Why I Almost Cut My Afro Off...

I dunno, I was just thinkin' the other day...

I walk around with my Afro big and bold all the time, hoping cats will have some remembrance of the dignity and power and prestige that once was. Hoping that cats will rally around the feeble traces of the dream that remain in our culture. Hoping that cats would see that the need for action still exists, and that we still need more warriors to the battle...

And then I realized, nobody identifies with this anymore. I mean, they really don't. This is what I've seen:

1. Some of the people are totally apathetic. They know the situation, but they gave up millennia ago. Pure sloth and comfort.

2. Some of the people are ignorant. They can't identify with what I represent because they simply don't know enough. And most of those who don't know also don't WANT to know.

3. Some of the people are afraid of the threat. They see the size of the problem and have decided it is safer to go along with the process than to fight back.

4. Some of the people are afraid of the change. They know that change can come, but they're too afraid of the unknown--- the outcome, the level of sacrifice, the struggle, the new world--- to seriously pursue it.

5. Some of the people are without direction. An equal threat to not fighting is exhausting energy by fighting the wrong fights. Many people want change, but they want to change the weather without changing the climate, feel me? Change the appearance without changing the reality.

I sat there and thought about these things. And I realized... something. It's hard to put it in words; it's not a sense of giving up, but a sense of turning inward. Realizing that this is a bigger world than the world of my ancestors, and that the coming together for a common cause is a greater challenge than the cause itself.

Of course, it wouldn't make sense for me to cut my Afro off just because nobody else responded to it, right? Because it's MY Afro; the belief was that I did it for self-expression, right?

But tell me, what is self-expression? To express oneself; to communicate. And communication is a two-way street: a signal must be sent, but then that signal must be received. See, on one hand, I could care less what people think about me. On the other hand, I'm here to encourage and inspire and challenge people to aspire to greater things. And this Afro on my head is a part of that, ya know? To keep the past in touch with the present.

But it's not working.

Well, then there's the other side of things: pissing off "the Man". He hates to see me stroll in with the Afro blown out; a lot of bad sentiment there, right? So keep it just to piss "the Man" off...

Nah. The truth is, that stopped being a reason for me wearing an Afro LONG ago. Yeah, I was provoked by some racism on the part of White people at my first college; the Afro first appeared in response to that. But I've never hated White people, and I've never attributed "the Man" to White people. Truthfully, "the Man" is the merchant capitalist. And he has no color... except maybe green.

So nah, my Afro doesn't smite "the Man" at all; matter of fact, he probably sees its market value and wants to patent the style. So, the next thing you know, when the positive rap bandwagon gets rolling in all its insincere poesy and glory, they can all rock Afro's and medallions. Cuz it's fresh; the kidz'll love it.

There's no Cornell Wests in Augusta; there's no Pam Griers in Augusta; there's no Jimi Hendrixes in Augusta; there's no Black Panthers in Augusta; there's no Jim Kellys in Augusta; heck, there's not even an Andre 3000 in Augusta. So, who am I really resonating with? SETI will pick up my signal before anybody around me does. I'm pretty sure of that.

Yet, I haven't cut it off yet. Because, outside of any meaning, the Afro still serves its purposes.

1. It's a tribute to my mother. People ask me how I grow my hair back so fast; she's the reason. High metabolism. It's in the genes.

2. It's not as hot as you might think it would be during the summer. It actually collects the vapors off my head, so when a breeze blows, it's EXTRA cool up top.

3. It's economically efficient. I don't hafta get this joint cut anytime I can't afford to. With a pair of cheap scissors, I can pretty much maintain it myself.

4. If I get tired of it, I can always switch to braids or dreads. Cutting is a last resort.

5. There's some fine girls who love to braid hair. You do the math.

6. Instant separation. I really have a distaste for people at this stage in my life, so the Afro actually sifts through a lot of them for me. Some people won't even approach me because of this joint, so it does the work for me.

7. It keeps the rain off my head in case I forget my coat or sumn.

8. You can stick pencils, pens, and weapons of mass destruction in it. I saw Pam do it once, it was dope.

9. You don't need a helmet when you break out ya roller skates.

10. I think it looks good on me. Not all the time mind you, cuz it changes throughout the day. But overall, I dig it. It says what I want it to say about me, and coupled with the glasses, it says even more of what I want it to say about me.


So, I won't cut it just yet. But I realize that I'm living in the past by myself, and it's probably going to stay that way. But that's perfectly fine. The adjustment is simple: less self-expression; more self-fulfillment.

I Know, I Know; Picky, Picky... B-J

Revolutionary Heart: The Genius of Sword

A lil short story I put together, more along the lines of a monologue or soliloquy; I forget which is what. 'Doesn't really go anywhere, but it feels like it, so I think you'll enjoy it. 'Sorta fictional; very educational, therefore relevant.

I fantasize a lot; sue me...

As I lay awake, so restless within, the air was still. Stale. My chest was heavy, burdened with thought and anticipation. I could remain in the covers no longer.

I sat upon my bed, head beneath the sight of the moon, face drenched in a sweaty type of gloom. An airy nightshirt and some light pants only, I moved toward the door. Finding my clan members asleep, so serene in the throes of the nightman that takes us to our dreams, I took up my sword. For I had an appointment with this nightman of dreams as well; we had many things to discuss.

I slipped out of the door, leaving it only half open so that the closing would not rouse my clan. The draft may eventually wake them; if so, let them try to find me. I wouldn't be found.

Into the forests of secrecy I plunged. Feeling like some animal in search of his society, I darted in the darkness. Upon reaching the familiar spot, I stopped. I felt my mind calling out, ever-so cautious not to utter a word for fear of detection. My mind fired, so loudly that my thoughts escaped me.

So when I heard, "You've come," from behind me, my heart exploded for an instant. Turning to witness the source of the voice, it exploded once more. I rushed to greet her, taking her by the hands, kissing them, kissing her cheek. Never letting go, I took her, and we sifted the darkness in silence and haste.

Searching for the blaze in the thicket, the damp air, coupled with the night, seemed to blanket the entire scene from my view. But I could feel the glint of the orange glow in my eyes; the passion and angst of souls ready for a change. I would be there in their midst; nothing on this Earth would stop me from being there. The subtle clamor of voices lay before us, each voice bringing a power all its own to the gathering. As the fireflies gravitated to the pyre, I understood that the purpose of darkness was to accent the significance of the light.

Stepping into the clearing, my companion following adjacent, the gathered changed the direction of their speech to us. Friends, compatriots, well-wishers--- the heartbeat of a revolution was here. Head nods in the direction of a small meeting hall just beyond the fire showed us the way, and we entered with our kindred in step with us.

At the table, we sat at once. All of us. I wasted no time in rising again.

"Today, there was no one who came to rescue us out of our misery. Tomorrow, who knows... But yesterday we wondered what tomorrow would bring; we discovered today that tomorrow had nothing in store....

The future has never come out of thin air. It is change that creates that phenomenon that we refer to as time. If the planets did not rotate and revolve--- if the hands on the clock did not count--- then we would live in a still frame of now and never. Can you see it? To wait, and to talk, and to wait, and to talk... it profits us nothing. Only the cause and effect changes the time...

In the morning, our respective peoples will awaken and make preparations. In the night, the beasts will come again, and take away those things most precious to us: our homes, our wives, our children, our crops, our very lives. And we'll cry. We'll cry our rivers back to health. We'll cry our oppressors into utter deafness. We'll cry ourselves into a dry submission. All the crying in the world will change nothing. And yet, we'll cry.

But I promise you, I won't cry tomorrow. Pity is for the powerless. For those who have power, and forfeit it out of fear--- fear of the unknown, fear of flight, fear of defeat, fear of breaking with tradition--- I have only disdain.

Tomorrow, whether I am one or one-hundred, I will defend myself against the invaders. Losing my life? What life is there when one's entire existence is in the fear of death? The misery of oppression? The agony of defeat? I have no life to lose; only life to gain.

"Kwietfire," I said, turning to my companion, "everyone here in this grand gathering needs to know that I love you. I love you dearly... and because I love you so much, I will never see our common enemy take you away from me. The way of this land and its peoples, to bow down to the will of its invading enemies, dies tonight. And I declare that, after we are victorious, no longer will our peoples be separate; we will all come under the umbrella of liberators to our respective nations. And to mark this coming together of the nations, Kwietfire... when this is done, I would like for you to be my bride. Whether of my nation or not, there is no other woman I would rather have to be with me as I journey through this life."

This was my resolve.

Strange that, as I said this, my sword in its sheath seemed to speak to me. Amid the thunderous response of the hall, "Well done," found its way to my mind and heart in an affirmation. I could only imagine what my sentient sword held in its mind. But I knew that the sentiment was kind and altruistic. Pure.

I drew the sword. The hall fell silent.

"The genius of this sword is that it was shapen in its purpose. When you know your purpose, you can fulfill it. And you can fulfill it optimally. Everyone here has this part to play; shape your mind to it. We are not here for combat; we are not glad gladiators. We are here to do what is required to liberate one another; and if that requires fighting then, yes, we'll fight. We will engage in battle to win FREEDOM... not to win battles."

A silence not of confusion, but of realization, burdened the hall. Stern gazes and nods from the body at large encouraged me.

"Do we have UNDERSTANDING? Understand that we are NOT stronger than our enemy. But PURPOSE... that will be our advantage. As they come in their ravenous hordes to gratify themselves, that same selfishness will divide them. It is then not our strength, but our singularity of purpose that will give us the advantage over them. I fight for you, you fight for me; no honor to the man who fights for himself."

To Kwietfire

There was a certain place and time that I found myself trying to recall on last night. Yet again, I was trying to gather my memories to reconstruct a person I felt strongly for. I wish my momma told me how to switch the love panel off...

...Hey, remember the kitchen staff? The janitors? They were so cool back then. I used to speak to 'em every day; the fellas called me Cool Breeze because of my walk, lol. But you, you didn't just talk, you spent time with them. Yeah, I remember that. They LOVED you. I think... you were especially close to that one older lady on the kitchen staff. She crossed my mind the other day, so I couldn't help but remember you.

Remember the cobblestone walkways? That was my favorite place to be late at night. No matter how clear it was, it was always misty beneath the orange lights; the forested areas to either side made that happen, I think. I never told you about that time I came across this lil' rabbit with an attitude did I? Right there in the walkway. He stared me down like I was in the wrong for being there that night. And I promise, I got within 2 feet of this critter, and he DID NOT MOVE. I think he woulda bit me if it came down to it, if you know what I mean. RABIES, kid...

There was one bench we used to sit on where we'd chat about EVERYTHING. The things you don't know about me, I can count on two fingers. Why did I feel like I could spill my guts to you like that; why did you feel you could do the same? How could we laugh with each other so much, get frustrated together so much, talk so much trash, agree to disagree so easily, share so many secrets, think so far ahead together, and not...

But anyway...

That time your big bro came thru to help you pack up was dope! I admit, I was shook at first because I forgot he was coming, and you told me before he was banging, and I was wearing the wrong colors... but he turned out to be a cool fella! I especially admired his diplomacy tactics with your "loveable" suitemates; I'm not an advocate of thuggin', but I can't say it isn't mad effective!

'Sorry about that one incident. I had no idea it was gonna be headlines and bright lights after I called our homeboy with security up, I really didn't. BUT!... I think everybody learned an important lesson, and knowing is half the battle, and education is fundamental, and that's one to grow on, lol. But the thing I remember most about it is that you cried, and it really bothered me to see you cry. Kinda made me feel a lot less sorry for everybody involved, but I never woulda pursued the issue if I knew it was gonna bring you that much stress. I'm sorry.

I still remember where you used to live on campus, cuz I was over there how many hours a day? There was always some infomercial on the TV, or some trashy dating show. I remember that day I gave you my Foxy Brown CD, and you tried to put me up on some Petey Pablo (I'm sorry Shawt, that boi just ain't sank in yet, lol) I remember the marketing companies you tried to get me to sign up for, but I STILL don't trust those gimmicks, and I HOPE they haven't shafted you yet, lol. But I admired your determination at it; you were a real go-getter, to use the cliche that neither Jeezy nor R. Kelly created.

I remember that time you blew up my voicemail after I left... I thought it was hilarious and cute at the time. But now, it just hurts. Really, really hurts. Badly. I miss you so much... I got a call from the school earlier this semester; I knew you weren't there anymore, but I was DYING hoping it was you. 'Turned out to be some telethon to raise money for the school, lol. By the way, weren't you the one that talked me into doing that dadgom telethon thing in the first place? If it was you, I just wanted to let you know I haven't forgotten about that waste of an hour... Most BORING hour of my school career, and they had the nerve to get mad at me for being entertained by that one lady's answering machine that had 5 minutes worth of "please hang up" messages!

You stand out in my mind because you were so many things naturally that I don't regularly expect to see in a person. The only thing you weren't when I met you was saved, and you even got saved eventually; couldn't go to Heaven and not see you up there, homie. But talk about not seeing the forest for the trees! How did I miss you when you were right underneath me, LITERALLY?! Well... know dis: I have a high standard now, it's all because of you, so... big-up yaself on that.

I'm supposed to be trying to forget you now, but that's laughable. You shouldn't have talked on the phone with me so much, cuz I can still hear your voice, and it still makes me smile. You'd better be smiling wherever you are. Cuz if I find out you're not, expect to see me in a hot-grease minute.

Matt

I Still Care...

Even after ten years of delay and denial, frustration and disappointment, suppression and mockery, I still care. I still feel like I'm here to be a doer. And I still plan to make an impact unlike anything anyone has seen in a long time.

Why do I still care? I think I still care so much because... it doesn't make sense not to care really. Look around you: everything you see is a part of your world. If you see clouds on the horizon, in time, those clouds will shower over you; if the sun sets, it's night time for all of us. If a gun goes off in the night, it wakes all of us within earshot.

Each person is an individual molecule, yes. But molecules give, take, and share to create bonds. And those bonds polymerize to form something much greater, just like water. And everyone knows that whatever goes into a body of water, whether a chemical or a rock, affects the entire body.

Caring for others is in the same turn caring for yourself. There's not enough world to go around, so we hafta care for each other enough to maintain the one we've got. Socially, environmentally, it's ours to make work.

When my kids grow up, I don't want them to live in fear. right now, I hafta look out of my own window to make sure the used to be kids-next-door don't thumb through my car at night. You'd think I was living in the projects, but this is the SUBURBS I'm talking about. Gang signs spray painted on streets in the SUBURBS; break-ins and drugs being sold in the SUBURBS. I'm not saying it was cool in the projects, but at least poverty and destitution could explain it; there's not even any reasoning behind it now, except our society as a whole not taking care of its children. I don't want my kids to hafta see that.

I want my wife and I to be able to sit on the porch without a care in the world. But where I'm at, there's teenagers up until past midnight every night "chillin" in the street. The police have been on my street more than enough times in the last few months, as I've awakened to cars peeling off and women shouting and crying.

I still care though. I still feel like I can change something. I know I can't save the world, but I can change something, I'm sure of it. I've stopped associating with anyone who tells me differently. I've prayed and I've studied and I've planned. I see many many opportunities, but I'm waiting on the right time and the right method to come to me. It's taken 10 years, but I'm still here, and I'm getting closer. Any day now, something's got to give.

I've walked away from a few things in my life. This will not be one of them.

Taking My Glasses Off

I was born nearsighted; I'm not exactly sure which parent I got that from, because I think one is nearsighted and the other was farsighted. Nevertheless, that's my predicament.

Well, it's not really a predicament. I've managed to get pretty far in life, ya know? I was diagnosed early; 'been weraking glasses/contacts since then. No biggie.

But recently... nah, not really recently. I'll just say at random moments. There are times when I wish I could do away with my glasses. I know you're thinking "wear contacts" but that's not quite what I want. Number one, I have contacts; I hafta pay for contacts and I'll hafta continue paying for new ones for the rest of my existence. Which is why I don't wear the ones I have; glasses are more cost-efficient. Number two, I don't want a better treatment for my conditon, I want to CURE it. Feel me?

I find myself praying every now and again for God to hit me with one miracle and get my eyes straight for me. That would be such an awesome thing, to be able to go to sleep at night without taking glasses off or removing contacts. And if I was to hear something at night, or if the phone rings, no more having to grope in the dark for my specs, but just turn on the light and go fix the problem. It's a small thing, but it's a big thing, ya know?

And don't get me wrong; truthfully, I kinda like my glasses. I'm used to having them, to "hide behind" or whatever... And I'm thankful that I can see at all, even if it requires glasses. But being nearsighted isn't something I wouldn't trade if I got the opportunity. I like people to be able to see my face sometimes; I like how I'm treated when I'm not wearing my glasses; I like "real" eye-to-eye contact; I like my "alter image".

I don't have enough money right now, but I'm seriously considering getting corrective eye surgery when I get the chance; although, I would prefer it if God would perform the miracle and fix my eyes Himself so I won't hafta go through all that. It's a dot though; I can do without either if need be.

At the moment, I'm actually typing this entry with my glasses off. I can't even see the letters on the page unless I squint; all I can do is make out light and dark areas of the paragraphs. It's weird because the paragraphs look like they're spelling out something in huge letters... But I'm drifting on a tangent with that.

One of these days, I just might subject myseelf to the good-ol' cancer-causing laser-lights, just to see what life would be like with corrected vision. In the meantime, lemme put my frames back on so I can proofread this drop.

See Ya... B-J

Attractive Silence

Okay, I've had enough of this; it never fails! Every semester, I take classes, and in most of those classes there's that one girl...

She's the most beautiful girl in the class; the one that I notice most instantly, (as there are usually several others that I pick up on as the semester goes on). After I notice her, I'm filled with wonder: "What does somebody that beautiful sound like? What if she has brains to go with all her beauty? That would be something..."

The semester goes and goes. I talk, the people around me talk, everybody in the class talks... except for THAT GIRL! It NEVER FAILS! It seems like there's some unspoken rule: if you are beautiful, you are not allowed to express yourself in a classroom setting.

I wish I could pull one of these beautiful women aside and just ask her one day:

"What is it that keeps you all so quiet! Is it shyness? I mean, could a drop-dead gorgeous woman really be insecure and shy? (<---actually, I know the answer to that, but I still can't believe it.) Or, is it that beautiful women lack passion and soul? Do they not feel anything? Are they just exquisite shells? Are they overly-involved with menial things? Do they not think of much outside of their daily routine? Are they only passers-by on campus, pursuing modeling careers and taking crank courses in things unrelated to obtain a piece of paper? Do beautiful women have exotic, alien voices or something? Do they speak a forbidden language that mere mortals can't discern? Are they afraid of getting laughed at? Or do they not understand the material of the courses? I mean, I know good and well not all beautiful people are ditzy in the head! Maybe some, but not all!

Or... are they afraid of seeming too inviting to somebody like me, who would hang on to their every word? ...Assuming they had something to say of course."

I wish you could understand; I'm SO curious. SUCH a curious person am I! See, I think like a movie director, I like to see how things go together to "complete the package". I like for a certain sound and a certain image and a certain concept to be in concert with one another for a desired effect, see? So, when I see a beautiful woman, that's just the visual part. Next, I need the sound of her voice to see how it complements the frame. And then, I need the depth of what she has to say to bring the masterpiece together. That's just me.

Or maybe... the complement to a beautiful woman is in her silence. I mean, sometimes everything is cool until words are spoken. "If you can't say something nice..." and such things. Maybe, sometimes, beauty is speechless; when a woman is so beautiful that there's nothing left to be said. Still... there can be no harm in a "hello", ya know? Or merely answering a question here and there in class, just to show us what you're packin' upstairs. I could care less if you give a wrong answer; college in general is a big, superficial wrong answer. We're just here to play the game, so why not get involved?

Let's Talk B-J

Feelings, Fear, Faith, Fine, Forget It...

Nothing I do feels right. But, that's life. Think of how many things are wrong that feel good to you? The same one came to all of our minds that very moment. If it didn't, then you are one truly sheltered individual.

And I'm jealous...

But seriously, I was brought up under soooo much scrutiny (of no fault of my mother's) that I just naturally don't feel right or confident doing ANYTHING. I could be right beyond any shadow of doubt; I'll just make up a shadow outta thin air so I don't get surprised by the one I know I'm missing. It's good because I'm forever on my toes in everything I do; it's bad because I'm forever on my toes in everything I do.

It makes it hard to know when I make poor choices. The truth is, I question all authority short of God Himself. Why? Because we've been on this earth for thousands of years now, and we STILL ain't got it right yet. So somebody in some position of authority got da be messin' up BIG TIME! And I haven't been here long enough to make those kinda rules yet so...

I'll question authority right now just to show you I'm not crazy when I do it: somebody, anybody... gimme a reason why we have two forks at the dinner table that can pick up the same thing? A dinner fork and a salad fork? Huh? I've tried both on everything: they are interchangeable! Plus, we don't even EAT salad like that! Not in America! Can't you see how obese we are?

Now, you know I'm right about it; you couldn't argue against that if you tried. Yet, when I question authority, even when I KNOW I'm right, it doesn't feel right. Meanwhile, when I don't question authority, knowing I should, it feels equally wrong. And yeah, I pray about it. All the time. But someone once told me that God doesn't give roadmaps outside of His Word; I find that to be quite accurate. Seriously... there is nowhere in the Bible that tells you what job to apply for or what major to take or ANYTHING. So I pray, and I wait for that 'voice', and then I just go do the best I can. After all, the Word just says, "In all thy ways acknowledge Me, and I will direct your path."

I guess the uncertainty makes sense then. I mean, when the path must be "cut" by God, that must mean you can't see it clearly before that. So... what I need is for someone to relay that message to family and friends... and probably send a copy to me as well--- to that little piece inside me that rattles when my world is shaken. I mean, I feel bad about doing good things and thinking practical thoughts just because I find I'm often the only one doing and thinking them. To be in the minority does not inherently put one in the wrong, and if "might makes right", then God, as the Almighty, still overrules the majority.

Eh... Then there's the issue of sometimes not knowing if it's God or the Devil talking to me. I mean, I know my Word. The problem is what I stated before: the Word doesn't exactly cover the little things. The little things that have nothing to do with morality, like, "Should I drop this class? Pops will be mad, but I reeeally don't need to be here, I'll probably flunk, and the sooner I drop, the bigger the refund..."

And for those who would say, "Have faith and stay in the class", that's kinda inaccurate: faith is to be had in the things mentioned in God's Word; His promises basically. Also, couldn't the answer be, "Have faith and drop the class, knowing that He has another prepared for you"? Also, are you assuming that faith will cause one to pass? Don't forget, the same faith that rescued some saints also caused others to be sawed in half...

See what I mean? There, you have the same faith in three manifestations, and neither really... asserts a direction. But I do realize what faith does assert, that being that, if you love the Lord, all things work together for good. And sometimes, that's about all I have to cling to.

But it would be nice to get a Heavenly head-nod every now and then, ya know? B-J

The Good From Evil

You can misread this if you want to. Or you could just read it first...

I wanna start this evening (it's really morning, but evening just sounds better) by saying, congratulations to those of you who are about to censor hip hop; you have won a decisive battle against... something.

Lemme drop a dime on you. Don't you hate it when babies cry in public and embarrass you? Don't you hate it when you hafta vomit after eating something? Don't you hate it when you walk into the casino and come out broke because you didn't bring enough money? Don't you hate the way girls always argue with you? Don't you hate when you have sex with thugs and they leave you barefooted and pregnant all on your own? Don't you hate when cats in the projects rob stores?

Well, for those of you who are trying to censor hip hop, these are your answers to the aforementioned problems: silence and shame the baby for unpleasant crying with discipline; take some medicine to coat your stomach before you eat whatever made you sick; bring more money to the casino next time; say that all girls are stupid; use better contraceptives; profile the Black men in the neighborhood and arrest as many as possible.

Whether you know it or not, if you're one of those who are out to censor hip hop, these examples represent your mentality. You're not a healer of the world; you're a band-aid to cover up the world's wounds. Lemme give you the correct answers to the problems to show you what "healing" is supposed to look like:

CHECK THE BABY'S DIAPER OR GIVE HIM A BOTTLE; STOP EATING FOODS THAT YOUR BODY ISN'T NATURALLY MADE TO INGEST; RECOGNIZE THAT YOU ARE ADDICTED TO GAMBLING AND NEED TO AVOID CASINOS; CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY THAT EVERY GIRL ARGUES WITH YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE OF A DISAGREEABLE PERSONALITY; STOP SLEEPING WITH THUGS... OR ANYBODY ELSE NOT COMMITTED ENOUGH TO MARRY YOU; ASK WHO OR WHAT PUTS POOR PEOPLE IN A POSITION WHERE THEY FEEL THEY HAFTA STEAL, AND ADDRESS THOSE PEOPLE/SITUATIONS.

I called this post "The Good from Evil" for a reason; not all evil is meant to destroy. Some evil is merely an indicator. It's not cool to have negative and profane language in hip hop, but it's only an indicator. Of what you ask? Of the conditions in the places where hip hop is generated. The music didn't make itself; it was spawned from real life. So, even if you manage to censor hip hop, all you're doing is forcing silence a baby who's catching a rash because his diaper is full of sh!t. And we'll just say the "diaper full of sh!t" is a metaphor for inner city life.

Evil is tricky because evil has this ability to distract us from its true essence by giving us decoys. Then again, I shouldn't call them decoys; they're symptoms. Evil is a disease that generates its own symptoms, and we tend to focus more on the symptoms than the disease.

But just like any symptom in real life--- coughing, sneezing, vomiting--- the good comes in that they alert us to a more serious condition. If we can just analyze the symptoms instead of trying to hide them--- the way we use cough suppressants to "quiet" strep throat without curing it--- then we can do something useful, like addressing inner city conditions.

Again, I'm not condoning profanity in hip hop; but for those of you who are focused on the profanity, you ARE condoning the conditions of the inner cities of urban America. Is that justified? 'L no. It boggles my mind why we're so unnerved by the minors, but so comfortable with the majors.


But When I Look at the Way Our Medical Community Operates, It Makes Perfect Sense B-J

Testosterone: Unnecessary Roughness

Let me begin this entry by saying in no way am I'm insinuating that only men have aggressiveness within them: the "unfortunate fact" of the matter is, they use testosterone to make steroids and they use estrogen to swell up chickens. You do the math.

I'm relatively passive for a brotha; I don't come across hard and I don't try to. I mean yeah, I talk about martial arts and combat a lot, but when you converse with me face-to-face, you find I'm one of the most docile, laid-back, sensitive cats you'll ever come across. The type of cat that steeps green tea in his spare time, actually listens to the lyrics of the music, interprets art, sees into your soul, etc....

But screw all that: just as much as I'm tenderhearted, I can be very much the opposite. I just have a strong mind that keeps me in check; I know when it's appropriate to be one or the other. And the truth is, I simply don't get a chance to be the other very often--- 'unnecessary roughness' you might call it.

(You might not know this, but the parts of the brain for sexuality and aggression overlap. So, just to clear the air with all this talk of male hormone, I will not be going into sexuality; this one's 100% pure aggression. Sorry to disappoint ;-P )

I tend to be drawn to certain things; anybody that really knows me will recognize some of these:

I love explosions. I don't like dunks; I like to see people getting dunked on. I like knockout punches. I like punchlines. I like big cats, especially when they're fighting each other. I like to see bottles smashed over heads; I like to see things break in general--- china plates, demolition, all that. I like extravagant end zone celebrations. I like kung fu flicks with excessive sound effects. I LOVE fighting games, especially ones that I can't beat (so make one). I like high speeds. I like open-hand slaps. I LOVE backhands. I like hockey... brawls. I like football... brawls. I like basketball... brawls. I like superhero... brawls. I like women... brawls ;-P

You'd be surprised folks, I might actually be a little crazy... When you experience road rage, for instance, you probably think about little stuff like killing the other driver, right? I think bigger... like kicking my car door off the hinges, running in front of the other driver, and flipping their car flat-over like a pancake. My mom used to tell this story that my sister and I were once in the car with her, and a wreckless driver cut her off. Instead of us being calm and supportive toward mom, we were in the car chanting, "Wreck-'em-Mama, wreck-'em! Wreck-'em-Mama, wreck-'em!"

Yeah, "we". My lil sister's crazy too ;-P

Or how about this: 'you ever have the urge to bite somebody? I do all the time. Like, sometimes somebody'll say something--- or even worse, say nothing in a lot of words---and I just fantasize about going berserk on 'em in mid-sentence, getting a couple of swings off to the head, then biting 'em and watching 'em run off traumatized. Kinda like this circus bear I saw once sitting next to this lady in an interview (no lie, my little sister saw it too!)

And I may not seem like it, but I have a very "go-for-it" mentality at times. When Chad Johnson wanted to race a horse, I said, "go for it". When Jackass 2 came out, and I saw 4 men on a 4-way seesaw in a ring with a bull, I said, "go for it". When Rasheed Wallace used to get upset, I said, "go for it". When the President wanted to go to Afghanistan, I said, "go for it... No, I mean YOU... YOU go for it".

You gotta be very careful taking advice for me; if I don't care much for ya, I just might tell you watcha wanna hear so I can get my camera and film the catastrophe. I was teaching my Sunday School kids about wisdom the other day, and I jokingly (not really) said I laugh at people that know better and still make unwise decisions. What's funny is that, according to Proverbs 1:26, God does too! So, I don't feel so bad about it now...

And if you haven't noticed, my little sister is no help at all. It's terrible... (Is it really?) It's terrible, but the greatest times that we share are watching and waiting for catastrophes to happen. My thing is watching people get their blocks knocked off; her thing is watching animals get scared silly and run smack into walls.

Ya'll should see the smile on my face right now, seriously. I can't help it: before today's out, I gotta see some action. And since baby sis is home for one more day, maybe I'll take her with me. Toss a firecracker behind some aimless cat on the way to see a Godzilla flick or sumn...

I know it's not right, but it's TIGHT! >;-P

What Do I Want? SEASON PASSES!!

My last few birthdays and Christmasses have gone by unfruitfully; I'm at a point now where I don't want a lot out of life. I only want to accomplish what I set out to do years ago, and that's about all I ever think about.

The things that I do find myself wanting are lofty: bus rides with old friends to who-knows-where; world peace; the perfect girl for me; my own big Japanese robot; super powers; a time machine... the only practical thing I ever want is a ginger beer. And maybe a full-fledged studio. For the most part, I talk about things that I know I can (and have no choice but to) do without. Overall, I just don't ever want anything.

Until now. It just occurred to me how much I talk about getting away with friends, etc. I forgot that there was such a thing as a theme park! I was goofing off on this Coca Cola site, and a saw the logo for Six Flags. A few fond memories came back, so I clicked on the logo just for the heck of it...

When I got to the site, I saw something that I never noticed before; maybe because when I was little, I didn't have any income to even think of something like this. SEASON PASSES! $74.99. THat means, if I buy season passes for the price of a mere 3 gas tanks, I can go to Six FLags ANY TIME I WANT and stay AS LONG AS I WANT...

And get this: with WHOMEVER I WANT. Yeah, I notice they have this contest for a Dream Nite. Basically, if you win, you and 100 friends... get the park. For a whole night. Middle of September. All rides. Catering. Your OWN PARADE...

And the thing is... I know about 100 friends I could bring. How ill is that? ELEMENTARY/MIDDLE SCHOOL/HIGH SCHOOL/COLLEGE CLASS REUNION FOO!! Not to mention, even if you don't win Dream Nite, Season Passes come with 5 bring-a-friend passes.

SO, I'm thinkin' to maself: "Self, it's 2007. The season JUST STARTED. You're taking your last three classes right now; by September, you'll be Scott free. Perhaps this is as good a year as any to cop a season pass to Six Flags Over Georgia."

And then I told myself, "Ya know... You make a good argument there stranger. I mean, my finances are tight... but I juuuust might be able to spare $74.99. Heck, I'm workin', and half of my work is free. And my homegirl say bruh needs a vacation..."

It's a thought in my mind, and almost a twinkle in my eye. And somehow, I get the feeling I could win that lil contest too. I mean, I NEVER win contests, but this one's special. How many people do you know could dig up 100 honest-to-goodness friends for sumn like that? I definitely could... cept, I don't call half of em by their names anymore, so it's kinda foggy, lol.

I dunno... it's just interesting because I never really want anything; my homie J recommended me to a weapons shop the other day to cop a sword at a discount price (you know how I love martial arts), but when I got there I just didn't have the appetite for it. But this pass is one thing I wouldn't mind having.

...I warn you, this is something I plan to cop for MYSELF once I've decided that I'm gonna go thru with it; if you know me, do NOT go out and cop that FOR me, cuz you just might be wasting your money on something I'll never use: let the record show, I wrote that in digital stone on 5/22/2007.

Thanx B-J

The Greatest Hoodwink in History!

It's Tuesday, but I already spent all my energy on Monday. I can't seem to get my readings done for my classes. I mean, I read, but it's almost like I can't make the words out on the pages. I hafta keep pausing, regaining my thoughts, re-reading the articles...

Just two little classes, and already it's more taxing than the five I took just last semester. And it's all because, so late in the game, I finally realized--- "realized" meaning, it's making a difference to me now--- that I'm not meant to be a history major.

It's bigger than whether or not I can do the work: I'm not truly interested, so it feels like I CAN'T do the work. Like I'm working against some greater force, ya know? A force that I AGREE with. For a while, I was wondering if I was lazy or something but, after last semester, I figured out that it's not that. The problem is, I can't dupe myself into doing anything that I don't wanna do; I can't shut myself down or lie to myself or justify doing it. Just like I couldn't fake myself into wanting to be in college, I can't fake myself into enjoying history either.

Truthfully, I went into history following in my mother's footsteps. But don't get the wrong idea, I didn't plan on being "just like Mom" or anything; I figured, "If I gotta be a teacher like her, 'might as well take up something familiar to her. Maybe she can help me with her experience/expertise or sumn..." So at the time, I had no real interest in history; I had no interest in ANY academic subject. So it didn't make any difference which one I chose.

Then I took a new angle on things. "Since I wanna help the world so much, history will help me wee what went wrong so I can figure out how to make it right!" Sounds good, right? But that was a cover-up, too. Use your heads folks: the only change I ever planned on making was socio/political/spiritual change in America, particularly in the urban culture. In that case, where does Rome, Greece, Japan, China, Europe, the Civil War, Mesopotamia, The Cuban Missile Crisis, Central America, the Truman Administration, or World War I come into play? That's like studying calculus to be able to get familiar with the digits in your own phone number.

But, I still had the hope that I would come acros that one class in the history department that would make it all worth it; African-American history almost did it, but my remembrances are all of prior generations, not present-day African-Americans. Not to mention, I was so far on the history track that changing course at that point would only waste money. Unfortunately, I didn't find that enlightening course... in history. The course I was looking for was an entire department called Sociology.

Sociology and history are actually very closely related. If you've ever been in a history course, you've probably seen the questions asked in class where the teacher says, "That's a little too personal/goes a little too in-depth/is on too much of a micro scale for our purposes." THAT's what I was looking for; and that's pretty much what we dealt with in Sociology.

Now that I'm out of my Sociology minor with three history classes between me and graduation, I feel like I'm shutting down all over again. There should be a school policy that says, "If students in a history course are searching further than the course is willing to go for answers, the professor of the course in question should recommend that student to the Sociology department as quickly as possible and refund the money they've paid for any and all history courses".

Oh, I've got to tell you cats about this one too; I hafta take a test before I become a teacher. No biggie... cept for the fact Im' a history major. Imagine a single test covering: Mesopotamia, the Fertile Crescent, Victorian England, the Civil War, the Revolutionary Era, Meiji Japan, Red China, the Soviet Union, World War I, World War II, Apartheid, the Byzantine Empire, and pretty much... history itself. And I'm thinking to myself... my COLLEGE LEVEL PROFESSORS specialize in certain areas of history... NOT THE WHOLE OF HISTORY ITSELF!!

But heck, what can I do? I've got to take the test in my area of study, which is history. Too much on my mind; I'll think back to that later...

Before I continue, however, let me just say there's a bit more to this than meets the eye regarding my present classes. Lemme explain summer-semester to you; we're in class for 23 days over about 4 weeks. In one particular class, in that 4 weeks' time, we hafta read over 1000 pages of a book; in the second class, we hafta read about 450 pages. We'll round up to 1500 pages. In the meantime, I'm working on campus and working outta my house, producing for local talent (which I never actually planned on doing). My baby sister came home from college unexpectedly; weekly expenditures just went up. I had to pull out of one of my church ministries cuz I couldn't keep up. Not to mention, my computer decided to pull a fast-one on me the other day, and I lost all my "clients'" (who don't pay me btw) material in one fell swoop. And this fresh new computer of mine now has the hiccups...

Is it just universal policy that NOTHING... EVER goes according to plan? I think I've digressed a little.

I'm putting this here because, as usual, there's nobody I can talk to about this that's actually going to make a bit of difference. I can tell my family I hate history; all they'll say is, "you're so close to finishing; you can't throw away that money; you've got to get a job to pay that house off." I can talk to friends, but all they'll say is, "I feel ya; you should drop the classes; do what you feel; man that's tough; stick it out." My professors prolly already think I'm a slacker, cuz I've come to them with an unbelieveable amount of funerals since I've been in school.

Well... the good news is, if I can hang on for this week, I can actually not expect to see the studio guys for a while. The workload probably won't get any easier, but the good news is it can't get much harder. I'm on the threshold of graduation, and I can't even SEE it. There's something wrong with that. Terribly wrong. There's no excitement, just pure frustration...

(SCREEEECH!!! STOP THE PRESSES!!!!!...You know what I just realized? In grade school, they always called history-related subjects "Social Studies"! What the hell?! How did I come in on the Social Studies train, miss Sociology, and end up a History major?! ...It's a plot! 'Gotta be! See, the Man doesn't want social change so, in grade school, he teaches History under the guise of 'Social Studies' to avoid the meaningful discussions that would happen in a REAL 'Social Studies' class! Then, when we get to college, he keeps Sociology on the hush and railroads us into the History department, where we'll discuss the past without bringing it into the [relevant] modern era. Yeaaaaahhh, I SEE YOU, PLAYA!! >B-(...)

Anywasy, guess what... I just discovered it's "discussion day" in my second course. Sooooo... I gotta leave... NOW. Peaces.

VIVA LA SOCIOLOGIA!!! B-(

My Best Isn't Good Enough...

It's an idea that I never thought to give words to. We don't realize it, but when we say "we'll do our best", we automatically put a limit on ourselves. Think about it...

At that moment, you don't know what your best is. But, whatever the outcome, you've already declared it to be your "best". So, for better or worse, you believe it to be so. And in your mind, you set a limit: "at my best, I miss the game-winning shot", "at my best, I pass with a B", etc.

Yet, how many times after the fact do we look back and say, "If I had done this differently, I would have come out better"? So, on one hand we say we give our "best"; on the other hand, we find room for improvement. The two ideas can't both be right.

I'm not gonna lie to ya; I use the term "best" to create room for myself to err. Like, when I tell somebody "I'll do my best", that means, "I probably won't/don't really want to do what you asked me to, but I'll try just enough to say I that attempted it". The effect: if I come up short, the person is caught up in the fact that I "gave it my all" more so than I failed.

(It seems a little dirty... except, most of the time, I find that people hang around people too much based on what they can do and not enough based on who they are. And then, I don't feel so bad about it...)

Perhaps a "best" doesn't actually exist. Perhaps "best" is a word that we should reserve--- maybe a word that only exists--- for when we are comparing things: if you have more than two objects and you are comparing them, you have a best of the group. that's all. Outside of that, "best" doesn't exist.

This is how I live my life; I don't believe in my own best. If I was ever at my "best", I'd be perfect; but perfection is impossible in our world and in our present states. However, if something needs to be done, I simply say, "I'll get it done", and do it. And at the end of the day, that's all that matters.

As long as I don't believe in my best, there's always room for me to grow and expand. And I'll just keep getting better and better without ever actually getting "there". But you shouldn't see it so sadly; you forget that getting "there" is not the reason we're here. "There" is something that only God Himself can give us access to. It's all about what we accomplish while we have the time. We literally "try our best" without "doing our best". See the difference? The first is about reaching towards something; the other is about reaching it. Life is an unending reach toward something better.

I Try B-J

The 'Me' in 'Team'

Pride precedes destruction...

I can tell you from experience, the most dangerous person you ever wanna work with is a person with something to prove. But it's not a person who is trying to prove a mere point; they can actually be beneficial, because they are willing to acknowledge what is and what isn't. If they're wrong, they'll fess up; if they're right, they'll move on.

But the most dangerous person to work with is a person who is trying to prove... himself. When a person is trying to prove himself or herself, he or she will not call for help even if they need it; they're too worried about losing the right to independence and their shot at glory. He or she will not admit if they are wrong, even if they know they are; they're too worried about losing credibility and their shot at an "I told you so".

This is the type of person who puts an entire team in jeopardy. They operate on a rationale that no one outside of themselves can use. And the two rationales collide in what we call a conflict of interest; this conflict is what we like to refer to as the 'I' in 'team'.

But calling this the 'I' in 'team' is a little bit of an oversimplification in this case. The 'I' in 'team' could refer to a person who has any ol' outside interest. But a person whose interest is to prove his or her own worth... That's the 'me' in team. He or she is not the "subject", but the "object".

I speak as if I'm not that type of person, right? Well... the truth is, I'm not. The truth is, I don't respect most people enough to feel I hafta "prove myself". I mean, I have common respect for folks, but I'm not scared of anybody, and I don't feel I hafta impress anybody, except maybe the occasional rare beauty.

See, when I know I've got people attached to me, whether it be in a team or whatever, I realize that having something to prove is most likely to end with me being even more despised than I thought I was at the onset. I say thought because I also realize... most folks don't think enough about you or me to care to despise us. That's paranoia kidz. Plus, even if they did despise you... why is it important to make haters love you? Prostitutes sell themselves for the purpose of gratifying others; what does that make you?

Nah, if you've got something to prove, the best thing you can do is roll solo until you're comfortable with yourself. But when you link up with a team, but haven't learned to put yourself aside, then that team is gonna suffer at some point. I mean, just imagine if every part of your body had a brain of its own... It's because there's one brain that coordinates every other part that you're able to function effectively; otherwise, you'd never get anything done. Because there'd be no "you"; there'd be an out-of-control "us", each part doing what was best for itself.

But that's just in the 'I' scenario; in the 'me' scenario it would be the same thing, except your body would sever itself in a contest to see which part is best.


I Speak of the Roots of My Frustration B-(

Your Love is POP

Your love is POP. You know, like pop music: here to hit; gone tomorrow; missing the soul...
Your love is POP. It's sorta pop, ya know? Just soda pop, i.e. not the finest of wines...
Your love is POP. Like BUST, and then the party's over. Like balloons poppin', it's so empty...
Your love is POP. Like "Poppa", like "Cooool Daddy", like fingers poppin' in the open mic cool spot; it's popcorn poetry...
Your love is POP. It's popular, it's flashy. It's what's "in", it's what's expected, it's what they want...


Just a few lines... not even lines really, just my real thoughts today as I was in my car. Read over that a couple of times and let it marinate; I hope that's not the kind of love you people out there really want.


Some Even Say The Real Thing is Soda Pop B-J

The True Mission of the Chevy Autobots...

Yoooo... Okay, so they got me hooked on this lil gimmick for the upcoming Transformers movie; Chevrolet has created this fighting game at www.chevyautobot.com, where you get to play as the "Chevy Autobots" and fight other Chevy Autobots. It's a very engaging fighting system, almost a gamble every time so that an expert, like myself, has no real advantage. You can play as the Chevy Impala Autobot (like myself), the Silverado bot, the HHR, the Equinox, the Aveo, the Avalanche, or the Cobalt (my arch enemy who consistently pisses me off)

But scratch all those cars and the game; you guys and gals really need to pay attention to the TRUE mission of these "Chevy Autobots". And it has nothing to do with transforming robots; more like transforming the face of the automobile industry and US oil consumption.

I should get paid for plugging Chevy in my blog like this, but this one is special. It seems that Chevy has worked out a new type of engine and fuel that will dramatically reduce gas consumption for you and I. I haven't read up on everything, but here's the concept: instead of using purely gasoline for cars, Chevy and GM have perfected the technology to use a fuel that's 85% ethanol, 15% gasoline. Lemme break down the ethanol for you: all you need to make ethanol is grain. You can piece it together from that; we're on the verge of revolution.

Oh, and if you think THAT'S something, lemme show you how else gas companies are finally gonna suck it. Forget all the cars I mentioned earlier; the only car you need to listen out for is the Concept Chevy Volt (and the concept Camaro, just cuz it's FLAWLESS SEXECUTION) The Volt is fueled three different ways at your convenience: pure gasoline, the ethanol/gasoline mixture, or ELECTRICITY. Apparently, you can charge this car for 6 hours, and it can go 40 miles... on pure electricity.

For an Augusta State University student like me, that means I can drive back and forth to school every day forever... on electricity.

I could go further into detail about this, but I know ya'll's attention spans ain't what they ought. But keep an ear out for key words: Chevy Volt, Equinox, E85, ethanol, FlexFuel.

The Chevy Autobots truly have come to Earth to save us. Imagine... an America not jacking other countries for their oil resources all the time. The Chevy Volt just might save us from the D.C. DeCepticons...


WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON!! PRIME, JUST LEMME KNOW WHATCHU NEED MY RIGGA! B-J

Jigabod's Excellent Adventure

Okay, so you people out there know by now that Karl Marx and I are homebois now. Cool. So I've got Karl riding shotgun in the jalopee, right? When all of a sudden...

Actually, before I go any further, lemme just throw this out there: a friend of mine once told me to read the Art of War by Sun Tzu. I did... what I always do, which is give it the okey-doke. I didn't internalize anything at the time, cuz I actually had a lyrical battle with somebody coming up (which I won by the way B-J)


So, I'm taking this Military Thought course right now, right? And all of a sudden, this dude Sun Tzu is in my face again...

"Whattup dude," I sez, "whaddaya want now?"

Sun Tzu doesn't answer my question. He just poses the following:

"What is of extreme importance is to attack the enemy's strategy... And as water has no constant form, there are in war no constant conditions... Avoid force, strike where he is weak..."

So I sez, "...DUDE!!! We're, like, RIGHT HERE DUDE!! I apply the SAME TACTICS to... EVERYTHING! Politics, debates, rhyme battles, sports, video games... YOU SHOULD SEE MY SOUL CALIBUR 3 RECORD! That's the VERY REASON my Mitsurugi is the TRUTH! Aww DUDE!"

So I grab this cat right? And I bring him to Karl Marx. "Karl Marx, this is Sun Tzu. Sun Tzu, Karl Marx..."

"Sup."

"Sup."

I was a little nervous, because it didn't look like immediate chemistry between the two. But then Karl Marx says, "Philosophers have hitherto only interpreted the world in various ways; the point is to change it..."

To which Sun Tzu responds, "Good rulers deliberate on plans, good generals execute them..."

And then I sez, "Yeeeeeeeeaaah! Talk is cheap, action is priceless man!" ANd I put 2 and 2 together. "We're not philosophers... we're GENERALS MAN!!"

"EXCELLENT!!"

Somehow, I always knew Sun Tzu was somebody I'd acknowledge. How do I know? It's complicated: I got cool with Karl Marx not because of the new things he taught me, but because of the old suspicions he confirmed for me. And it's the same thing here: I'm not doing anything any differently, but I now have a great military strategist to affirm my methods.

Here's the beautiful thing about the way I operate; I don't live and die by the affirmations of others. I take the time to dissect completely situations before I open my mouth. I clear my head of all biases and traditional logic and make the most efficient use of the knowledge placed right in front of me. I create systems in my mind; I put them through rigorous testing, in everything from the most favorable to the most unfavorable circumstances. I study the things around me to find out what more I can incorporate into the systems. Finally, when I've purged it down to its most empirical, basic, bulletproof form, I use it. And I let people doubt me and call me crazy, until they put me to the test and find out just how wrong they are.

And when I go through that process, I've found that the affirmation comes after the fact, as a Karl Marx or a Sun Tzu comes along and says, "DUDE! I did the SAME THING just a few hundred years ago! RIGHTEOUS!"

The truth is, there really is "nothing new under the sun". So, I guess there's something to be said for those who go in search of other footprints to trace. But I can tell you, it means so much more when you blindly make your own footprints, only to discover you share a greater man's shoe-size.

Be Excellent to One Another B-J

Where Hip Hop Went Wrong...

I hate to even talk about hip-hop anymore, I really do. But for the sake of all that is real, I'm gon' do this.

When Nas dropped his "Hip Hop is Dead" album a few months ago, a loooooot of cats in the South got mad.

(On a side note, they say a hit dog will holla.)

In response, I kept hearing southern MCs saying, "Naw, naw, he hatin'! He mad cuz we gettin' money now! It's our turn now!"

Aight, cool... You notice in that response that NOWHERE is music mentioned? THAT's what Nas is talking about... THAT'S why hip hop is dead. He didn't hafta call out regions and whatnot; all he had to do was say it, and look at who comes out talking about "get money" this and "get money" that. Gettin' money has nothing to do with hip hop or real music. Hip hop was an art before it was a business.

But I'm straying from my point. See, hip hop really is the music of the African-American. You know why? Cuz we got the same history. Lemme break that down:

The biggest obstacle for African-Americans is that we were a people brought over as capital who lost our identity and had to create ourselves anew. Because of our lack of identity, we're easily manipulated. Likewise, hip hop was a genre of music that started out with good intentions, but never had a definite identity. Thus, it was easily taken advantage of by merchant capitalists. Now it's being exploited and used against the very people who made it.

Lemme break that down further. Hip hop started from the streets and gathering places of the inner cities. It was once the voices of poor people struggling to make it in the world, talking about their experiences and hardships, weaving poetry, entertaining with clevery rhyme. It was once about education and having fun and self-expression. That's one school of hip hop. Hip hop is now littered with icons, most of whom really aren't that talented, over-payed producers, who make better music on their own than with rappers on their tracks, self-expression in the form of imitating others, and the largest consumer participation from White (and sheltered Black) kids in the suburbs. It's false stories of men who claim to be more than what they really are, claim to do stuff that they never really did, rent items and women to shine in their videos, and pay producers and directors to make them notorious. That's the new school of hip hop.

See, the problem isn't whether or not hip hop has a good or bad side; the problem is, hip hop never decided what it wanted to be in the first place. It started amongst a group of people who had no "legal" control of their own creation; copyrighting lyrics and beats is not the same as copyrighting genres. Ownership is the key word; no one ever had the authority over hip hop to define and defend by force that which IS hip hop from that which is NOT hip hop. So now, hip hop is one big identity crisis. And the industry, the people who control the airwaves, the record labels, the market, the merchant capitalists.... they've decided they prefer a mercantile, cashcow hip hop more than a pure, meritable hip hop.

I work with cats that honestly believe hip hop is a get-money scheme; somehow, I messed around and ended up indebted to 'em, so I gotta hold up my end. What's sad is, as bad as I wanna choke hell out of 'em, I can't. Because, as far as I'm concerned, hip hop is whatever you say it is. When thousands of people go to concerts and shout this fool or that fool is the greatest MC, and they don't know jack about poetry, or creativity, or delivery, or flow, or originality, or depth, and they aren't willing to learn, what can you really do?

You can say hip hop is dead, and continue to do what you do for the love of good music, period.


Common, I Feel You Dawg; I Used to Love H.E.R. Too B-(

A Black Thing...

Aight, here we go...

"Black people"--- let's break that down. "Black"--- a color. A people of color. What color? Black.

What is the color Black? Scientifically speaking, Black is the color that absorbs all frequencies of light in the electromagnetic spectrum. What is its appearance? The color of pitch. The ultimate darkness. Night without the moon and stars. Coal.

That's the scientific angle to it.

You want me to tell you what Black REALLY is though, don't ya? I mean, Black as it pertains to "Black people"... And no, Black doesn't mean African-American; because every person of color is not necessarily of direct African descent, or at least any more so than your average White person. And Black is a term used in places other than America. And it definitely doesn't mean skintone, because I don't know many people of pitch, nor do I know of a color that ever defined a person's significance. Does "content of their character" ring a bell?

I'll tell you what Black really is: Black is a creation of the established culture for the purpose of separating a group of people into a social "Other"; Black is a label that people of color have accepted and embraced for the purpose of amassing numbers in order to oppose the established culture; Black is a deculturalization of many rich, diverse, and beautiful ethnicities into a new identity whose existence is totally contingent on the state of racial conflict.

THAT is Black.

As an African-American, I recognize the racial plight of dark-skinned peoples not only in my country, but in other parts of the world as well. I also recognize that this is not the case ALL over the world, and that being "Black" does not inherently call for unity or oneness amongst "Black" peoples.

Nor do I feel it should.

Why not? I'll give you an example. I'm African-American, and I have a lot of African-American peeps. The truth of the matter is, none of us has any idea who our ancestors are. Am I West African? East African? South African? North African? Dunno. Why is that significant? Because, contrary to popular belief, Africa is not a country; it's a continent. That means that Africa is a large place full of many different countries and many different races of dark-skinned, and even some light-skinned peoples. And the truth is, THEY were not unified. They warred with one another and killed one another, just like the countries of Europe and the peoples of any other continent. They lived and bonded according to their ETHNICITIES, RACES, and NATIONALITIES, not their colors.

For some reason, we have this idea that your skin tone automatically makes you kindred to people of the same skin tone. To a degree, that's just a deeper form of racism; to assume that all are one because of the shade of skin?

However, this line of thinking is not entirely false. There is this argument: our mutual African ancestors lost their identities in the New World and were subjected to the same fate as one another. Thus, no matter where our African lineage may take us, we share in common the lineage of New World African slavery. We African-Americans are indeed a race in and of ourselves.

But, notice I said AFRICAN-AMERICANS, not BLACKS. I know it may seem to be splitting hairs, but here's why I'm doing this:

As long as we refer to ourselves as Black, we define ourselves in terms of our relation to the established culture; our existence is merely a reaction to a conflict, meaning we don't exist outside of that conflict. It's like when a woman goes on a so-called feminist tip and decides to dress in apparel traditionally attributed to men... even though she's not comfortable in it. (I say 'so-called' because this isn't true feminism) She may claim feminism, but she's only redefining herself in terms of socially constructed 'manhood'; she's sacrificed who she really is, whatever that may be, to pur herself in discomfort to prove a point to people who prrrobably don't care WHAT she wears. And we're doing the same thing when we call ourselves "Black"; we're trying to rise above the classification attached to us by the established culture, but adopting and internalizing that label at the same time.

I felt bad for Tiger Woods when he first came on the scene, because we were the first to exert this deeper racism on him. Tiger is part African-American, part Asian-American; we decided to attempt to nullify his race/ethnicity/nationality to attempt to lump him into "Blackness" to gain more power for the fight against the established culture. That was wrong. And even I've experienced this form of racism; I have Native American (Cherokee) on both sides of my family, but as a youth, anytime I mentioned it, I was told, "But YOU are Black." I'm sure many of you have experienced that too...

It's terrible that racism is so deeply ingrained into our very beings that we see all things in terms of racial struggle. But we must realize that, by being "pro-Black", we are actually reinforcing that categorization set in place by the establishment. And as long as we carry that torch for them, we'll never truly be free.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was wise in that he was not a man solely dedicated to "Black" people; "Black" people forget that Martin Luther King's vision was for ALL people to love and accept one another, not just "Blacks" and "Whites". Even now "Black" people are mad because a Chinese man was chosen to sculpt his statue; they missed the point. We should've figured this out long ago; if we hope to defeat the establishment, the answer lies in approaching it as human beings versus oppressors, not as "Blacks" vs. "Whites".

My 7th grade Language Arts teacher made a big to-do about making sure I used the term African-American and not "Black". I understood what she meant, when she said "I am not a color", but I didn't understand her passion about it. Maybe what I think now is what she thought as well: calling ourselves "Black" to try to amass power actually serves to further dehumanize us in the same stroke, and when the smoke clears, we will have lost our identities for the sake of the struggle.

And the struggle will never end, because the struggle is for our humanity, not for our socially constructed label.


Ultimately, the Only Race is Human B-J

Breakdown of A Bad Idea

Aight, I have the urge to help my people live a little better than yesterday, so I thought I'd put ya'll up on sumn a learned a long time ago.

Follow my lips now: a bad idea is NOT an idea that doesn't work.

You've got to learn some strange things in life. One of those things is that, many times, things will not go according to plan. You're going to experience disappointments. Period.

But what makes it work for you is if you can get up from those disappointments and roll with the punches. We have a hard time doing that. One of the reasons why is because when things go wrong we tend to think it's over, when it really isn't. There's just been a change in plan, that's all.

At my house, I let the milk spoil most of the time (not deliberately); I buy by the gallon and rarely finish off the whole thing because I live alone.

"So buying a whole gallon is a bad idea."

Nope. Because, when the milk goes sour, I make sourdough biscuits. That's never my plan, but I make it work.

You see how that works? A bad idea is not when a good idea doesn't go according to plan. It's not even when a good idea doesn't work at all; you'd be surprised what you can do with a big fat dud of an idea.

THIS is a bad idea: a bad idea is an idea that needlessly leaves you in a bad position.

The key word here is "needlessly". Most of the time, we have our worst ideas tryna do something that doesn't need to be done. And most of the time, those bad ideas are just substitutes for good ideas that we didn't like.

Perfect example:

You wanted sneakers, but you didn't want to get a job to buy them because it would take too long to make the money, so you either stole them or sold drugs to cop 'em. You have the want: the shoes. You have the good idea: getting a job. You have the needless desire: to get them quickly. You have the bad idea: stealing or slangin'.

And what makes stealing or slangin' for shoes so bad? For a $150 pair of shoes, you risk the following:

1. Falling out of God's favor by sinning.
2. Getting arrested for theft, having to pay bond, getting a record with the system.
3. Getting arrested for possession and distribution, having to pay bond, getting a record with the system, going to prison for 10 years.
4. Falling in with serious dealers, getting killed.

Each of those is faaaaaar more costly than some $150 shoes. That just shows you're too bad a businessman to be callin' yourself slangin'.

Now, it's a little different if you wanted something like... to eat... to pay medical bills... something you needed, feel me? But we'll get into that another time, cuz that's not you.

Usually, a bad idea can be spotted BEFORE it is carried out by its obvious and cred-day unfavorable consequences. Good ideas that go wrong usually don't come with sizable risks and impossible odds in the event of a miscue. Last night, it would've been a good idea for the Phoenix Suns to get a lead on the Spurs, then monopolize the clock by holding the ball til the last second on every possession. Even if the Spurs players fouled the Suns players, the possession switch works in the Suns' favor, as their shot percentage automatically goes up with foul shots. Instead, they opted to attempt to increase the lead with quick shots, in spite of their tendency to lose accuracy in the later quarters. Thus, hey turned a 90% wiinning situation into a loss. All because of a bad idea with high-stakes consequences.

(Hopefully that means something to sumbody besides Doc; I don't know if the rest of ya'll saw the game or not)

In closing, bad ideas are not ideas that don't work, but ideas that, in the case that they don't work, come with consequences that one can't afford. Whereas good ideas may not work, but won't destroy you in the aftermath.

Think Ahead, and You'll Stay Ahead, Plus You'll KEEP Ya Head B-J

Somnia

I wish the moon big as the sun
I wish the it was the only one
I wish that each ray was a beam
Over sheets like the color creme

I wish my very bed a womb
I wish the very walls a tomb
I wish the comforter alive
To smother me 'til I sighed

I wish that night was endless sea
I wish to steep it for my tea
I wish it hot and full of steam
That I may only sip my dreams


I'm Half-Asleep Right Now, So It Feels Good To Me B-J

My Short Poem

Small men belittle.




*Explanation - A man once told me, "the essence of poetry is saying as much as you can in as few words as possible". Every poem, whether it is long or short, does this in some form or fashion. I hold tightly to that precedent... sometimes so much so that I do poems of only one or two lines. This is my shortest poem to date; what makes it a poem are the multiple meanings that can be extracted from the three or four words:

1. Short men compensate their shortness by being intimidating to others.
2. Unmanly men hide their insecurities by tearing others down.
3. Small men are, literally, little (be-little).

If you include the title, you can extract even more meaning. The word "short" can describe length, but it can also describe demeanor. I wrote this in response to someone who attempted to belittle me, so I mean the word "short" in the latter sense: I'm getting short to be on the same level with this small man who attempted to belittle me.


Can You Believe It! SIX WORDS! B-J

The Saggin Next Door

I must be a saaad, saaad person...

So I'm chillin' today, workin on a verse, enjoying my time after work, trying to be productive. Until I hear a series of car doors closing near my house. I was expecting company, so I went to the window. And my heart just... went to sleep on the job.

New neighbors. Right across the street. So of course, I had to get my look on...

Now, this is where you get to see how terrible a person I am. My eyes happened to fall upon the 'girl next door'. A beautiful young lady.

"You Peeping Tom!"

Ohhhhh no I wasn't... I barely even saw THAT chick. That's NOT what I was looking for.

"You looking for dudes then?!"

HELL, no. Respectively. I already got paid sharpshooters in place for the day I even think of switching sides. I wouldn't live to make the decision...

"You casing the house to rob 'em?"

Nupe. Even though they kept their door wide open.

Nope, ladies and gentlemen, I'ma be straight up witchu; I'm more afraid of them than they should be of me. See, when I looked out the window today, I wasn't looking for but one thing: saggin.

"Huh?"

I said, I was casin' for saggin.

"I don't get it. What was saggin'?"

Not saggin'... saggIN. (they're censoring me, this is difficult)

I'm lookin' for:

1. Saggin that don't know how to get out the street when cars are coming.
2. Saggin that have cars with concert PA systems.
3. Saggin that have excessive tattoos and smoke weed and thug it out in the suburbs.
4. Saggin that talk sh!t, are scared to fight, and carry weapons to compensate.
5. Saggin that sell drugs to get sneakers to replace their new sneakers.
6. Saggin that have kids with names that are unspellable and unspeakable so that I can't tell them saggin to stay out my yard.
7. Saggin that have hairstyles which are louder than the cars of the previously mentioned saggin.
8. Saggin that will (attempt to) borrow all their neighbors' life savings and electrical appliances and foodstuffs, returning the former two late or never.
9. Saggin that invite 30 friends over to a 2 bedroom house and block up the street with incredible traffic and drunkenness.
10. Saggin that will have more kids with unspeakable names.
11. Saggin that renew their marital vows in terms of domestic disputes and police sirens at 6 in the morning.

I'm so ashamed... I literally feel like falling upon my knees and praying, "In the name of Jesus, please don't let these be saggin moving in across the street from me. I'm sure they're just good people, who will be great neighbors and who won't lower the property value and ruin it for everybody. I just KNOW it!"

New neighbors should be a happy occasion. But people, I'm NOT being MEAN! If you only knew the stuff I've seen on my street as recently as--- last week was it?--- you'd understand me COMPLETELY.

I... DO NOT... LIKE... SAGGIN... I like Black folks. Good, reasonable Black folks. Statefarm Black folks, feel me?

(eyes to the sky)
I can barely remember what that chick looks like. She's the laaaaaast last thing on my mind.

PLEASE...

In the name of all that is left of my SANITY...

For the sake of all that is RIGHT and GOOD...

DON'T...

LET...

SAGGIN...

MOVE...

'CROSS...

THE...

STREET...

FROM...

ME...

Booooo Censorship... B-X

'S' for 'Short'...

When the last bullet ricocheted off of Superman's chest,
I just chucked the golden gun at him, crossed my arms and smiled:
"You think that by now I wouldn't know your reputation?
When you're that weak in the head, of course your manner is mild!

"See, Clark Kent writes reports for his daily paper, 'The Bugle'---
A sensational press of conservative propaganda.
They slander the real victims, then position their heroes,
Or generate their own villains by breaking the Miranda...

"But what bothers me isn't Clark Kent's little stint at the Planet;
It's his ability to work there and for Superman to stand it!

"With a little curl right down the middle of his forehead,
Superman patrols the day, keeping the citizens safe.
When statistics show the most heinous crimes are committed at night...
'Guess his delicate eyes aren't ready to see people beaten and raped.

"Instead of protecting safes, you could use your powers for more!
So at night citizens can bank on having their safety outdoors!

"Batman can't stand your guts; do you have the darkest inkling why?
Because you're a stranger to the night, but still represent the light!
What good is a light with the sun high in the sky like 'Eureka'!?
You're just like every other conservative; you just stay in the right---

"'Stay in the right', meaning you ride high with speed atop the steed,
And shout, 'Hurry!' back to tired pedestrians: the people in need.

"But since you work the day shift with all your 'ultimate power',
Perhaps I should advise you on how to be more efficient:
You've received the accolades from city government officials---
Why fly from the scene of the crime to the places where crime isn't?

White collars must be the Lamb's blood if Clark Kent wouldn't report;
This is why you call him Superman, but I call him 'S' for 'Short'..."


Yeah... I Just Beat Superman. Your Thoughts? B-J

Still Jasmine

Into the darkness I spill when the coast isn't clear
As the day of light is gone and the farside is near
With patience and pause, pads lightly upon the soil
High grass licking my face slickens my body to oil
What lies in the brush is a truth no one should know
As hungry eyes conceal this blasted fire and glow
Still Jasmine is the seductive, sweet scent of my lair
As I go search of more essence just to thicken the air
I tensely await with every ounce of my primal devotion
The perfect detection, as your body speaks waters in motion
Poor victim... I'm dry with disbelief at this chance
You won't put up a fight, I can tell by your stance
But you'll try, and so we tumble disturbing the black peace
You should at least see my teeth, but then I'd have to release
So natural for you to give to me what I'm willing to take
The beast now full and rested; still Jasmine lies awake


Submit Your Interpretations Please... B-J

Obsoletion: A New Beginning

What can I do...

Augusta--- heck, the world--- is becoming everything I ever feared it would. Rampant murders, sub-urban gangs, disintegrated families, political corruption, religious confusion, class struggle... you name it, all spinning out of control.

It's no surprise at all though; it's been going on since before I was born. But what gets me is that, even though I'm only 24, I've lived long enough to see a noticeable change for the worse. And I had made up in my mind a long time ago that all I wanted to exist for was be an instrument to make sure things didn't get any worse. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. And I believed in that.

But nah... all I've been to this point is a mere student, just like everybody else around me, minus the blind conformity. I mean, I've always had plans and ideas to make an impact, but I've never had the facilities to... I hate giving this spiel, so I'm gonna stop right there.

What can I do...

Aight, here it is: I'm too far gone to turn back, ladies and gents. Revolution is my mode and my mentality, period. And I simply don't know how I could ever back down from that and live with myself. Because, when you know better, you do better; it doesn't make logical sense to know the facts, know the truth, know the reality, and then not act accordingly. I sat at a graduation today, and I tried my best to be happy for the graduates, knowing full well that the entire structure and all its pomp and prestige is just a facade. And, as I sat there and choked on my own gut, it just made it more clear to me...

If I can't change my world, then it's time for me to leave it.

I know what it sounds likem, but nah, I'm not suicidal by a long shot. I was just thinkin'... Maybe this city--- this country--- isn't the place for me after all, ya know? I mean, if the American way doesn't suit me, there are other places that aren't part of America (yet) that I could relocate to. Ontario, Canada for instance...

So I'm running away from the fight, right? Nah, not at all. But lemme tell you what's really on my mind: obsoletion ('obsoleteness' is the proper word, but I like my word better). I feel that my strength and effectiveness are waning. I feel that everything that I've sought to accomplish needed to be accomplished years ago and that, by now, maybe the times have changed too much, and the hearts of the people have hardened beyond what I can reach. Through my music at least...

But no, I'm not gonna stop trying. This is what I'm ultimately getting at: if I try, and if I fail, then I'm out. Outta here. That's all I'm saying. I can't see myself giving my all and, nevertheless, finding myself in an unfazed environment. I'm not Captain America, so I'm DEFINITELY not going down with the ship, feel me?

I feel stupid saying all this, because I knew that I was hoping against hope when I first decided to live this type of life. I already know the world's destiny according to God's Word, and my life has been spent trying to salvage what I can of its impending wreckage...

The concept of fight or flight is that when we're confronted with situations, we make a choice of whether to stand our ground and resist, or to retreat and give way. This is not the choice with which I'm faced. As a matter of fact, there's no choice at all: I will fight. And the outcome of that fight will determine my next course of action; either I will remain and reap the benefits of victory, or I will leave so as to not spend my existence rebuilding amongst the mindless destruction around me. Simple.

A funny thing about being obsolete though; obsoletion does not equal uselessness. Only... inadequacy. And inadequacy all depends on what one is trying to accomplish; I'm not after the same thing as my adversaries. So, even in the face of obsoletion, I represent a new beginning. And it's too early to be concerned with the end.

You Can Teach a New Dog Old Tricks, and They'll Still Be New to Him B-J

Unkillable

I always tell people, "You don't hafta worry about me. I'ma always be alright." And it's true; I'll always be cool. It's in the Bible: "All things work together for good for those that love the Lord".

In so many ways, I'm unkillable. I mean yeah, I can be defeated. And lets be real: if I get shot, I'm history. Not that there's much to hit...

But when I say I'm unkillable, what I'm saying is, in life, I don't find myself in situations where I can't win. I'll put it in perspective for ya... I've played a lot of video games in life, and I've noticed a difference between the old games and the new ones: in the old ones, when you die, you only come back a certain number of times before "game over"(because there's no save point in the game); in the new games, you can die and come back as many times as you want, as long as you decide to try again.

The question with me is never if I can win, but if I'm willing to try again until I do...

I shouldn't feel this way on my birthday. But hey, reality doesn't recognize any 'special' days; 'matter of fact, it seems to plan things for when you don't need them most.

But I guess it's natural for a father to see his son on his birthday; give him a card on one hand, financial troubles and personal insults on the other. It's little things like that... That's the reason why you probably were more excited about my birthday than I was folks. My life is such that, the instant I let my guard down, I'll wish I hadn't.

That's kinda why I'm so hard to comfort; you can tell me whatever you want, but no one has ever told me anything that stopped trouble from coming. Period. I know God is with me; I know weeping may endure for a night; I know all things work together for good. I also know that right now, at this moment, my skin is red. I know my body temperature is higher than it should be. And I know it won't be the last time. I know I'm not out of the woods.

I'ma be honest with you; I really just want war. I really just wanna get it all off my chest, come out swingin' with no regard for my adversaries. I'm 24 years old, been sittin' on too much for too long. But I can't do that. It's not the "right thing to do..."

I'll tell ya right now, I'm not gonna lose. But again, I'm left with the question of whether or not I want to win. In God's book, winning would be continuing to take the suffering until daybreak; continuing to take the insults, knowing that a better day is coming, knowing that I'm in the beloved, knowing that trouble don't last always. And losing... losing would be unloading 24 years of anguish the next time my father crosses me, and not stopping until on of us is in tears, humiliated, remorseful, out on a limb, enraged.

In my book, winning is not having to deal with either, and losing is having to choose between the lesser of two evils. "Sufficient to the day are the evils thereof"; that's real talk right there. In achieving escape from situations, suicide makes sense... to a nonbeliever. But if you're saved, and you really believe that all things work together for good, then suicide is the answer of a coward and a hypocrite; thus, I stay in the game.

Unkillable--- not like an invincible hero, but like an undead soul. Having suffered, and having no choice but to suffer until God decides to change the situation.

And this has been a... birthday message? Gross, lol...

T-Minus 10...

There's nothing I love more than a worthy opponent; there's nothing I love more than a good teacher...

They said it was unwise to take 5 upper level courses in the same semester. I didn't: I took 5 parts of a single course called Sociology. But don't worry about that now... it's DONE. I turned in my final final yesterday, and now... I don't even have 5 whole courses left between now and graduation. How ya lovin' that?

Oh yeah, this semester was a big deal. A real big deal. But you know what? Not a heck of a lot actually changed. This was my semester in a nutshell: I came in with deep suspicion; I came out with total confirmation.

So, finally, I can look all those who have questioned me directly in the eye and say, "You think the way you think because you have the mind of a child in a world constructed by grown folks. Oh, you wanna debate that? Okay... I've got Karl Marx; who you got? I've got Durkheim; who you got? I got Hooks; who you got? I've got Weber; who you got? I've got Bartlett and Steele; who you got? I've got Scarboro and Johnston; who you got? I've got MLK Jr.; who you got? I've got DuBois AND Washington; who you got? I've got JESUS CHRIST; who you got?"

See, that's important to me... Correction: that's important to you. Why? Because, for some reason, any conclusion I draw without someone else's seconding is worthless to you. That's the greatest lesson that I've learned from school: we're a society full of sheep who have no direction without someone else's direction.

Well... YOU ASKED FOR IT, YOOUUUU GOT IT! NOW WHAT!

Yeah, this semester has been worth every dime... I said I'd never make friends with professors; now I'm associates with a whole department! And while your people wave goodbye and say, "Stay out of trouble," mine shake my hand and say, "Start trouble". And I'm HAPPY to oblige!

Oh, it's a cooold living tryna do something worthwhile in this life while surrounded by scary, apathetic, sheepish folks; I feel like giving up EVERY DAY. But hold on... I can't leave here until I get me some getback; I owe some people for doubting me and doubting what I stand for. I can't leave this earth until I drop a shoeprint in this piece and change the landscape.

And I'm starting with my own city. I've targeted a long-standing, long-divided issue--- a polluted neighborhood that has been neglected for TWO DECADES. That's gonna be my entry point; and when I stab into the situation, I'm using a poison-laced blade... it's gonna spread to every part of this city. And that's just the beginning.

I have a team that I'm not even gonna count on. Why? Because I can't count on 'em; nobody's got the time, the faith, or the attention span to hold me down, it seems. And knowing this, it would be stupid on my part to put things on hold for them or leave it up to them to make or break this move; I didn't go to school to come out stupid... 'matter of fact, I wasn't even stupid enough to want to go to school in the first place. But I thank God that fires don't start collectively; they start with sparks. My job is to spark in a dry place, like the city of Augusta, and then blow and bank on the fire igniting on the dead grass. If it doesn't ignite, I'll just spark it again. It's nothing; there's no sense in living and not trying.

Tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be off work with no classes. I think I'm actually going to celebrate this year, somehow. Thursday, May 10, 2007... the origin of a new holiday, which I now dub "T-Minus 10"...

...So Begins the Ending. Spread the Word... B-J

Loose Lips Sink Ships

Aight, I had to catch myself today, I admit it.

You know what? I can be downright mean if I don't watch out; I caught myself and what I was thinkin' today, and it was like... "Wwooooow, why couldn't I be this mean back when I was little?"

But you know, that very instant, I realized that that was the source of my meanness? The getting picked on when I was little and all that, it's still sitting there somewhere inside me. And I'm constantly releasing the beast bit-by-bit.

Don't get me wrong, I'm harmless, I'm a pup. But that's because I don't let cats push me enough to let the dog out. There's something I realized that makes me reluctant to let loose. See, when I was little, I got picked on for things that weren't true about me, like being seen as a weakling, because I always knew how strong I really was. Or being compared to Steve Urkel just because I was smart and had glasses: I didn't snort or fall down or anything like that, I was a cool lil fella.

But the reason I don't wanna retaliate is this: they made up stuff to use to pick on me; when I think of going at people nowadays, I go at 'em about stuff that I know is TRUE about 'em. I'm part psychologist, part sociologist, part theologist; it's nothing for me to figure a person out at first glance. So, if I choose to tear somebody down, it's not something they're gonna walk away from with ease.

And sometimes, I find myself thinking about the nicest lil punches! Like, I saw this cat on MySpace today who called himself an "original artist", but his picture was like a cut-and-paste of every contemporary gospel artist I've ever seen... overly dressed with the matching shades and all. And this other chick had a picture with her leg up on a tree... but she kinda had legs like an iguana a little bit.

And every other Black female's account I saw had sumn about them wanting a thug or a hood n!gga or whatnot... And personally, I was just finding more and more reasons not to feel sorry for 'em when they get turned out. But again, the socio-psycho-theologist in me saw everything behind it and slipped the Beretta back in the holster.

Yeah, I tell myself "Down Boy" so many times in the run of a day that I don't even notice it really. It's a reflex. That's one reason I love when my folks call me B.Cat, because most of the day, I'm mentally poised. I'm dead-set focused like a leopard about to drop from his tree. But I never follow through.

Which brings up another issue... What gives me the right to smash on people? I mean, it's one thing if it's something like pimps, pushers, hoes, politicians, sorry parents, murderers... people actually tearing society down. (And on a sidenote, that's who a loooot of these cats on MySpace portray themselves as...) But, I sometimes wanna go at people just for... little stuff... I guess. Little stuff like... the stuff you see on College Hill. Which, to me, isn't little, but then agian, it's all relative...

But, "let He who is without sin cast the first stone" and such. I mean, I know perfectly well that I'm not without sin. But I definitely try to do right, and I know when I'm wrong. And at the points in my life when I was at my best, that's when I was the most belittled. So from time to time, I get this lil' urge to try cats, just for making me sick.

I don't mean to sound like a baby, but somewhere inside I'm saying, "It's not fair", and wishing I could deal what I was dealt to somebody else more deserving. But you know what? Even if I don't follow through and forever crush somebody's ego, it feels good to know that I can, lol.

So, now you know; if you ever try to ram with me, be made aware and realize that you're the Titanic, and I'm...

THA MOTHAFUNKIN ICEBERG B-J