday dinner. She used to lay on his shoulder at the movies and clench his thighs when the drama built. They used to stay until everyone else left. Bill used to kiss her like no one was looking.
They met in high school. She would have never given him a chance. He was sweet she thought. Just not her type. But he lived two houses down. He’d carry her bookbag home from school. He helped with her Biology homework. She taught him not to be so uncomfortable around girls. He stayed up all night on her bedroom floor listening to her cry the night that Tyler Cunningham told that he just didn’t think it was going to work out. She ditched field hockey team dinner the night Bill’s parent had the big fight and he needed somewhere to run away to. He always chased her and she hid the fact that she enjoyed being chased until that summer when Bill spend two months in Florida with his uncle and came back suddenly came back four inches taller and with muscles. That’s when the roles reversed.
They went to the prom together. Susan followed Bill to college. He did landscaping in the summers. She started tutoring. They were married by the end of junior year. Bill went into construction with his friend Kevin’s dad. Susan became a teacher. They had three kids – two girls and a boy. They lived in a suburb just like the one they grew up in. They never had money problems. But they never lived beyond their means. He drove a pick up. Susan still drives the white caravan they purchased together when Amy, their youngest, was born. Sam played lacrosse. Amy loved ballet and Caitlin wrote poetry.
Bill and Susan would go to the grocery store together. They’d go to the mall. She’d buy his pants. Every Sunday they go over to Kathy and John’s and the men would do men things while they women did women things. They would fight about the kids or about money or about feeling unappreciated. She hated that he never talked about his feelings. Bill hated that Susan always talked about hers.
They are married. They loved each other.
They would get gitty on the days when the kids would all be out the house. They love Saturday afternoons when three kids could stretch freely and find their place in the world while husband and wife could pretend to be 23 years old again and sneaking into a dingy bathroom in a smoky bar and jumping each other like animals. Bill and Susan warned the kids about the day they’d all be gone, when they could be alone finally.
Then Caitlin got married and Sam could a job in Tennessee. And Amy went to study dance at UCLA. And Bill and Susan were alone. Then they woke up at 6:45am each day. Sam would take the shower. Susan made the coffee. She would come into brush her teeth while Bill shaved. Bill would put on his robe and head outside, wipe his face and then stoop down to pick up the Sunday paper. He brought it inside and dropped it on the coffee table. She started breakfast. Only the sound of their footsteps filled the house. After they ate, Susan started the laundry and he swept the front yard. It was his turn to pick today. When he came inside they walked by each other.
“What time?” she asked.
Tonight at 6:40, he said.
They fill the day with chorus and Sunday football on television. They sit at the table in the den. Bill paid the bills and she balanced the checkbook. He started to ask her something. She became alert, mouth open in anticipation until he remembered that he already asked the question. She went back the checkbook. They went on like this, completing daily tasks together and independently without words. She knew what he liked just as he knew what she liked. He went to work and came home, as she did. They went to Kathy and John’s, disappeared with their friends and reappeared when they were both sure it was time to go.
They got to movies 30 minutes early. He would read the sports pages. She would read files from work and bring her coffee mug, the microwavable kind with the sturdy handle. They would laugh separately and never engage each other. They would leave together but Bill would never look back to see if Susan was on his shoulder. She walked at her own pace.
They went to bed at the same time. They knew their routine. They didn’t have to ask about tomorrow. They both wore cotton pajamas. Bill only wore the pants and wore a white T-shirt on top. Susan wore the oversized top and some old sweatpants. They’d both stare at the ceiling. Someone had to break first. They both dreaded it. She holds her breathe. Here it comes.
He starts, “Do you remember that time when Amy was in the yard … “
Yeah, I remember, Susan says.
And remember when Sam ….
Yup.
And then Caitlin.
Sure, it was so funny.
That’s it. Wasn’t so bad tonight, Bill thinks to himself. Susan lets go a slow breath. Glad that’s over. They couldn’t wait for the kids to leave they used to think. Now the only sound in the house is their footsteps.
Alright, Susan says. They both grip a corner of the comforter and turn away.
They both say goodnight.
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