A Writer's Block

Don't make me laugh, this isn't a war if you come in my path/
You're only hot when I ain' running like two taps in a bath/

SCRIBBLE

Don't make me laugh, this isn't a war if you come in my path/
You hesistate to start like indentations in paragraphs/

SCRIBBLE

Don't make me laugh, this isn't a war if you come in my path/
I'm writing hard because I'm working on your tomb's epitaph/

If there's one thing I can say is going right for me right now, it's my writing. I've gotten to a point where I no longer feel pressured when I write, especially if it's poetry or lyrics. It took me a long time to overcome that "fear of the void" though.

A young friend of mine asked me to rip a track with him. I said cool. I started on a verse just last night. It was dope... but I didn't even like it. And with no hesitation, I cast it aside. Because I was that sure that another one would come to me.

Less than a minute later, it did.

I know it sounds like I'm being cocky, but it's not that. It's simply that I've finally "settled in". Writing has gone from a roulette to a routine for me. Of course I haven't "mastered" it, but I have gotten to a point where I can teach myself anything that I haven't yet learned. And that in itself is a type of mastery.

As a writer, the most difficult thing to overcome is the occasional writer's block. But even there, I found out what writer's block really is. There was a writer named George Herbert Mead who was brilliant in his field (social psychology). The problem is, he didn't leave much material. The reason for that is because he looked so hard for "genius" that he wouldn't write until he found it.

That used to be a problem for me; I too am a perfectionist at my craft. But what I did was I put myself in situations where I was forced to crank out high-caliber writing in minimal time. Eventually, I realized this: sometimes genius is instantly evident; sometimes genius comes with development. But if you never put pen to paper, then genius is irrelevant.

Writing actually taught me a lot about faith. The sensation of Peter stepping out on water is the same sensation I feel when trying to write under pressure. Sometimes I have an idea in mind that's already cut for me; sometimes I have nothing and I want make something. In the second instance, that's when it takes a leap of faith. And I have yet to set out in that manner and have it return void.

Another part of the faith thing is having the courage to put my best ideas out. It's easy as a writer to become hesitant about putting your best foot forward: there's always biters, plagiarizers, etc. out there looking for their "own original ideas" or looking for something to piggyback off of. But for a real writer, the greatest fear isn't them; it's the fear of running out of material. And, with good ideas being such a rarity, it's easy to believe that they're limited in supply.

But they're not. And I can prove it.

I performed an experiment once. I've been writing for years, and I've written things that I can't even recall. On occasion I'll write something I really like and, before it has a chance to sink in, I'll hide it away somewhere. And when I do it, I'm not planning on digging it up anytime soon. This is my reasoning:

When in the writing process I find myself running out of ideas, I just smile and continue to write. Because I know running out of ideas is not possible. If it WERE possible, then the ideas from those hidden writings would come back to me... and they never have. It's a weird experiment, I know; but it proves that good ideas continue to exist outside of our awareness of them. Therefore, we should just keep digging until we find them.

I still abide by the same two principles in my writing: 1) never write down anything without a purpose; 2) say as much as you can in the fewest words possible. I'm at a point now where I'm very critical of every type of writer, from the simple to the most astute; they all do things that irk me, lol. Truthfully, I even irk myself most times, because I know exactly where to improve everything that I write; I just can't always invest the time and energy into doing that each time. Yes, there's an element of time management in almost everything aspect of life.

I think the most critical aspect of my writing is something that isn't very...tangible. As a youngster, before I got the hang of all the grammatical parts of writing, I learned something else. I learned how to write meaningfully. And to be honest, I'm not sure HOW I learned that. At some point, I learned how to write to hearts moreso than to heads. I learned how to be myself within the confines (and sometimes WITHOUT the confines) of grammatical rule. And even at that, I learned when those rules were important and when they weren't. I've taught many writers how to become better at their craft, but that is one thing I've never managed to be able to teach. It's like trying to teach a robot to have a soul; it's gotta come from inside that robot.

This was actually supposed to be a lyrical verse at the onset; so much for that. I trusted my writer's instinct to let this become what it was meant to become. I'd say it was a good call.

The Hush

Sitting home alone. It's not as bad as one might think; I'm one of the few who isn't afraid of solitude. Still, there's some disadvantages to being alone.

When you live like I do--- always thinking about the state of the world and those around you--- you don't smile a heck of a lot. Matter of fact, you feel downright ugly about things. Add personal problems to the mix and you get one heck of a bad mood. The feelings that well up in my chest can sometimes only be described as outrageous--- like rage just bursting to get out.

And when it's really bad... well, there's nobody to turn to. It's not one of those things you can talk about easily. Mom's not here to hug her boy anymore; no love in my life to take her place. And anybody else... even if I get a hug, they don't really understand my feelings. So I don't feel any better.

But I get by. Sometimes you gotta be your own best friend. The first thing I do is accept that there's nobody around; it's not a natural thing because man is a social creature... but it's the truth. Then, I sorta step outside of myself; definitely not something you do in public, because people will think you're crazy for it.

I talk myself down. But it's not like having a conversation with myself; actually, just the opposite. When I feel like cussin' my head off, I simply go, "SHHHHH....shhhh...shhh..sh..." I hush myself into submission.

It doesn't make anything better, but neither does that hug; it simply cools my head enough to maintain and keep things in perspective. After all, it's only life. Even when I have it bad, there's plenty of folks who have it worse.

(For the record, I hate when people gimme that lame line. Different tolerances...)

Shhhhhh.... Isn't that a universal signal by now? I mean, just shhh yourself... Do we all feel calmness when we hear that? Do we all think of our mothers, or think of babies and bedtimes? Whatever it is, it works for this big baby. Good job, Mom. I'm off to bed now...

Nobody's Home

I had a friend. I had feelings. I had to get them off my chest. Then... I had an epiphany.

I can't believe how I let somebody that I have no contact with straight RUN me. But what can I say: she means the world to me. I mean, the fact is, nobody compares to her; it'll be a long time before I meet somebody else that even holds a light to her.

But all that is done. I'm done with dreaming and wishing. For once, I'm not gonna live in my own little world; I'm gonna acknowledge what's there. Nothing.

Pride? I don't care about that. Maybe you don't understand exactly how empty I feel right now. You've got to have something left inside to be able to experience pride. I'm HOLLOW right now.

NOBODY'S HOME...

Why does love matter so much. What's the big deal. Somebody please tell me. Because right now, I see no reason not to be absolute-zero about it.

Sometimes, it feels like somebody's messing with me--- taunting, if you will. When, for instance, I find myself being most attracted to the women who are the most off-limits. And it's not like I go LOOKING for married women at all; they just happen to be the ones that have the characteristics I'm looking for.

Every.

Single.

Time.

And frankly, I'm tired of even having love on my mind. Nothing productive comes of it, ya know? It's not fun, it's not relaxing, it's not... for me. I could be thinking of better things. And if not, I could be discovering better things to think about.

And it would be just my luck that "there's nothing better than love". But heck, I've settled for less so many times before in life; I'll just do what I always do and settle for less again. No skin off my back.

Maybe I can't fool myself into believing I'll never think of her again--- or anyone else for that matter. I can't even pretend that if she were to show up on my doorstep tonight, I wouldn't throw everything away to be with her. But I can say this: I'm ashamed of myself. I'm disappointed with myself; I've let myself down. And because of that, I'm removed from myself. Because life is too short to let this fool heart of mine mess it up.

And at the end of the day, I still love love. It's just not a game I'm trying to be a part of. Sumn like that.

Change

He's different with purpose
Like uniforms
In a crowd

Life passes him by
Like interstates
Before arrival

Love calls to him
Like a mother
To bedtime

Memories haunt him
Like window taps
At odd hours

The present binds him
Like lack of faith
Holds God hostage

Tomorrow denies him
Like the courtship
Of the vain

Mere needs distract him
Like diplomas
In youth's prime

Too much on a poor soul
He wants to change
The world

I Don't Mind

My face is clay cracked in the sun
My breath is pressurized air exhausted
My teeth are the canines of the caverns
My eyes are the sugars of boyhood
My arms are damp spring branches
My chest is the truth stretched
My heart burns burgandy red and navy blue
My back is a campaign to the masses
My blood is the potion of all generations

I no longer howl at the moon
People are trying to sleep
I walk and speed the earth's rotation
Mourning

I rest on a bed of nails soundly
Protected from some predators by greater predators
I move slowly dragging my weapons behind
I don't mind

I wake to the privilege of darkness
Surrounded by the blind in their confusion
I stand alone to break the awkward silence
A statement

State of the Moment Address

Right now, I'm somewhere between. Tomorrow could be the biggest day of my life; tomorrow could be just another day. But, either way, tomorrow is coming; that's all I need to know.

I've been here for 24 years already. I've lived long enough to say I've seen a definite change come over this world. But this is nothing, because I saw the change coming long before it arrived.

A change for the worse, I regret to say. And yet, the recipe was there all along for it. And it troubles me when people try to single out a culprit by merely citing lawbreakers, particular incidents, and other such deviants. This barely scratches the surface of our current state.

I'm at a loss regarding things to talk about. You ever say something so many times that it begins to sound unfamiliar to you, like another voice is saying it? It's almost like I have a catch phrase for every situation. A good, well-thought-out catch phrase, too.

"I blame her father." "The love of money is killing us." "Capitalism exploits the poor for the sake of the rich." "Talk is cheap." "We're more concerned about the abstract things we can't change than the concrete things we can." "We expect positive examples to come out of negative lifestyles." "That's not God's Word, that's middle-class American values." "America cares too much about its economy and not enough about its people." "The NBA, NFL, and MLB have done more to help people than the FBI, CIA, and FEMA." "Real Christians should be more about redemption and less about condemnation." "Black America has a self-esteem problem." "You'll condemn the poor man for stealing, but never condemn the rich man for exploiting the poor man so that he has to steal." "America hates Canada because Canada displaces America as an enlightened country and as the standard it has always made itself out to be." "Hip hop is not the problem; hip hop is merely the expression OF the problem."

There's nothing more I can say that hasn't been said, figuratively speaking. But, I do feel that I haven't said these things in the right medium or to the right people. I guess all these years I've just been "gathering my thoughts", so to speak.

A lot of time, work, and sweat went into these thoughts. A lot of explications and counterarguments posed; none to much avail at all. And frankly, I got pissed at having to constantly explain, and re-explain, and re-explain myself to people. But I did it anyway, never once assuming my stance was bulletproof.

I hafta wonder if I've finally graduated. As I head to Atlanta tomorrow, have I jumped through enough hoops yet to finally do what I sought out to do at 17. If not, what more should I do. I'll do it, because I have no choice. I don't know how to revert back to whatever I was before all this.

Once, I told someone that I felt I was expendable. You know, like a soldier--- "Ours is not to reason why, but to go and do and die"--- that type of thing. What I gained after that point... I don't know if I can call it strength or not. I learned to do without things. Things like explanations, sympathy, recognition, understanding, and a few other things like that. And you know what?

It feels awful. Works like a charm, but feels awful.

I realized the other day being okay is more than the ability to continue. But until recently, that's all it was to me; I can always continue. I can always "handle it"; I can always "come through". But it's easy for a dead man to conquer life; why should he.

I Don't Cry in the Dark...

...but I should. Soooo much energy I've expended, just trying to contain myself. Making the right decisions in spite of myself; being hospitable in spite of myself; being patient in spite of myself; being hopeful in spite of myself. I'm tired as heck... but I just won't crack.

The reason I don't crack? It's because of a little something I've learned in the course of living: you can go your whole life and keep it nothing but real; it's the one time that you don't come thru by which you will be judged. By people that is.

Do I care what people think? Nope... most people don't even deserve the credit they do receive. But, opinions can be annoying nonetheless; people tend to make and break alliances on word-of-mouth, so I try to stay in good graces with folks. If nothing else, maintain the lil bit of respect I'm blessed with.

Before I get any further off topic: if I don't cry in the dark, what DO I do? Same as you: I take my clothes off, I lie down, I close my eyes. Because there's nobody watching, nowhere to go, and nothing to see. I might pray, which is something I do throughout the day anyway. Fantasizing? I did that already; it didn't work for me (what is it actually supposed to do anyway?).

I take advantage of the fact that, when the lights are out, my job is done. There's nothing I can do about anything. If I'm sad, there's nothing I can do about it. If I'm up to my neck, there's nothing I can do about it. If I'm worried, there's nothing I can do about it. Lonely? Nothing. Restless? Nothing. Pissed off? Too bad.

I don't care what happens to me; when the night falls, I sleep like my life is over. I don't really have time to cry, and it wouldn't really help me anyway. That's time I could be using to sleep.

And on that note, I should be asleep right now. Might get lucky and have a sweet dream or sumn. But if I don't... there's nothing I can do about that either.

Cable and The History Major

Murders in Augusta this year just hit 17; there's a March against Violence followed by a block party/rally in ATL on the 21st, where I'll be giving a speech; an offer was made to me to become a leader of a "tribe" of young men at my church...

And in 5 hours, I've got to cook up a rough draft of my paper for a history class. That seems so... I mean, shouldn't I be allowed to put that off for a less critical time? I've got a lot to think about, a lot to prepare for. Like, THIS IS THE WEEK to get my foot in the door and really make an impact; is the paper really THAT important?

I mean, heck, the truth is a paper is just a collection of already-known facts configured in such a way that presents a new perspective--- connect-the-dots, basically. To do the research, the research must already have been done, right? That's why we hafta learn to do bibliographies to avoid plagiarism; that's why libraries exist.

I often wonder: how much of history is people making history, and how much of history is people writing about people who made history? I'm a history major, but I don't want to write history; I want to make it. And I'm ready to do that... THIS WEEK. But I've got this paper interrupting me. We can't have that...

Nevertheless, I can't afford to flunk this class; actually, I'm on my way to the strongest 'A' I've achieved in years. Guess I shouldn't blow it. Still... that 'A' doesn't matter to anybody but me, and it really doesn't matter to me either. I just want to make a difference, that's all. That's all I ever wanted to do. Why/how in the world does this paper help me achieve anything? ...I find myself asking that question about a lot of things actually.

So far, I've already opted to chuck my original paper topic for something simpler. Why? Priorities: an 'A' for a simple paper is just as sufficient as an 'A' for an over-the-top paper. It's all about the formula: if you meet the professor's criteria, that's all that matters. You're not graded on earnestness, you're graded on jumping through the right hoops. So I've merely traded the time I'd spend creating a one-of-a-kind paper for the time I need to make a difference come Saturday.

Recently I've come to adopt a new favorite superhero. There's a character called Cable from the Marvel Comics Universe. He's got plenty of powers, but the one that stands out to me is his ability to time-travel. He uses his knowledge of history to intercede and make impacts at designated locations to prevent things from happening... sometimes to cause them to happen. That's what I feel a history major should be.

So, once again I find myself seeking a fulfillment that education won't bring me. Because, while we're writing papers on topics to learn the way of academia, a whole reality is passing us by in need of a new wave of cause and effect. And come Saturday, I'm going to follow in Cable's footsteps and supply that.

It's only childish until it happens.

Lightning in My Rearview

I was on the road today on my way home. Got caught at a redlight behind this truck, and suddenly the driver of the truck--- an older lady, a bit of the hillbilly persuasion--- jumps out and walks angrily over to an empty lot across the street. The passenger--- assumedly her hillbilly husband--- jumps out and walks her down. After holding up traffic, they both eventually walk back to the truck to finish their spat.

I pull off behind them, ready to put the cloudy day behind me, which causes me to look in my rearview. Suddenly, the mirror is split directly down the middle by a white streak deep in the distance. I accelerate... just a little.

I'm 24 now; this was supposed to be over with year ago. And yet, years later, my brontophobia persists, as strong as ever, and at times even stronger. Why??

Have I not prayed long enough or hard enough? Well... if a decade or more of prayer isn't enough, I guess nothing is. And all I have left to do is write about it; maybe discover a solution inside myself.

So what is it about this spectacle of light and sound that sits so deep in my consciousness. I vaguely remember when it all started, although I often doubt the validity of the story; fear tends to alter the memory, after all. There was actually a time in my young life when I wasn't so afraid of thunder and lightning, I'm almost sure of it. I don't remember being afraid of anything when I was in preschool for instance; I hadn't even gotten my first pair of glasses to be able to see lightning.

But the incident that stands out in memory--- my mother remembered it better than I, but I do recall it--- was when a fearsome storm came to us when I still lived in South Carolina. It was so fierce that we went in the basement garage, which is something we had never done before; perhaps that added some alarm to things to begin with.

I remember I was looking out of the window, which is something you're never supposed to do during storms. But--- I don't remember for certain--- maybe I actually enjoyed lightning as a child; maybe I was gazing out to get a better view of it. The problem is, I think I got the best view in the house that day.

There was a air-conditioning unit right outside the window, maybe three feet away. I don't think any of us knew back then that running air-conditioning units could draw lightning; maybe my dad knew, but either it wasn't turned off. I watched the sky through the window, never thinking that lightning would come near enough to us for concern. But it did; it came down right in front of the window in all its glory.

I can't really remember the next few seconds clearly. I can't remember if I fell down or ran or just froze in place; all I know is that my fists clenched tightly, white-knuckle tightly. Even now when I clench my fists, I can kinda remember that day.

I don't remember how quickly the thunder came after the lightning flash, but at some point, I covered my ears in total fear. One thing I do remember is the varied reactions of my parents.

My mother: "Are you okay, baby? Everything is okay, it's just a little lightning, don't be afraid..."

My father: "TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF YOUR EARS!! STOP BEING AFRAID!! I SAID TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF!!"

The more I think about it, the more I begin to think it was at this point that I began to feel a true animosity toward my dad. And the same disdain I have for storms is very similar to the feeling I get whenever he comes around to this day. Is this at the root of my fear?

After the storm, I didn't immediately realize what had happened at the time; it took me a while to put two and two together and figure out why our air conditioner was broken all of a sudden. Since that day, I've always made sure air conditioners were turned off at the very hint of a thunderstorm.

But I wish I had realized it that day. Because I think it was significant: because I didn't know that it was the air conditioner that drew the lightning, I thought it was me. You know how they say your chances of being struck by lightning are one-in-a-million? Well, I never felt that way; since that day, I've always felt like something was wrong with me that if anybody were to be struck, it would be me. Like lightning can "see" me or something. Maybe if I had known it was the air conditioner, I would never have felt this way.

I've spent most of my life hiding from storms. I was always in the basement in South Carolina; now that I don't have a basement, I wait it out in the bathroom. IF it happens while I'm at school, then I stay at school until it's over.

Have I ever tried to face my fear? Of course. I mean, my sister was afraid for a little while, but she managed to get over it. So how do you think I feel; of COURSE I tried to get over it. But, the last time I tried was NOT good for me.

I was about 21 years old. I sat in the hallway, leaning back and trying not to cover my ears or shake; my mother was in the den across from me, working on a paper for school. The storm approached, but I determined that I wasn't moving from that spot. The storm wasn't even that bad to be honest; overall, a few rumbles and some even rain. Nevertheless, my heart-rate was through the ROOF the entire time. It wasn't the actual lightning and thunder, but the fear of impending lightning and thunder. I tried to relax--- and if you know me, you know I can relax through anything--- but my breathing was CRAZY, and my whole body was shaking. It felt SO BAD, and the longer I sat, the worse it felt. Until, finally, I caved in and went for shelter.

I've conquered a lot of fears in my life--- heights, spiders, dying--- but none of these has ever before made me feel like I would have a heart-attack. My brontophobia is that severe. Still, I don't want to live the rest of my life in fear of anything. One of my greatest concerns is, when I get in a relationship with someone, will I still have this fear? Who wants their man to fear something like that, ya know?

I've tried to understand thunder and lightning differently, looking for the right perspective to release me from fear's grip. Old folks say it's the Lord speaking; the Bible makes similar references. But wait... is the Lord attracted to air conditioners or somethin'? If God has not given us a spirit of fear, then where did this come from? Is this a test that God has set before me that I hafta conquer? Is the Devil tryna keep me from reaching some plateau? Is this a random act of nature and I just happen to be the victim? Am I the one-in-a-million? When I'm in the bathroom praying so hard, is it amounting to ANYTHING? Or is God's mind already made up and this is something I'm gonna hafta live with? Is this one of those "My grace is sufficient" things where He won't actually fix me, but will instead make a way for me in my affliction? And how come nobody else seems to be afraid of thunder and lightning; am I the only one?

I've been praying earnestly about this for way too long; I've gotten to a point now where, whenever a storm approaches, I simply say, "Jesus, remember me." I mean, He already knows, right? So I don't hafta keep explaining and explaining and begging and pleading; just trust that He knows. And if nothing changes, you can't say I didn't put it in His hands.

When I get the money someday, I may go to a psychiatrist. But I'm very much nervous about doing so; I've seen how some psychiatrists treat brontophobia, and it's pretty harsh. They wait on a storm and take the patient outside into it. With thunder being as unpredictable as it is, that's gotta be hell for the brontophobe. Actually, that's one reason I haven't improved: thunder and lightning don't gradually increase or decrease, they occur randomly. Storms in the city are much worse than the storms we had in the country; there's no trees here to soften 'em up, no basement to go to, and my current house is on a hill, whereas my old house was at a much lower elevation. In South Carolina, we only got hit by lightning sparingly; in Pepperidge, we get hit almost like clockwork.

To be afraid of something you can't control... Spiders, you can stomp. Heights, you can climb down from or secure yourself at. Dying, you can put your life in Christ's hands. But thunder and lightning... you can't do anything about that.

What's worse, for every year that I haven't conquered my fear, it's only become more and more reflexive and instinctive. I'm conditioned to react; I do it almost without thinking. And when I don't, I feel like my heart is gonna burst; I really sympathize with asthmatics, because I somewhat know what it's like to have difficulty breathing.

At times, my fear has been so great that I would've preferred to be struck; at least I wouldn't have anything left to fear, ya know? But I'd rather just be like everyone else and live my life without the fear. I'll never understand why God would allow something like that to happen to me. At the same time, I'll never put it past Him that, in the blink of an eye, He could fix everything. Which leads me back to the question that plagues me each and every time it storms: why WON'T He when there's no one else could I possibly go to...

Poor Examples... Poor Children

I had a talk with myself today, and the little boy from my childhood told me something very significant. He told me that the greatest difficulty that children face is the hypocrisy they see in adults.

I mean imagine...

You're a child, trying to please everyone. Trying your best to do what's right. You imitate what you see, thinking that adults always do the right thing. But when you do what they do, they say "NO!" and scold you for doing wrong.

You see an adult lie; you think it's okay to lie. They scold you for lying and tell you never to lie again, because it's wrong. Then they go and lie again.

You see an adult drink alcohol; you think it's okay to drink alcohol. You go to pick up their can, and they slap your hand and say "NO!", saying its wrong to drink. But every time you open the refrigerator, you see a six pack that magically disappears day-by-day. We call it 'magic' because there's no way an adult would go against his own word and drink, right?

Children are taught to love one another and be kind, but children witness the fights between their parents--- the cursing, the violence, the tears, the badmouthing of relatives.

Children are taught not to kill, but they can't reconcile that with the shotgun sitting in the back of the closet... heck, sometimes sitting next to or on top of the dresser in plain view.

So as a child grows, while he may "know" right from wrong, he only knows that they exist; he doesn't understand that he is bound to abide by them. Poor child... He's only doing what's natural, because this is what he was really taught: that standards exist in word only, and that it's natural for them to be broken.

Yeah... when I talked to that kid inside me, it kinda touched me. I see now, even more clearly... See, this is the reason why I never forced my standards on my teenaged pupils in Sunday School; I know their parents. Hypocrisy in parents negates authority in the household. Authority in the household validates authority outside the household. It can't work [effectively] in reverse.

It's not so complicated to understand why young adults do so much wrong nowadays without a second thought. You parents get bewildered and say, "I thought I taught them better than that!" Eh, you did; the problem is, you didn't demonstrate that you believed your own hype. To them, an adult is someone who talks alot of yang and doesn't follow through on it. Above anything else, that's what they learned from you. And thusly, they became what you always were in front of them. A hypocrite.

And yes, a child reaches an age where he learns to think for himself/herself and make his or her own decisions. But--- you genius you--- unless someone intercedes in that child's life and gives that child something better to aspire to, what do you think they're going to pattern themselves after? That's right... the hypocrites. See, you assume too much of people: only in the mind of God are right and wrong clear and concrete; in the mind of man, right and wrong are relative. And a misguided child indefinitely becomes an unknowing victim of his own miseducation.

Starting on the wrong foot is much more than we give it credit for; we never mention that life is a race, and that a bad start warps the duration of that race. Such is the harm done to a child through the hypocrisy of parents.

How to Tell if Your World is Upside Down...

Actually, I've spent a lot of time upside down recently; it's a new exercise, don't ask...

From all this time being upside-down, I've gained a new perspective on things. And now, I can tell if my world is upside-down or not. When I'm right-side up, that is.

First thing I can tell you about being upside-down: your head instantly feels like it's gonna explode. Next, you feel like you could fall over any moment. Then, you can't understand how you were ever able to walk; you start having a deep respect for some of the simplest stuff. In the midst of all the (blood) pressure, you hafta force yourself to focus as if everything feels fine. You're disoriented so you close your eyes, since they're not gonna help you much anyway. And even though you've never had to use that much strength before, you take a shot at lifting yourself, at first to no avail, but slowly to something productive. And, when you're feeling at your best and getting used to the position... that's when you fall over.

If you feel like that most of the time, as I do, then your world is probably upside-down too. I'm not gonna tell you how to handle that situation though: I prefer to reorient myself, but perhaps you prefer to fall over. Heck, sometimes it's really out of your hands to make the choice; you never know how strong gravity is until you hafta work against it, trust me.

Let Love Happen

I shouldn't be here right now; I should be about 30 some-odd miles away in Trenton, South Carolina. At Family Day at my old church.

In a minute.

So, my sister's homie says I'm an observer, and she's right. I can talk anybody through a relationship and give good, sound advice; I just don't play the game myself. As much as I like love and love romance, I haven't allowed it to run its course in my life.

Love... is never convenient for me. It's always the wrong person, or there's no room in my life, or this isn't the proper place, or its gonna jack up my plans, or I'm afraid of rejection, or she's too young, or she's too old, or she's outta my league, or this, or that...

But, what if I just let love happen? Well, I've let plenty of things happen before; they always turn out bad that way. My life isn't some tightrope that I walk; it's a complex spiderweb. And like a spider, I like to be in control of everything that happens in it. Why? Because what happens in one part of my life affects every other part, just like a spider can detect a disturbance anywhere on its web.

I really need to go right now but, in a minute...

As much as I try to keep an optimistic outlook on things, in the back of my mind I'm definitely a Murphy's Law type of person. It's hard to see it because I'm always prepared when worse comes to worst, but that preparation is the giveaway in itself. I don't think about the good that can come from relationships because good things don't require much; it's the bad things that demand attention. And a lot of decisions I make in love have to do with avoiding the bad things: dissatisfaction, hard feelings between otherwise good friends, regrets, shots to one's pride, lost energy, broken concentration, etc.

I can't really afford any of those things. Not because they're so terrible, but because of what I've dedicated my life to achieving, which is making a difference. I can't make a difference with my mind only partially dedicated to the effort. No distractions.

...I really gotta go. Three more minutes...

My Sunday School fellas might not know this, but sometimes I catch em tryna be romantic toward the young ladies. It's no big thing though; I actually think its cool that they're as forward as they are. I've never been that type of cat, but I've got mad respect for cats that put it out there all the time. There's something to be said for that... I'm not sure what though, lol.

Alright, my three minutes are up. SC bound.

Are You Okay?

There was someone in my life once that would ask me such a question... rather frequently. I really miss that.

It's funny because I always answered the question the same way. It was always either "I'm fine", "I'm good", "I'm cool" or "I'm straight". I said it because I meant it; I'm really, really hard to take out when it all boils down. But I also said it because I didn't know any better. I'm not always as okay as I think I am.

When the definition of being okay is your ability to keep going, yeah, I'ma always be okay. I can always keep going no matter what. But maybe it's not good enough to be able to keep going.

The thing that brings me to this hypothesis is... the absence of that person in my life. When my friend was there, it was nothing for me to say I was cool and move on with her nearby. But without that friend, there isn't that loving question anymore. And more than anything, sometimes I just wish she was there to ask it.

And if she were to ask me right now, I would answer with an emphatic "NO" to make up for all the times I said otherwise.

As much as everyone should love and care for someone, everyone should have someone to love and care for them. Granted, believers have God to depend on. But the fellowship of a superior is different than the fellowship of an equal; the love of an authority is different than the love of a mate.

...'Mate' is too strong a word. 'Soulmate' better captures the idea, I think.

But back to the question, because that's really what this is all about. Whether I think I'm okay or not isn't the significant thing; the knowing that someone--- someone I dearly care for--- cares enough for me to ask. So now that I don't have that, I realize the power of those three little words/four little letters (R.U.O.K.)

But, as always, I'm fine. And I still really mean that. Because I still don't know any better.

From the Back of the Bus...

If my body is here typing, but my mind is elsewhere... where am I?

Eh, this body is troublesome anyway.

I picture myself tucked in the far corner of a bus to who-cares-where. I'm wearing my trademark headphones, playing my trusty CD Walkman--- a Walkman that actually broke about 6-7 years ago. Soaking up the wisdom of my mentors while under the hypnosis of bright stars and cars.

In the dimness, I have just enough light to jot my ideas in a notebook... nah, let's make it a composition book, I don't keep neat notebooks very well. What's on my mind...

Three-hundred and sixty degrees of this planet Earth/
A man rarely journeys far from the place of his birth/

Maybe I'll finish this verse later. More importantly, I hafta internalize the concept. Coming to grips with the idea that one shouldn't confine himself to his circumstances, or maybe even to his native region.

I'm such a homebody... But it's not because I want to be. It's just more practical for me financially not to do a lot of random cruising. Plus, there's not a lot of places I can go, not a lot of scenes that fit me. I'm not a club hopper, not one for the fast pace of the city, not a Casanova, not much of anything outside of what I need to be; I talk a lot only because I have a lot to say, not out of extroversion.

I know I've got work to do but, heck, where do I punch in? What management is responsible for those who seek to change the world? And the million dollar question that my family will need answered: who provides the paycheck. Lord knows I'd do it for free though...

The part of trips I hate the most is the ride home. Because my mind arrives long before the rest of me. I start thinking about all the things I need to do once I arrive; at the moment, I can think of only one thing. I've got to keep moving as if I never came home, as if the bus never stopped moving. I think... it's better to move forward with no direction than to remain still with good intention. Sumn like that.

As soon as my mind returns to reality, this will be my mindset. I pray that moving with no direction doesn't come back to bite me in the end; but the truth is, pretty much anything is liable to come back and bite me in the end. So it really doesn't matter, does it?

Something about being in the back of a bus is like being in a confessional. Makes me wonder who I'm confessing to though. I think maybe I confess to myself, as if I bury my feelings most of the time and take this time to unearth them. I'm constantly learning things about myself as I sit here, and though I've learned a lot, I know there's much more; there are rarities in my own mind that I have yet to access, but I've felt them before, so I know they're there. So this definitely won't be my last trip.

The Iceberg Stance

Even as I'm supposed to be "chilling" here, apparently I don't know how to chill...

I just had another revelation about myself; as much as I talk about fighting, I don't see why I didn't understand this sooner. I have big plans, and that's something anybody that knows anything about me realizes. Yet, those plans haven't manifested, and I've have a ways to go before they do (I think). Still, for some reason I feel so... accomplished! And as I sat here in my chilled state, it finally occurred to me the reason for the feeling.

Any fighter may know how to throw a punch and or to kick well. But a truly great fighter knows that the footwork is just as significant, if not moreso, than the punching and kicking. As a matter of fact, without the right footwork, your punches and kicks suffer. It comes down to one word: stance.

So what does this hafta do with me? Besides the fact that I love fighting, it has a LOT to do with me. See, my swagger doesn't come from my track record; the greatest thing I've got going for me there is academics, if you don't count the things I do in the church. But this is the key: for everything I haven't done yet, I've spent the extra time--- about 10 years now--- in preparation.

In fighting, when you assume a stance, the purpose is to prepare yourself either to go on the offensive or to defend yourself. When you have good stances, your opponent has trouble dealing with you and develops a respect for your style. See the parallel? Yeah, I still have a long way to go as far as changing the world. But what I have going for me is that I have elite-caliber stances.

What do I mean? Simply this: you put me in any given situation, and I'm prepared to execute. If opportunity were to knock on my door this moment, I would be suited and ready to go yesterday. The knowledge I've collected, the skills I've learned, and the connections I've made have made me into a proverbial iceberg: a small presence on the surface that sits atop an inconceivably huge mass of pure solid.

And all I'm missing is... the right situation. The right circumstances, the right conditions haven't presented themselves to me yet. Only fleeting spurts here and there. (I don't live in a very progressive city; it's hard to find the right outlets.)

Even in my classes, my poise has always given me an advantage. The fact that I care about the world around me OUTSIDE of class automatically gives me an advantage over the students around me IN class, who could care less. The professors pick up on the fact that I learn for the sake of application, and we build relationships that supersede class sessions... I have the right stance.

In church, in school, in friendships, in confrontations, in random occurrences, my stance always gives me the upper hand. And when I have no situations present, I'm at home building my stance up. And while I haven't been able to do much yet, I think people respect me because they can see the stance I've constructed, and they're eager to see what will come of it.

In the Run of a Day...

My days are often pretty boring; that's one reason I don't talk much about the physical things that go on in my life. It's a combination of me being a very introverted person and me being a very money-conscious person; gas money adds up and my job isn't very lucrative, so I keep venturing to a minimum.

Still, I do have my days and my routines. So, to kill a little time while I'm at work, I'll walk you through my normal day:

My alarm clock runs 2 hours and 20 minutes fast. Why? Because truthfully, if I knew what time it REALLY was when I woke up, I'd deliberately oversleep in an attempt to savor every minute I could. At least with the two hours, I can scare myself out of bed.

I also keep my alarm clock set to a country music station. Why? Because it's not my thing; I don't exactly hate it, but I can't relax and often can't relate to it. So, even if I don't feel like getting up, I'll eventually get up just to turn the music off.

My alarm is set to 10:30ish. No, I don't sleep until 10:30; it's 2 hours and 20 minutes fast, remember? So I actually get up about 8:10, assuming I don't ignore the clock, as I sometimes do. I stay down for a sec to utter a quick prayer, mainly for strength because I really don't feel like living again sometimes. Then I step over the papers sprawled across my floor and hit the alarm clock, feeling across my dresser until I find my glasses.

Next stop is the computer; not to sit long, but I'm curious as to what's going on with friends and the world, so I browse for about 10 minutes until I'm wide awake. I throw on some music, as my computer is in my studio and feeds through my stereo, and hit the bathroom to brush my teeth. I always thought it was backwards to shower first because... well, if you shower AFTER you brush your teeth, it eliminates the need to wash your face. I use this baking soda and peroxide toothpaste; it's not sweet like a lot of toothpastes, but it does have this subtle flavor and a lot of fizzy action... you can really tell the baking soda and peroxide are there in other words.

After that, it's time to hit the shower. But I hafta get the clothes I'm going to wear ready first. Why? The Afro. See, when I wake up in the morning, I can NOT pick my Afro. TRUST me. I have two steel picks and a steel comb, it's not hap'nin. So, I pick it out in the shower. But when I get OUT of the shower, sometimes I wear a pull-over shirt. That just means it's going to get messed up again. So, I pick my clothes out so I can put on my shirt right out of the shower so it doesn't screw the shape up.

As a kid, I showered more in the evening (by parental demand), but now that I'm older, I really enjoy showering in the morning. It gives me time to think and kinda reinforces that it's a new day for me, totally washing off whatever went down the day before. I have sensitive skin and coarse hair; my problem is that I never cared about it. But I do use a shampoo and conditioner for dry hair, just because it's available. Out of habit, basically. And the soap I use, I have no particular reason for using. Again, it's just avaiable.

I soak my hair down until it's less rebellious, then I comb through it with the steel comb, sometimes with the steel pick if I want to pay special attention to my scalp. And, as I said, once I get out of the shower and dry off, I put my clothes on, and then I hafta pick it out again to get it shaped back.

For breakfast... I'm a very light eater, and very health conscious. I like to have something like Honey Nut Cheerios or fruit. Many times, I'm not even hungry when I wake up, I just shoot out the door. Anyway, I usually eat cereal from the cup so I can move as I eat. Back to the studio where I might work on a beat, work in some lyrics, work on a school paper, chat with a buddy, watch a lil TV, read the Bible, who knows...

About 10:00ish, maybe 11 I usually get a call from my homeboy Dav. We chat for a minute as I keep doing my thing. I've got work at about 1:00 and class right after that, so I'm making sure I have everything together because I won't be back home until 8:00 in the evening. Even though I start work at 1:00, I try to bounce early because I like to have a grilled-chicken salad practically every day. I make sure I stuff my pockets with the right items: steel pick/comb, wallet, keys, ear plugs (it's summertime, don't ask), digital camcorder, keys, and a lighter (juuuust in case I need to set it off). If I remember to, I run down and check the mail. Then I shoot to my lil dusty white Kia Spectra.

Usually right now, I forget that I left my CDs in the house. So I run back inside and grab them. After putting them in the car, I find the right one to start me off: A S.W.A.T. Healin' Ritual, Aquemini, So So Def Bass Allstars Vol. 2, Even in Darkness, Regulators, who knows... I sometimes remember to glance to see if the pretty neighbor down the street is sitting cross-legged on her porch. Either way, I'm off.

The first stop, of course, is Burger King for the salad. The greatest part about it is sometimes the girls in the drive-thru are foxes; other times, there's dudes in the drive-thru, which just blows my whole day. Getting back to the streets, I've gotta decide if I'm hitting Bobby Jones' Expressway or taking the twists-and-turns way to campus: Peach Orchard to Lumpkin to King to Wheeless to Highland to McDowell to Walton. You would think I'd take Bobby Jones, but the truth is Bobby Jones actually goes a little out of the way; the twists and turns are actually the more direct way.

As I ride, I flip stations constantly because there's nothing ever on. I might play my own music and practice reciting the lyrics, but I like to sing in my car to anything worth singing. I usually come across about 2 beautiful girls on my way every day, but it's not like I'm gonna talk to em anyway, so I just take it for what it is.

In no time, I'm at the campus. My job starts at 1:00, but I'm usually on campus about 12:40. I grab my salad and my class materials, as well as my Sociology of Work textbook from last semester, and head inside. Either I'll kill time walking around aimlessly, or go right to the facility and surf the computer until my time. I work in the Curriculum Center, which is like a mini-library. We check out materials to education majors basically; every now and then we copy materials and laminate, but mostly just checkouts and check-ins.

When I finally decide to go in, I walk past media services and greet the ladies and gents that work there; they've been around as long, if not longer, than I have for the most part, so we're used to seeing each other. Upon entering the place where I work, the girl who works before me is usually behind the desk. I greet her, then greet Mrs. Britt, my boss. My friend Renae is the person responsible for me ever getting a position here, but the best thing about the job is I have a great boss, easily one of the nicest people I've met in my life.

Pretty soon, the other girl leaves for the day, and I "clock in". Almost immediately, as I eat my lunch, Mrs. Britt and I get into some deep conversation that may very well last an hour (I still can't believe we find a way to do it EVERY DAY! I figured we would've run out of things to say by now...) When we're not talking, I'm on either Facebook, MySpace, Stankonia, Marvel, Romancexpress, or writing lyrics. We usually get no more than 5 visitors a day; sometimes there's spurts where we might have a room full of people, but it's only about once a year.

At the end of the day, I count down the cash drawer and head back out. I might move my car to the other side of campus where my class is, but sometimes I just walk. If I have a craving for something, I'll use the hour between the end of work and the beginning of class to hit a fast food joint or visit my aunt in Highland Park, where I grew up.

Back on campus, I usually bump into a classmate or two before I get inside. I try to go to class early because it's actually a very comfortable setting; there's only 11 people in the class and the class is held in a meeting room, so it's actually kinda intimate. I'll usually find a classmate inside waiting and we'll spark up a conversation about something thought-provoking; out of all my history classes, this is about the only one where I've regularly done this (sociology courses are quite a different story...)

The class I'm taking is Historical Research Methods. I enjoy it because we're not learning history, but historiography--- which is basically the ways that a person can write history--- as well as methods--- the strategies for researching and putting history together. What does this mean? This means that, for once, I can be a sociologist in a history class and it's perfectly fine and, actually, encouraged. We talk about EVERYTHING, and often get off topic; this is okay because it's a 2-and-a-half hour class, so we've got PLENTY of time.

My professor, Dr. Fissell, is very engaging, and is actually encouraged by the fact that several of us in the class are not just History Majors, but what he calls "cross-discipline" students: students who dip into many different areas. I bring the social sciences and the humanities to many discussions we have. Thus far, they have given me great insight to everything we have discussed. If it was only discussion, I'd be done with this class already... but we DO have a paper to write, so that's the monster at the end of the book for me right now.

After class, I usually head straight home... if I don't stop by a certain store to drop a courtesy call to a certain beautiful young lady. The ride home usually goes fairly quickly; not that I speed, I just know where to go to get where I wanna be in whatever amount of time. Actually, I try to drive slow sometimes so I can take in some Anita Baker, or flip my radio to 96.3 and catch the oldies to get in a chill mood.

What happens next depends on the day. WHen I get home, I'm expecting one of two things. If it's Wednesday or Thursday, I'll probably get a call from my homie Ken, who's off of those two days, with a request to visit around 9:30ish; any given evening, the homie Dav is liable to fall through and use the computer around 10:30ish. Once, both occurred at once, and we had a full house, which was pretty cool.

Either way, by midnightish, all is usually chill. I'll probably search the Net for a special friend of mine, knowing I'm not gonna find her, but just finding it hard to break the habit. Might get a message from one or two peeps. I'll throw on some old school tunes while playing a PS2 game to distract myself. Do a short set of vertical pushups (because they're hard as a staring contest with Condoleeza Rice), and stay busy until I find myself napping on the floor. That means its time to go to bed.

I leave the studio--- I think that's the thing I hate doing most in the run of a day--- and close the door behind me. I go find my bed, stepping over the clutter to get to it. Toss my shirt--- somewhere--- and leave my pants wherever I get out of em. Kill the lights, then curl up in the sheets.

I used to have a restless mind before I went to sleep, but it just doesn't happen now. I don't wish to be lying next to anyone; I don't reflect on my days; I don't plan out reports or presentations; I don't fantasize about anything. Maybe I hear a little music, like a little Carl Thomas, deep in the back of my mind. But, by-and-large, my mind is just... clear.

Dat about it. My day in a nutshell. It's nothing special, but it feels alright. I'm looking forward to the day when things drastically change for me, and my days are no longer calm, but unpredictable and extraordinary. But for now, this'll do.

"I Just Came Here to Chill..."

Well, I woke up this morning in prayer. As I lay face-down, I simply asked God what I should do. It's not a question that I hadn't Him asked before but, as usual, God doesn't exactly drop personalized road maps.

But, not long after that, I felt something. I hadn't been out of bed very long when something inside me told me to just... chill. Not chill in the sense of not doing anything or stopping whatever I was doing, but chill in the sense of not worrying about what I'm "supposed" to be doing; just letting things happen as they happen.

And for the first time in a while, I thought about some simple things: being friendly and hospitable for instance; not analyzing every little thing; not being so thrifty with my money. And when I put those things out of my mind, I admit, I felt... different.

Better? That's hard to say. Here's the thing: life isn't peaches and cream, especially for me. No matter how spiritual you are, there's hardship, there's responsibility, there's thought to be given to various things. So, I get unnerved whenever it's time to "relax". Especially because it never fails: the I relax is usually the same moment that everything goes south.

At the same time, I do also understand that there is to be balance in life. And perhaps I haven't been balancing. I've always been a person who's struggled with finding the median of things. I'm either too serious or too laid back; my voice is either my public speaking voice or nearly inaudible; I'm either smothered in love and romance to the point of depression, or callous to the point of alienation.

I wrote an entry about a year ago about the "pace of extremities"; basically that I live my life in constant alternation between extremes, and those extremes create a balance. While this may be true, there's a slight downside to it: if ever my life should fall out of balance, it leaves me extremely one thing or extremely the opposite. It's the difference between tightrope walking 2 feet off the ground and tightrope walking 200 feet off the ground; most people seem to be 2 feet, but I think I'm 200. Losing my balance to either side would be pretty... friggin' fantastic, so to speak.

Eh... such is life, I know. I think I'm writing this because, as of recent, I've been looking for a change in my life. Not a change like... being a better person, for instance. But a change in situation for once. Because, I'm always becoming a better person; always adjusting my mind, body, and spirit to make do when life tries me. For once, I just want the things around me to do the changing and adjust to fit me. It's selfish, I know. But hey, I'm just writing, not expecting these things to happen.

I'll adjust just fine when the time comes. I always do.

Since It's Independence Day...

These are my demands:

1. GET OFF MY NUTZ.

2. PAY UP.

3. SHUT UP.

4. RELAX, PUNK.

5. LET IT GO; IT'S NOT WORTH IT WITH ME.

6. TAKE A NUMBER.

7. TELL ME SOMETHING I DON'T KNOW.

8. DO THE MATH.

9. GUESS AGAIN.

10. TAKE THAT.


Pretty simple right? You'd be surprised. See, the truth is, I'm a prisoner of love--- not romantic love, but the OTHER love. "Love is patient, love is kind, love vaunteth not itself, love is not puffed up, love is long... suffering..." THAT kinda love. So, my "demands" are simply the things that I would say to people if love didn't intercede; things always on the tip of my tongue, but never permitted to jump off.

But, it's Independence Day; gotta celebrate a lil bit. In my own special lil way.