Me,myself and my pride (6-26)

I am sitting by myself at a park. She comes to me. From the smoke I let dance out of my mouth. The smoke sneaks across the table and danced with the wind until it snaked out her body across from me. She takes a seat from me across the table.
“your still writing.” She smiles at me. Her brown eyes watching my pen spread words across paper. I slightly nod my head to show I heard her and keep writing. She leans her body over the table bringing her face close to mine.
“What is that your smoking?” She asks her nose curing up trying to smell the smoke that sneaks through the air. I don’t answer her I just gently let the smoke breeze toward her face. “Oh, well at least it’s better than that other stuff.” I gently let my smartest smile sneak across my face. Satisfied my pride turns and faces the play ground. She watches the children swing across monkey bars.

I break the silence. “I feel like I’ve been writing for years.”

“That’s good.” She replies never letting her eyes leave the children. “I saw what happened today and your still writing.” She titled her head back.
“I’m very proud of you.”
I stop writing and watch the children with her.

“I don’t know if I am a fool or if she is the fool.” I say shaking my head.
My pride laughs and turns her head slightly showing me her playful grin.
“You know what I think.” She said.

I catch her eye and respond “and you know what I think.” I look off and watch the children.
“So..what does that mean?” I speak up again. “That we both are?”

“her more than you.” She responds turning her head back to watch the children. I roll my eyes and enjoy the cigar I had long been neglecting. My pride turns and again faces me. “you don’t have enough confidence in your dream. I know you see it in your eye you lack faith.” She says matter –of- fact, as she pats me on the head. I watch her pat me.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m not just tricking myself. If I’m just not self delusional.”

Her face turns into a sharp frown and she takes her hand back from my head.
“What makes you think that?”
I again enjoy my cigar but this time its long and slow.

I let the smoke pour out with my words. “That’s what my father leads me to believe.” My pride sighs but doesn’t lose her frown. “Him? Well do you believe it? Haven’t we already had long conversation about him?” she says. I only nod my head.
“Don’t let him stop you. Reach for that dream in your eye. You’ve made it this far, how can you stop now? All that you have done will be for nothing. Your dream is close. I can smell it like the cigar smoke in the air.”

I look up at my pride and we stare into each others eyes for a while until I ask. “What am I going to do about her?”

Again my pride smiles and pats me on the head. “Don’t worry about her. You just write.” Turning to face the children my pride speaks again. “Even she tells you that.” I enjoy the cigar and pick my pen back up. Almost as if my pride saw this she speaks. “you’ve had enough heartbreak for one notebook, just write” I blow out the smoke and listen to her talk. “Everything you need to know is in your eye.”

Life: The video game

I had something I wanted to throw out there, you know for public consumption and all.

Have a couple of things to take care of before I start this new stage of my life. Maybe I played too many video games as a youth, truthfully still do, but I view life as a game. A game to be played in stages or levels. Progression to new levels is dependent upon your growth and maturity, not your age.

I honestly feel as if I was trapped on a certain level of my life an unable to advance because I had failed to grasp certain lessons. I think back and look at Kansas as if it was one big level, one big lesson. There are so many trends, people, even words that I don’t ever want to bring along with me as I progress in the game of life. You know, Kansas was sort of like a playground, where you can do certain tricks because there is a sand beneath you, but if you go elsewhere, say the pavement parking lot ,and try those same tricks you may fall and scrap your knee.

I speak metaphorically of course, but that’s how I feel. I was recently told that “In life sometimes you get second chances; rarely some of us get multiple chances.” I feel like I get a fresh new chance every time I move. Every time I begin a new level. My same old face gets a fresh new look as people who don’t know me look at me brand new. It’s a chance to take the lessons of old and apply them to something new.

One thing I do not want are the old foes and obstacles of old to reach up and try and drag me down a level. Nothing is worse than replaying the same old missions on a new level, or worse still having to play an level you have already beaten over because you forgot to save, or could not defeat the boss. Because you did not fully learn the skills you needed to progress in life, you had to start over.

Something’s will never change, true. But something’s gotta give. You can’t keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect different results. No matter how many times you practice something, if you are practicing it wrong, you won’t get better. If I can attach only one good quality to myself, I would say that I am forever changing, forever trying to do it better, faster, and easier than before.
God help me if Maryland turns into Kansas.

Maryland

First things first, it is insanely enjoyable for me to be plunged into a new environment and do nothing but sit around and watch...watch and learn. I should be paid to do these things for a living.

With that said I have only spent three days in Maryland and already I must say I am somewhat impressed and taken aback. I have never seen so many different cultures and ethnicities in one place. Its hard for me not to stare if only to try and guess the language or the region of the world they come from. I am coming out of a place where Hispanics and the occasional Indian was to be seen, now I am surrounded by Africans, Arabs a multitude of Asians and people I don’t even know what they are.

Its all very much a treat to one like my self.

The churches are built like high schools. Massive multi-storied buildings, I am used to big churches, but how many times back ‘home’ did I see a church and think “Oh so that’s the local high school?” God is a pretty big deal around here.

I’m used to slow drivers, to be sure, however I haven’t seen such bad drivers in a long time. Not since I met a guy from New York and tried to follow him through traffic as he lead me to his apartment. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if people didn’t get into so many wrecks as a result. Just getting here there where four wrecks on a stretch of highway that was a distance equal to I435 from 119th street to 95th street Olathe to Overland Park. We sat on the highway for at least an half and hour each time. Then, when on the surface roads it doesn’t get any better. Meh, I’m just glad I don’t have to drive. Then again with the National news showing a multi-fatality wreck of the metro system out here just days before I arrive…doesn’t really make me want to use public transportation either.

This whole thing feels like I have just put in a grand theft auto game and am trying to make my way around the city on foot. I only know a few blocks from where I live and everything else is shaded in black.

Well for those that care I’ve arrived safe and sound. Other than that its just a race against time now. Start the five month countdown.

I like it, so far so good. Just a long as I can get a half way decent job that doesn’t make me want to strangle people, and then myself...this place wont be half bad.

(Ha) I wish myself luck.

DC

I got to see the nations capitol, that was all fine and well saw the Washington monument, Lincoln…thing all the stuff tourists are supposed to see.

However on a more serious side note I just want to say I was taken aback by the Vietnam wall, forgive me if that’s not its official title. I never knew that many people had died, it makes it more real when you see it all laid in before your eyes. Right where you can reach out and touch it with your fingers. That’s really sobering, reminds you of your own mortality. A lot of respect for those people.

With that said, I really didn’t care for those official government buildings and the such, I mean I wanted to see the white house, and did, but that was about all I cared to see. Almost had to beg to go see it. The people…I wanted to see the people. Since this is my face book and no one really seems to be reading it (I guess) I’ll speak freely. For some reason it brought a smile to my face to have a group of whites walk by my and I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I couldn’t even understand the language. Something fascinating about seeing new and different people. I mean, I had simply brushed them off from the corner of my eye as being your typical normal white Americans when all of a sudden one of them spoke and it was this language I had never heard. I quickly did a double take and remembered as many details about them as I could.

This is not to say anything about whites or Americans, I just tend to ignore things I have seen before. I had already gotten use to seeing a massive amounts of Africans, Asians, and Indians so I wasn’t surprised to see them. Yet I did enjoy walking around them and just soaking up all the sights and sounds. Nothing pleases me more than being around people who don’t talk or look like me.

I know anyone who may not be familiar with me may read this and assume me a racist or prejudice of some kind (meh) it happens.

So with that said I’ll go into more detail about my DC adventure in later posts, I think I’m in love already.

DC Metro

I really loved riding the metro system, even though, I must admit, I was a littler nervous. I was and will be riding the red line. The very same line that crashed a few weeks before. It actually crashed when I was in Ohio only a few days before I got to DC.

Don’t think I’ll be doing much driving here, even though a spare car is available to me, I have been scared off the roads. I really cant stress enough that people from the east drive cars like…tanks. It reminds me of a scene from family guy where they showed an Asian woman driving on the freeway.

“Oh, my exit coming up, I now switch four lanes without turn signal, good luck rest of world!”

and then it shows her just veering off cutting off cars and causing a crash that results in an cartoon hilarious explosion.

That, ladies and gentlemen is how I see DC drivers. But...not the Asian part.

So is it really any wonder why I would rather ride the train? True, they just had a bad accident, but I think there is less of a chance of me getting road rage in a train. Actually never mind. I saw two examples of Metro madness.

First example:
A really old grey haired lady, so grey it was white snapped on a teenager for talking on his phone. She was sitting across the isle and I was taken back by how fast her head had snapped at his direction.

“Excuse me, I don’t feel like listening to your conversation!”

I remember the silence that followed, the teenager was actually shocked that this old lady said something to him, and what’s more in such a tone. I could see his mind twisting over in it’s self trying to assess the situation. Once he had closed his mouth from being slacked from shock he finished his conversation with a series of

“Okay, okay, yeah bye.”

And went back to texting. No doubt to complain about the woman’s behavior. Now what made this scene so pleasurable to watch was that for those of us that witnessed that exchange small grins peeked on our faces. Several looked around at other passengers to confirm that the scene was not lost only on them. I looked at my brother who did little to hide his laughter. I knew it was only a matter of time before someone else hopped on their phone. I wanted to see what the lady would say.

It wasn’t long before someone else started talking on the phone, this time it was a Spanish speaking man who had his headphones in his ears during the time of the first exchange. Though I guess, I’m sure the conversation was un understandable to the lady she turned to the teenager she had first barked to all the same. The grins made their way to faces as we all watched with a shared mind.

“What is she going to do?”

The Spanish speaking man was a lot older and speaking alot louder than the teenager and, again I assume, would not have been spoken to in the same way as the teenager. So the lady looked at the teenager square in the eye and said.

“See there is another one, can you tap him and tell him to be quite.”

Again I peered into the kids mind and heard him telling the lady off. He only stared at her as if he didn’t understand English and went on texting.

I could not help but laugh. She had just rebuked him and now she wants to use him to do her dirty work.

DC metro part two to be continued....

DC Metro part two

My head was on a swivel riding the train and reading graffiti. I am well aware that the newness of that and the riders may pass but you have to understand being locked away in Kansas with the same o same o faces even just seeing a nude woman spray painted on the side of a building is worth straining your neck for. Sure, I’ve seen both graffiti and nude women before, but have I seen a spray painted graffiti woman on the side of a building in DC? No. So, I’m getting my fill.

Its more than just the new area, I’m seeing doing and experiencing things I would not otherwise. Not even In St. Louis are there so many different and alive people. Truly, for someone who hates people, I really enjoy being around them. Just so long as they ignore me and don’t expect anything of me.

It was a weekend, Friday to be exact, not exactly sure what kind of difference that made but it was packed at certain stations. Standing room only a few times. I loved it, every bloody second. My brother hated it. It gave me permission to stand with a blank expression and listen to all the conversations taking place around me. Of course it allowed me to watch people and observe them. Often when I go to new places I find people that remind me of people I know from old cities and locations. I have yet to be reminded of anyone I know. True, I have been here a short time so I am expecting it, but with all these people…

Back in the wilderness of Kansas I would often see the same cars and people, strangers who I did not know but because I am observant would remember seeing them. Here I don’t think that will ever happen. Getting off at the China town station I was doing my usual mental note taking.

“Excuse me!” I heard yelled in an extremely agitated way. Instinctively, I knew the words were not for me. A large woman had shouted them at another smaller woman who had apparently cut her off and nicked her with a metal luggage cart that she was wheeling behind her. The smaller woman simply looked back muttered something quickly and walked away just as quickly. I felt it was to get away from the woman who had shouted at her. That was that until the bigger woman caught up to her on the escalator up to the surface.

“You need to watch where your going you hit me with that cart!”

another woman, who was walking behind the woman with the cart started speaking in the others defense. They exchanged words about how the smaller woman had not meant to hurt the bigger woman. Yet the upset woman did not want to hear anything of it.

“Excuse me am I talking to you?”
“No, but I’m with her.”
“No, I’m not talking to you, you need to mind your damn business.”
“Okay, but I’m with her.”
“I don’t care, shut the hell up!”

Everyone around can hear this conversation. Many pretend to ignore it as if they see it often, I suspect they do, but no one missed the comedy of the situation. In front of a crowd going up and down escalators they cursed and shouted at each other. The small woman who had the cart still pretended she could not hear what was going on, she did not even turn around. Everyone else gave their attention to the two fighting woman.

“Yeah, I’m calling you a bitch what are you going to do about it?”

the bigger woman yelled. They were standing right next to each other going up. A moment of silence, but the other woman’s body language spoke for her, her words were guessed before she even opened her mouth.

“Nothing, I’m not going to make a big scene of it like you are.”
“That’s right, I am making a scene she hit me and didn’t say anything, you aint gonna do nothing so you shut the hell up!”

The woman sighed and turned away and almost muttering.

“God, your such a bitch.’
“Excuse me? No, you’re the bitch I’m not even talking to you.”

At this point the woman with the cart spoke saying that she had apologized

“Well I didn’t hear you!”

The woman repeated the words of her friend about making a scene and calling the woman a bitch. By this time they had reached the surface and the two ladies did their best to quickly walk away and lose the bigger woman in the crowd.

When I reached the surface I soon realized that I had gotten off on the wrong exit and was actually in George Town. I had to walk the rest of the way to the white house. That exchange I felt, was worth the walk.

DC The white house

So as I mentioned before I got to see the white house. That’s all I really wanted to see. No, I don’t have pictures. Ask me why. Well...because I don’t have a camera that’s why. I don’t have pictures because I don’t have a camera. (sigh)

I have mental pictures, I will cherish forever. Though, seeing as how I am fifteen good minutes away and a nice walk I think I’ll survive. Besides, I plan on writing back to Kansas and getting a white house pass so I can go inside. Go past that surprisingly low fence and not get shot by the meanest, hardest looking black guard I have ever seen.

Usually…or actually never do I fear people of my own race, or any race for that matter. I say this because I know black people who actually are weary or scared, don’t like to be around large groups of blacks. (meh) I suspect I am a little naïve if not a lot. I’m not saying I’m a bad ass or anything, I just don’t see any reason to be extra vigilant around any specific race than any other. Maybe if I was the lone black in a crowd of Hispanics or…yeah that’s it. I think that’s only because I am handicapped as to what they are saying. (not for long) Other than that…No actually, I lie. I take back what I said…I can be around Indians and Asians and not care or want to know what they are saying but for some reason around Hispanics…a large group talking fifty plus I need to know someone. I just do not think race relations between the two people are to the point where I can not feel like I must be on guard. (is that racist?) I bet it is…all I know is I have no ill will towards the people, don’t think they are out to get me, I just need a reason and someone I know to be in a crowd of them.

Now that I’ve said enough that I know will come back and bite me I’ll move on…

The guard at the white house. Yes. I was actually scared to look at him. I had seen another guard dressed just like him minus the gun and he did not even make me flinch. I was not even worried. Sure, I bet I had like 8 sniper rifles trained on me as I held on to the gate straining my neck pretending that the president would jump out the front door and say.

“Surprise here I am! Hey ya’ll kinda busy running the country see you all later!”

He never did. What I did see however was the guard peering at me behind dark shades with a gun slung around his shoulder, He had gun I had never seen before in life, a gun that somehow did not look like a gun, but I knew…it was a gun. The closest I had ever seen to it was a video game for the Nintendo 64 called Perfect Dark. Ironically, that game also featured a black president. It also had an alien called Elvis soo…(shrug)

Right, back to the guard, so I still don’t know why it is that the guard freaked me out. It wasn’t just the gun it was his body language. They way he sauntered around the front lawn like he owned it. Like he wanted to shoot you, like he would kill you if you walked on his grass. I had toyed with the idea of climbing the tree and jumping the fence, had toyed with the idea of how long it would take for them to catch me, I had toyed with it. Then I saw the guard looking at me just as I toyed with the idea of where I would most likely find the president. I felt guilty instantly. I felt like the guard knew I was thinking it.

“Please…try it.”

Somehow I could read his eyes through the shades. Meanest looking negro I ever saw. Apparently I was the only one made nervous by the guard, as a teenager pointed to the guard and yelled. “Oh look its the President” I had the strange idea that I should be offended and maybe punching him the that back of the neck was a good idea. My thoughts went back to the guard and I had no doubts of his ability to jump the fence and have me in a choke hold before I got the first good hit in.

On a side note the white house is a lot smaller in person. Its still you know…big, yet small. Smaller than one would expect given that the most powerfult man in the world lives in it.

DC Odd and ends

I want to make going to DC something I do often, and alone. That’s the only way I can really experience the city. That’s the only way I can fully enjoy the people. In China town I got to see the size of the city and even though it was only Chinatown it was bigger than Power and light ( Kansas City), much bigger and a lot more inside of it. It goes without saying that DC is bigger than Kansas City but that’s not even fair to say those cities in the same sentence. I’m sorry DC.

All jokes aside, I want to make a point to try and get familiar with the city as much as I can before I leave. Not just the historic section with the statues and the monuments, I mean all that’s pretty nice, but I also like the side with the stadium and the restaurants and the like. Really like George town. It feels me with regret because something inside me tells me that I should have gone to a school like that. Had I not been so unfocused and…but I digress. Everything for a reason, I can regret so I take advantage of my mistakes the best I can.

If I can talk about the metro again…one the trip back home I did enjoy the conversation I over heard between a group of teenage boys. It was hard to understand because he wasn’t doing much but cursing yet it taught me a lot all the same.

“Yeah, I saw that bitch, tried to glide on it right, man that bitch hurt like shit, burned my hands every time tried to touch the bitch. Yeah, had to go home put my hands in ice water shit hurt like a bitch so much, man that bitch was shit.”

I think I’ll use that for later use. I cant forget the way a woman sat slacked jaw just watching the boys as they talked, she made no effort to hide the way she stared at them, half in confusion the other in amazement. Perfect, wish I had a camera.

Other than that, as I am sure I have made it clear, I really enjoyed the city. It was great to finally feel ‘lost’ in a city and somewhere where every turn of the corner was something new, some new face. My brother who has been to new york keep saying to me. “Man this is nothing like New York, so many more people, more cabs than cars, this is nothing man.”

My next plan is to see New York, I have to she calls out to me. Her and Boston. I’ve never been so close to these cities, who knows when I may get another chance.

I hope to get the chance to see more and of course write more. I know it cant wait to be read. (yeah right) but I still like writing them even if no one reads. With the way this city is looking I’ll have a lot more to say.

Sociopath: Sketch One

“Hey boy, take cart, here!”

Wait is he talking to us? I don’t think so, don’t turn around. I think he’s talking to us. Don’t turn around! We’re the youngest person here. Why are you turning around. He’s walking away now. So, just leave it alone. He just called me boy! No, he didn’t it was just his accent. No, I’ve heard enough oriental accents he called out boy! Don’t loose your job, we need this job, he’s a supervisor. I don’t play that, that’s not right who does he think he is. He didn’t mean it how you’ve taken it. I’m going over and talking to him. No your not. Yes, he not calling me boy again. At least get the scowl off your face. I’ll be calm. Don’t get fired. I’m cool let me just.. Be polite about it.

“Excuse me, did you call for me?”
“huh..no I just show you cart.”
“Oh okay, I thought you called for me saying boy, I’m not boy, my name is Lucifer.”
“Oh yeah Lucifer, yeah.
“Yeah, not boy.”

You’re a jerk. I know. You saw that old man’s face he didn’t mean it like that. I had to be sure. As long as your happy. I am.

Sociopath: Sketch Two

“Excuse me does this coupon work on these hotdogs?”

What’s wrong with this old lady what does it look like? Bite your tongue and look. I’m looking, is she blind it has a picture of the hot dogs on the coupon for crying out loud. Well help her and be on your way. Its so obvious its confusing. Just tell her yeah.

“Yes ma’m I think it is, pretty sure it is, you might want to-”
“Augh! Just, why don’t you make yourself useful and just get me a basket!”

Did you hear that! Smile. Who this hell is this woman? Default smile, go to default smile. To my face she just spoke to me like a slave. Laugh, let off some steam and laugh. Why do people talk to us like this, I was trying to help her. Keep laughing and just say yes.

“Of course.”

I couldn’t even look at her. You did good. I wanted to hurt her. Well.. Have I ever been so rude? It’s part of your job now, don’t dwell on it. How come people can just talk to us like that? Keep smiling. No one has a right to talk to me like that. Just hand her the basket and walk off, not a single word. I wont even look her in the eye. Whatever works.

“Oh, wonderful, thank-you.”

I hope she feels bad. Don’t count on it.

Beauty on Metro

I saw this girl on the metro.

I was so taken that I took a scrap of paper and wrote a few lines in her honor

Nothing sexual, perverse, or even flirty.

I just like looking at beauty.

So I sat there for two or three stops with soft and polite eyes reading her expressions

She was my book

What was her name? I’ll never know

That was fine with me

I find inspiration in the weirdest of ways

A cute girl on a train can make me write faster than an English professor ever could

Knowing the girl could never read my words and the professor would has little sway

I would rather write to an unknown beauty’s honor

Than one old man’s pleasure.

Sociopath: Sketch Three

“Hey you guy.”

What did he say? Hey you guy. I know, I was hoping he wasn’t talking to me. You know he is. I know, I just don’t want to be bothered.

“Hey this customer needs a few boxes don’t break these down, okay?”

Go away, go away. Then say okay.

“Okay.”

Good Answer! They are still walking towards us. Stop scowling! I don’t want to speak, I was enjoying talking to you. At least turn towards them.

“Is that okay would you mind holding these boxes for me?”

Gah, did she not hear me just say yes a moment ago to the man. She just wants to make sure. She’s making me speak! Just tell her yes, its only one word.

“Yes ma’m.”

See that, she smiled and walked away. Augh! Was that so bad? She made me forget what we were talking about. You’ll remember. I just don’t want to be bothered by people. Maybe you should invest in an island. Stupid people. Call it Anti-social haven.

She lives in my lap (Part 4)

Every time he saw her, she looked brand new. He knew he could fall in love with her all over again, just from seeing her again, without her name, number or further introduction. He was awe struck, dumb struck, love struck at the sight of her.

“You look…” his words trailed off where his eyes picked up feeling over the shape her intimate details, his eyes prying, exploring, invading open the soft details of her body. Parts, places, and spaces his hands had felt intimately, his eyes had seen privately and his tongue tasted ravenously. “Amazing.” He finally finished.

“Well, thank-you.” Her smile instantly appeared as if his words had been some secret code to her mouth, as her eyes poured themselves into him, pouring, draining, emptying unspoken affection into him. Feeding nourishment into his hungry soul, putting calm into his heart. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you!’ her eyes shouted at the top of their lungs every time she blinked. It was almost too much for him to look at. He felt the burden, no, weight of privilege of her love. He felt the intense urgency of her love. ‘Hurry up and love me’ her eyes whispered as she blinked. ‘hurry up and love me.’ He had no choice but to obey, taking her into his arms.

“Oh.” She gasped pleasantly, playfully surprised. Her neck was his ice cream on that hot day. He licked, sucked, and ate her neck alive. She teasingly struggled squealing approvingly, he would not let her go. He paused only for breath and only for long enough to enjoy the smell of her wet skin freshly kissed by his lips. “Oh, your too much!”

She lives in my lap (Part 5)

“I won’t distract you.” He knew that was a lie before it left his lips. He knew it from the top of his head to the tip of his fingers that slide down around the curves and corners of her body. He waited for her yes to ignore him and return to the glowing screen before he would place his lying lips on her hips. What about the feel of her always made him smile Cheshire? What about the way she smiled approvingly of his kisses woke deep carnal desires? Her attention, her eyes, gone to a noisy glowing box but her lips egged him on with every soft smile that escaped them. Her smile spoke ‘there’, ‘there’ and ‘I love it when you kiss me there’

“Mmm-hmmm” she teased as if catching him doing something he shouldn’t. She wiggled her hips gently in protest of his affectionate efforts that had reached too low below her waist. He would have none of that! Or would he? He had love to give. Damn the movie! Leaning over her body he made his advance again by carefully placing his lips on her cheek. Slow, long, affectionate kisses. Just enough to get an approving smile from her. With his eyes closed he only needed to feel her cheeks move into the familiar shape of his favorite smile under his gentle kisses to know he could move on. His love went from her cheeks to her neck where he dedicated short, fast, wet kisses the kind that made her giggle. Loving her was a complete art. “Ooh.” She cooed. “No mas.”

But he knew better than to believe that. He loved when she protested in Spanish. What about the way she spoke to him in Spanish woke deep carnal desires? He knew he had one last thing to do before it was all wrapped up and he was all wrapped up in her legs. Her eyes while still not on him, where no longer focused as they once where on the television. They were blinking, long and slow. Her smile, still directing him. ‘there, right there.’ She smiled. He already knew where her silent commands where leading him. He let his kisses trail down where she had once forbidden him.

Cobwebs

Have not typed up anything in so long it’s a shame, but I admit my finger tips still glide of the key board like it’s a musical instrument. I guess its like riding a bike. No matter how long its been I never forget how to write. I never forget how to just open up and start speaking from my soul.

I have been thinking a lot, which does not say a whole lot, because I am always thinking. I am always planning little schemes of world domination but for not I have been focusing on the next year of my life.

2010. That’s all I know is to reach for 2010

2012

I usually refuse to see a movie alone, it feels like a waste of privacy and a dark space, but recently I let a few quality pictures go to waste because I could not find anyone willing to see them with me. I decided to suck up the pride and go see 2012

The movie surprised me in a few good and bad ways. The first pleasant surprise was black president. Hollywood has this crazy idea that black people can only run the United States when the whole world is about to end. I think they see it as a sign of the end times or something. I remember Morgan Freeman playing black president under similar world ending conditions.

I found my self pleading with the movie to please hurry its pace, I mean lets be honest the only reason people went into a movie like this is to see the destruction and mayhem. Sadly their was not enough of it. Too much love scorned family bonding moments. Too much hittin’ on black president’s daughter not enough mass slaughter of Californians.

I felt as if the movie took too much time trying to explain itself and sadly the punch line throughout the whole movie was “The Mayans knew it was coming.” It was as if that was justification and proof enough that the world was going to end. Some people thousands of years ago with out running water knew that the world would end in 2012.

The movie had a happy ending and it should not have. All the romantically involved couples made it happily ever after and the new world starts in Africa. Which is strange seeing as how black people, besides black president his black scientist, were missing from this new world plan. In the new world only two blacks will live, a brave new world indeed.

Ah, but who am I kidding the movie delivered the goods when it needed to bang bang explosions and death that’s what I came for, and that’s what I got, nothing more and a little less than I would have hoped.

Making Money

What does it mean when a homeless person says they have been out making money? It creates doubt in ones mind as to the nature of the work they have been doing, the tasks they perform to make money are not the same as yours or mine nine to five.

I know a homeless woman, a year older than myself. I first met her on my way to the grocery store, I stopped to ask her directions, in turn she asked me if I had change. It is my habit, which I am thinking of changing, to not give change to those who ask for it, instead I offer a meal or a drink.

The first thing I noticed about this woman was her resemblance to Lauren Hill, I now call her Lauren Hill whenever I see her, and to this she always smiles. Truthfully her smile, which she didn’t wear at the time, was the reason I bolded myself to ask her for directions. I find it easier to admit needing help to a pretty female face rather than a sharp, unsmiling, unsympathetic male face. Enough practice allows me to see a smile before it is even shown to me. I told her honestly that I did not have change and we left it at that, going our separate ways. I saw her again, coming back from the store, she asked if I found the store okay.

I had the time to think over my encounter with Lauren Hill, thought about her appearance and all the things I noticed about her, but did not have time to analyze until later. It was obvious to me that she needed the change, not for a bus ride, or for a non-necessity but instead she needed it for food. Although her smile, which I still had not seen at that point, was beautiful, her clothing, her face, even the way that she spoke was tired and ageing. It seemed as if her youthfulness had all but left her body.

In the most humble and un humiliating way I could manage I inquired if she was hungry. She admitted that she was, and I offered her a sandwich from around the corner. Inside the convince store we stood in front of the sandwiches, I could feel her hesitation in picking a sandwich, she was concerned with pricing and not wanting to wear thin my generosity she asked what was okay for her to pick. I let her know she was free to pick any sandwich, and left her to make her choice. I picked out an Orange Juice for her, and we left the convince store.

Outside I felt as if I owed her an explanation for my generosity, even I did not fully understand why I had behaved the way I did. It was not the first time I had ever helped one less fortunate than myself with a meal, it was not even the most expensive meal I had ever given, and I know it wont be the last. However, it was the first time I had ever helped someone so young. Admittedly, a part of me did it because I wanted to see her smile, if only once, so that I could see if my hunch was right. We sat outside the convince store as she ate her meal, we talked lightly about ourselves. I picked this time to let her know that my generosity was not at the cost of something malicious, I wanted her to be at ease with me and not feel as if I would ask anything in return. Never before have I had to say anything like that, but that time I felt it was right.

She turned to me, smiled at me for the first time since I met her. Suddenly shy she put her head down and looked hard at the street “Yeah, there are a lot of perverted guys out there.” Before she had even finished her meal, I got up to leave and go about my way. Her face was a mix of surprise and disappointment, she showed more emotion than I think she was aware. “You are leaving?” I couldn’t sit and stay any longer, she was close to done and she had put a small cardboard sign out in front of her self. I could not see the words, and I did not have to. It was the way I felt sitting behind that cardboard sign that made me want to leave.

I nodded my head to her, reaffirming my words from earlier to her that after she finished eating I would be on my way. We waved goodbye to each other. I still see Ms. Lauren Hill from time to time, in a different places all around DC. Every time she sees me, she turns on her smile and waves at me. On the bus we sit and talk together light conversation about nothing special. She always tells me that she has been out making money, and I always wonder what she means. The bus rides are never long enough for me to ask, and I almost feel as if I would be rude to do so.

“This is my stop Alexander I’ll see you around.” She smiles as she gets up from next to me. As she stands by the back doors of the bus waiting to get off she stares outside readying herself for something I have no idea about. The doors open and she looks over her shoulder for one more smile and one more wave, and then she’s gone.

Going down to Anacostia

Going down to Anacostia from Maryland is a mission. Its more than a hour and a half by train. Its even longer by bus, but when coming back with ounces of marijuana its safer to take the bus and not get on the sub-way less you run the risk of running into metro transit. Of course just sitting calmly on the train with narcotics is nothing to curry the suspicions of the officials but smelling of marijuana is, and course you smell like drugs you just got done smoking a joint with your supplier. You have to sample your product, how can you be a manager of McDonalds but never had a burger? Of course, some overdue it, by now you have seen the overweight fast food manager. Not being a user is an important part of any drug selling process. Of course you can be a pot head and still sell drugs, but you may just end up being like the overweight manager at McDonalds who cant seem to do anything more with their lives.

Southeast DC, or ‘the heart of DC’ as the locals call it, is not the safest of neighborhoods but as long as you keep your wits about you, mind your business you will be okay. Walking around night or day is not an issue, just don’t ever look lost, even if you are. Of course if someone, or a group of someone’s is on a mission to jack the next sucker they see, and you happen to be that sucker…well your just out of luck that day. However walking around DC with a firearm is not a bright idea. Anywhere else this may seem like a bad idea, but draw comfort in the fact that the people around you and even the local jackers will be out gun less as well. This is not to say that no one in DC has guns, it is a ghetto of course, but the penalty for having firearms is so stiff that most don’t walk around with guns on them, you are safe in that way.

The point of having a supplier so far away is that he will always have product even when people in your area are dry. Another advantage of going out of the way is that the quality often times is better than what people further away from the city are use to. This means that you can and of course should tax everything you bring to your customers. Even if it is just a five dollar tax it will quickly start to add up after a handful of sells, less than that even, and you will have paid for your trip out to Anacostia. Everything after that is paying yourself back, if you have hustle and know how to work with customers you should be making pure profit that very same day. Of course this is assuming you only charge a modest five dollar tax. Understanding your customers is part of selling narcotics, taking advantage of ignorant buyers and taking care of loyal customers is all part of the business.

Finding the supplier is not difficult, finding a reliable supplier is another task in itself. This is where women can prove invaluable. Finding the right woman to introduce you to someone is the quickest and safest way to find a contact. Of course you have to know what woman to look for and how to approach. It’s too broad of a term to simply say ‘ghetto’ but that’s the first phrase that comes to mind. Instead, a woman that is not in a group of friends, preferably one that is loud, talkative, even when alone. These details alone are enough for a man with enough experience to recognize. Everything after that is pure ‘game’ Women know everything and everyone in the city in which they live. Depending on how you approach them they made need a bribe in the way of a joint or sex. Of course what you give or take is all on you.

When introduced to your contact, remember that first impressions are everything. If possible arrange it so that the first meet is in person. Though the woman may want to, and insist that she be the middle man don’t let her. Remember the point of her is to introduce you to the supplier other wise she will be your contact and go between, you don’t want that because you have plans to buy in larger quantities than she is aware of. Remember you are using her just as much as she plans to use you. Take that to your advantage.

Keep in mind when working with your supplier that this is a long term business deal, so a kind gesture epically in the business of small narcotics trade goes a long way. Offer to smoke one with him, usually a seller will not refuse a free smoke. In doing this he will be more apt to work with you in the future and pick up your calls. Remember that not everybody views drug dealing as a business and often do not run their empires efficiently. Making ten or twenty dollars can often lose its appeal overtime to some people.

Remember the effects marijuana has on the brain, and overall mood. When smoking with the supplier that is the time to bring up business as he will be more receptive to listen to any deals or schemes that you may pitch to him. Him being high does not mean he is drunk, or that is out of his mind, but it does mean that he wont be as defensive as he may usually be, especially when dealing with a stranger. Once you have the contact with the supplier and he has agreed to work with you, the usefulness of the woman has run out. She was a bridge, to you and the supplier, someone to introduce you so that you seem ‘safer’ to him. At this point you may do as you wish in regards to your relationship with the woman, however be warned never let anyone know the scope of your operation and what your intentions are.

The exploitation of women

Who is gaming who? Sometimes I wonder who is walking away the winner, but the more that I think about it, I think both parties are losers, the man and the woman. The sexual exploitation of women is not new to me, its not as if I have never heard stories before of one night stands or slick, smooth talking young men who were able to get the very best of a woman in a short amount of time. I am well aware that women sometimes can exploit themselves just as anyone who realizes they have a desired commodity sometimes do.

Suddenly, I notice the value of women has gone down. Or maybe it has always been this way and I have never noticed. Maybe it is because I have been transplanted from a rural town to a metropolis, and with the larger population comes more people willing to exploit and be exploited. I don’t dare suggest that in my small rural town that women were treated as gods. No, far from it, they were treated more or less the same. But, where I come from their numbers compared to the males where so small (And of course they were well aware of this) that the price for their exploitation was so outrageous and demanding that hearing things like “I fucked three different bitches yesterday so I’m good for today, ya hear me…I’m not even worried.” Was unheard of because of the time and effort required, and the price they demanded for their precious commodity.

In this brave new world the price for admission is nothing more than a stick of marijuana. “Ya, see all I do is say Hey whats up, whats your name, what you doing, where you going, you smoke, get in, and I got em!” This is of course not the norm, as I quickly realized the type of woman that is willing to sell herself for this price, but there is a substantial amount of women that play the game like that. “Oh, yeah me and my boys we keep bitches on deck that aint a problem, I can get you one right now, lil bad red bone, I give you her number text her and tell her you found out about her through the chat line, ya say it just like that chat line, she’ll know and tell her you got a bag [of marijuana] and you in there.”

I am not surprised about the passing of women around by men, I have witnessed this in small douses in my rural hometown, however the practice is not as wide spread as most women are ‘stolen’ from other men or they are just ‘borrowed’ for a time being and silently, politely given back without the first male ever knowing a thing. “I met this one broad on the train, 180 pounds, but it was in all the right places, ya hear me? Hips thighs fat ass, she had long dreads down to her chest, right…said she smoked wet ones [Marijuana laced with PCP] I was like OH! Score, you know in pool, I don’t play pool but…you know how in pool you win the game by hitting the eight ball in, well when she said she smoked wet that was like the eight ball being real close to the pocket, easy man easy.”

So who walks away the winner in the game. Because its all a game, all the players know it’s a game. Is it the man who knows from the start every word out his mouth is to advance his agenda to having sex, or is it the woman who (usually the type that play this game) has nothing else to do gets a free smoke and some sex out this random stranger. Is she using him to get something she wants, or is he using her to get what he wants. They both get what they want in the end, maybe one more so than the other. However, the woman is still being exploited by the man, because it is the man who starts contact and has on his mind what he wants from the woman. It is the man who first offers what he is willing to give in return for what he wants. “I mean you gotta look at it like this, ya know that’s ten dollars right there for the sack right, and I’m fucking…especially if she a bad bitch that’s one hell of a deal! Ten dollars for the fuck, and if she a fat bitch you know she’s sucking my dick, that’s already going down, cant beat that.”

The exploitation of a woman for a stick of Marijuana: “Oh she geeking ya hear me? She geeking, she want it she just called me talking bout what am I doing, telling ya, ya need to go head and call her and dug her out, get you that J and go ahead and do that, and then call me and I’ll go on over there and dug her out, case she geeking man, ya hear

Love knocks you down

My first true romantic experience was a heartbreak, but I think most people would say the same thing. I don’t pretend that I have gone through more than the next man, or that my hardships in the subject of love where so devastating that I never recovered, but like most people I carry those hard learned lessons in my memory.

Playing the back-up boyfriend of my own free will for many years has had an effect on me, that I really did not anticipate. It is easy to let such an experience make one bitter and seek vengeance on every single woman one sees, however it has made me sympathetic to other people who have been caught in that situation. It also makes me very weary of putting someone else in that spot.

Love, the illusion of it, the seeking and longing for it can have a unique affect on ones mind. It can make you see and feel things that are not there, and I do not know half of what I am talking about as I am only twenty-three years old as I write this. Really, I have just started life, and I stand before you writing that love is something without equal.

What is the value of German Marks in Japan? What does it matter that I have a quarter million marks in the bank when I live and work in Japan making Yens? What I mean to say when you have invested yourself in one place doing one thing, what would make you drop and lose everything you built to go start over or pick up somewhere else?

There is a verse in the bible that tells that you cannot serve two masters. You will love one and hate the other. It speaks of serving God or serving the devil.(in the form of money) However, the way I see it, that verse can be applied to more than just the epic good vs evil battle. How can you have a group of women all around you, vying for attention and expect to just focus on just one?

To do two things at once is to do neither. To love two people at once it to love neither, by the same extension. You have to love one and hate the other, hate in the way of not caring for the feelings of the second person. Hate in the way of not thinking or having concern for the mental wellbeing of the second person. Jealousy is an exhausting emotion. It is a mental strain on ones mind as well as a burden to ones heart. Jealousy can eat away at one sense of self worth and self confidence. Knowing and having experienced all those things who am I to condemn someone else to that punishment? Who am I to treat someone like that are an item or possession and turn around and claim to love them?

As much as it is part of human nature to keep things of value to ourselves, as easy as it can be to horde, love is and never something that someone should keep locked up to themselves. If someone is loving you more than you can love them back, is it not your duty to make them aware of it? Would you not be a monster to let them continue and fight for your attention, when you know that you have none to give? If you have love for someone does not the love for them inside you want the best for them even if it may not be with you? Is love ever so selfish as to be so possessive?

I again yield to the ignorance of my age, I am ripe with inexperience. With that admitted, I can say that I would want to be treated with kid gloves when it comes to the topic of love, it has been my habit to fall for the things and women that were the farthest away from me and the least obtainable to me. So when it comes time for me to be that far away unobtainable person to someone else I will do everything I can to love them as much as I can without hurting them, because they don’t deserve the short end of love. They don’t deserve to be knocked down by love…

Chapter 3 verse 15 'Share the wealth'

“But God didn’t make you to be no fool!” the older lighter skinned man said loudly his words full of conviction, as if what he was saying was the purest and simplest of truths. Everyone else on the bus silently agreed with the man, everyone except the man sitting right across from him.

The two men locked in a passionate debating concerning the will of God and giving to those less fortunate than selves spoke loudly enough so that their conversation could easily be overheard while one gazed out the window, or pretended not listen, or simply sat in the comfort of ones own silence plotting out life plans.

“And I agree” rebutted the second man. “I agree so much that I want you to show me, teach me, don’t preach to me, let me get my bible here I want you to show me the passage where God say you a fool for giving your coat to someone who needs it.” The man stretched his arm out for his bag that sat further up the bus, across the isle. He wiggled his fingers commandingly at the bag as if his will would bring the bag closer. “You know if I could just get my bible.” He beckoned to the bag as much as he was to everyone else listening, passively asking for assistance.

“Naw, what I mean is God don’t want you taking off your coat and you getting cold, so that someone else can have your coat.” The first, lighter man interjects, looking wearily at the other bigger man reaching his hand out for his bible.

“That’s not true, share the wealth.” The bigger man says as he is handed his bible “Now.” He speaks again as he turns the bible off towards the first man. “If you would show me that passage please.”

The lighter man does not reach out for the bible, instead he folds his arms, defiantly, and silently resigns from the conversation, and the bus is suddenly silent. The bigger man, not basking in the victory quickly chimes in to drive his point further. “God wants us to share the wealth and wealth comes in all forms, I would give the person who needed it, my coat, you know why? Cause I got three more at home, now see that’s my wealth.

Watch out...he has a bible! (Chapter 3 verse 15 'Share the wealth')

“Now you don see that boy got a bible that tells you enough about him right there.” The man regards me as if I hold a dangerous weapon in my hand, as if I had offended him by bringing it out. It was never my intention to offended the man, but his face holds a wounded look he is shocked and embarrassed to have someone on the bus, a young someone at that, force him to provide passage for his speaking of God’s will.

“Like I tell you, everybody can understand that, even the young people, this young man here understands that wealth ain’t just about money, its possessions, it is what you are able to give.” The man next to me spoke proudly, glad to have someone, anyone on his side proving his point. It was as if I was his new champion and he placed his hand proudly on his shoulder, claiming me.

“Yeah, I told ya, I don see the boy got a bible, so you know he know something…young man how old are you?” He says leaning in across the isle and closer to me, the hurt from his face gone. I tell the man my age and he nods his head, my age confirming his thoughts. “Yep, young man, not many people your age have bibles on them like that.” He said nodding his head again. He face now seem to have a since of pride in it as well, as if I represented something to be proud of. I did not know what to do with this new attention on my self, so I handled it the best I could and offered a weak “Thank-you.”

The Story of Howard

Howard is twenty six years old. He lives in Southeast DC near the Anacostia station. He lives with a few friends and his two year old little girl in an apartment with no heat, just running water. This time of year, they all have to wear jackets as if they were outside, and they huddle around each other for warmth.

His little girl has a cold, and her mother has died. The mother has been dead for more than a month now, and while the mother was living Howard’s relationship with her was not on the best of terms. It is rumored that they were both cheating on each other, Howard has a VD right now because of her. However now that she is gone he insists that he loves her. He claims that she was the one, and will tell you his tragic story of dead baby mother and hungry little girl who he cant feed for a few hits off a joint.

Howard gets high everyday, he does not have money, but he can get high because the people he stays around always have weed. Everyday Howard sits in the apartment with his friends not wanting to leave or go anywhere, he sits on the couch, talking about how hard he has it in his life. He cant get government assistance for his daughter because his name is not on his daughters birth certificate. Howard says he cannot find a job, because he knows no one is hiring, even though he has no criminal record he feels trapped by his situation.

Howard will not listen to anyone who tries to tell him about himself, he would rather fight them or turn away from them, Howard just wants to sit on the couch with his shivering daughter and get high.

Ana (ch 1)

“Anacostia doors open on your left.” Is what the train driver mumbles over the intercom, not really giving much effort to be understood or heard clearly but he did not care. Anyone who was out this far in DC knew where they were going and knew what stop to get off on.

A man in subdued colors browns and greys gets up stiffly from his sit on the train. He stands in front of the train door staring at his reflection in the glass, glaring at himself, looking like a stranger to his own eyes. The doors open and his sticks his hands into his hoodie pockets and walks towards the escalators. He keeps his head forward, level, and straight but his eyes don’t stop moving watching everybody around him, watching even the people behind him.

On the escalator up and out a young girl who looks and dresses a few years older than she really is, glares at the man in brown and grey as he tries to move past her. Slow traffic stands on the right everybody else is supposed to pass on the left, she knows that, he knows she knows that, but she just stands looking down at him glaring. He locks his eyes on to hers his face not saying a word. She rolls her eyes and marches up the steps.

“Oh, someone been smoking that la!” another young female voice going down the escalators and into the subway exclaims. She shouts it in a strange tattletale voice as if she is spilling a secret that no one else knows about, as if no one else around her can smell the distinct odor or Marijuana. At the top of the escalator Jones quickly scans the station, the usual Anacostia happenings. He sees the police idle in a corner standing around their latest victim. A teenage woman with her pant leg rolled up hands behind her back, the transit police talking and congratulating themselves, as the young woman stands stone faced infront of the crowd of onlookers. The rest of the station is filled with groups of people standing off by themselves every conversation is hearable but all of them sink into the low din that is Anacostia. The only station where the people are louder than the trains.

It doesn’t bother Jones that the police are standing at the entrance of the station, they are always stationed out in Anacostia, they are always on the patrol, it is for that reason that he hates riding the train from Anacostia, there is too much risk, and the metro police are only too happy to make another drug arrest.

Ana (Scene one)

The sound of the train going over the tracks is the only thing hears as the audience gets its first look at the main character (Jones) His brown hoodie is over his head as he is looking down at the floor, his body moving with the motion of the train.

“Anacostia, doors open on your left” the muffled voice of the train operator is heard but not really understood, to the audience they can only clearly hear the words ‘Anacosta’ and ‘doors’ At this Jones gets up and heads toward the train doors that have yet to open. At this point the audience has yet to see Jones face as the camera is behind Jones giving them a view of his Jamaican styled book bag. As Jones stands in front of the doors he glares at himself and the audience gets their first view of him through his reflection in the windows.

The doors open and Jones and others pour out into the station, it is very crowded rush hour. The crowd is mostly black with one or two whites mixed in. The whites that are shown are show to be in business dress. The rest of the crowd has a mix of work clothes some working for metro, some in scrubs, the young children look to be coming back from school and then people Jones age look to be coming in from the streets dressed generically. The Camera follows Jones while tracing a circle around him so that the crowd can be noticed by the audience, almost loosing Jones in the people and commotion. No Music plays just the sounds of the crowd and the train. “Next stop Congress heights” the train driver announces before closing the doors and speeding away.

The escalator is crowded and the flow is to be observed by the audience with those standing on the right and those passing on the left. The Camera is over the shoulder of Jones as he climbs the steps until he encounters a young girl who stubbornly stands. She stands carrying her body in a sexually suggestive way, older than her years, she looks down at Jones defiantly. The camera switches for a second to Jones face and for the second time the audience gets another look at him, his face is void of emotion and he shows his own determination in his eyes, until the girl sucks her teeth rolls her eyes and begins to march up the stairs.

The camera resumes its over the shoulder view as Jones rises up to the ground level of the station and the audience gets a wide shot of the station. The police can be seen in the extreme left corner in the center the exit, and in the extreme right of the station crowds of youths standing around talking loudly. The sounds of the station are heard by the audience which will include cursing, laughing, and yelling. Jones is seen turning his head to look at the police who have a young woman in handcuffs and rolled up pants legs, facing away from them. Her stone face can be seen as she stoically looks outside to the cold clouds. The police are shaking hands and laughing amongst themselves. As Jones exits the station the audience can see the teenagers to the right play fighting and cursing.

Ana (Scene three)

The scene starts with Jones stepping off a city bus, it is a shot only of Jones and the bus the background is hidden from view of the audience. The bus pulls away and the audience is given a far off angled shot of Jones standing alone on the dark corner. Behind him low-rise apartment buildings and the barking of a pit-bull in the distance. A shot of the street sign 2 and orange with the words appearing on the screen saying ‘South East DC 2009’

The Camera follows Jones as he walks up the street opposite the bus a little boy of two years old accompanied by a older boy of ten walks down the sidewalk towards Jones. The camera is in the street showing the boys and Jones at either sides of the screen coming towards each other. The youngest boy starts to pause, stops walking and refuse to step any closer towards Jones. The older boy asks what is wrong and the younger replies that he is scare. The older boy looks quickly at Jones and affirms don’t be scared, and takes the little boys hand as they pass Jones.

The audience hears Jones phone as he pulls his cellphone out his hoodie pocket. The screen shows Jones phone screen and a message that reads “k” Jones goes through his messages and the screen shows his last three messages. “At the sation.” “On the bus” “On the Corner”

Jones puts his phone away and sticks his hands into his Hoodie pockets.

Ana (Ch. 1)

Meeting with his dealer was time consuming; it was this meeting process that Jones lost the most about the whole situation, he sent a text to his drug dealer and looked out the window staring at the hooded and bandanna wearing youth in the reflection. He got off at the corner of second and orange and his dealer was no where to be found. Alone on a dark corner in the middle of Anacostia south east DC. He feels like a pilgrim in an unholy land

I only think of you high

I think about her when I get high
Mind goes on a cruise to years gone by
We use to be best friends who’d thought to give love a try
Never had I knew that love could make you cry
But I did the first night you said goodbye
“Why” was the only thing on my mind
I prayed for a sign
I thought you an angel, or divine
But you sent my heart to hell, girl I felt a fire inside
Every time you hug that other guy
You were his girl but I wanted you mine
I never got you and so I only think of you high

Three pages after I wake Sun-Dec-20 (3)

I am supposed to write three pages. I have just woken up, and I vaguely remember my dream, although It was not a story dream as they usually are it was more like a scene. I dreamed I had texts on my phone from people I don’t know, maybe it was wishful thinking whishing I could get a text from someone specific. My sleep is not always the best and clearest so I am sure I am missing a few other details that I will now never remember or get back.

I have written a lot more than usual which is strange seeing as I still have garbage flowing out of my fingertips. The whole point of writing those first three pages is to get the creative juices flowing, but I don’t think that is happening. However like I said in my first attempt this is only something I started doing today…how dare I think that I will just pick it up and master it just like that.

I have been thinking in my mind about happiness and the pursuit of it. I know its bad to rely on others as your source of happiness; I know that ultimately leads to a hard down fall like the one I experience now. I feel safe in exposing my self slightly as I realize that things like this (my writing) and things of this length (my writing) hardly if ever get read, even by request. So what harm do I lose in being true to myself and writing the first echoes that come to mind?

I remember my first heartbreak and I admit its kinda…or actually made me very skeptical of women, but I can admit that I am a fast learner in all things, as I already mentioned in my first three page writing. I suppose as I meet and learn each new woman I learn to distrust a little bit more as I go along. Which is strange seeing as how I am already very untrusting. Its like investing your money into a bank and seeing little return, so every other bank afterwards you put less and less into it expecting a larger return than the last. Of course I realize the folly of this logic, but money is like love it does not grow on trees and must be hard earned.

If I have learned anything it is to be stingy with my love. In the same way that I learned to be stingy with my poems, I don’t ever write poetry to be read by a woman, it now stays trapped in the deepest chambers of my mind or I write it and keep it all to my self. Everyone loves Santa and getting gifts and presents, but who gives gifts to Santa? Women loved getting poems and letters for me, but not so much giving me their time or their numbers. I suppose real life is not like the movies and no matter how long I toil over a set of words to make sure they sound just right and rhyme just right you can’t sweep a woman off her feet with a couple lines of poetry.

I guess until I start finding my self and respecting who I am, I will always feel more and more hollow each and every time I let a woman come around and dig a piece out of me. I was thinking last night that the direction I want to take, this path to enlightenment and self education does not leave much time and room for lolly-gag. A lot of time that would otherwise be spent chasing or pleasing will actually be spent staring at a computer screen or frowning at little piece of paper. Which I admit is kind of romantic to me. No one can ever take away your education, that is until they take away your life. They can take away everything else that people my age chase and long for but they cant take away your education.

In a few weeks it will be a new year. I claim that I don’t want to be stuck doing the same thing I was doing last year or the year before that. But some habits die hard. If I really want to improve I will change my frame of mind, I will change my attitude I will change my overall look on life. Why do I feel as if writing is the magic key to all that? Should I not be out chasing God and religion to find peace and harmony? Why have I convinced myself that through writing everything else is possible? I suppose there are worse things to chase after in this life, but something as lonely and under appreciated as writing?

At work I am valued for being able to do several peoples jobs, I am sort of a jack of all trades. The problem with that is that even though I may be doing another job that is not in my job description and not what I was hired for I still get paid as if I was still only doing my job. I feel as if people who have talents in several different fields (And mind you I don’t call mopping floors a talent but it is something that not everyone I work with will do) are under appreciated. I feel as if I am taken for granted, however to be honest with myself I feel as if I am taken for granted in a lot of places and by most people I know.

It has been suggested to me that I seek physiological counseling, but I don’t see how that would help other than get me all weepy in front of a total stranger. No I would rather get all weepy in front of a piece of paper and keep those tears for later, as a remembrance. Maybe that’s why I feel that writing is a key to unlock the mysterious of my life. I feel as if the more I write the more I know myself and what I am truly capable of, I feel like the more I write the more I wont take my own self for granted, the more I write the less I have to rely on other people to understand of myself and a sense of worth and validation. On a piece of paper I can prove that I lived and had cohesive tangible thought.

I have already done more writing that most people my age, but that’s not saying too much. If I was an athlete or a mathematician, I could say the same thing about those skill sets and they could say the same thing over me. Just because I have done something I enjoy to do more than average does not mean anything, other than I enjoy doing it.

I took the ASVAB again a week ago, I actually scored lower than I did the first time. Somehow I am not surprised and knew that I would do just that, more of that beginners luck that I am world famous for. I don’t believe I scored too much lower than last time, though admittedly I don’t even remember my score from last time. I would think I should score the same, seeing as all that has changed is a few months and the fact that I have smoked copious amounts of marijuana. It was the English scores that propped me up just like last time. What these tests always make me realize is that if it were not for my God given ability to communicate I would be less than average. My math scores are way below par and my science is sketchy at best. Out of 25 vocabulary questions I missed 3. Out of the same number of Math questions I am sure I correctly answered no more than 7.

Maybe this writing this is working out after all, I am having flash backs of memories long forgotten, all this time I thought marijuana had robbed me of my memory, and maybe it has but writing is the best way I know how to empty out the cob-webs in my head. It was suggested to me that I should write memoirs of my youth. I laughed at the idea then, just as I laughed at it every time my own mind would suggest such a daunting task. “Who am I to log my memories as if I have achieved something?” I realized even then that you don’t have to have anything accomplished yet to begin remembering where you came from and what you had already gone through, if nothing else than for yourself so you remember who you are, when you feel lost and others begin to tell you who they see you as. So that when the day finally comes you already have a start on telling people about yourself and your story, and you don’t have to trust someone else to write it for you.

That sounds all fine and well but I still want proof that this whole memory writing thing will go anywhere. I have enough notebooks that I don’t touch now, I have notebooks that I have given away, notebooks that I have lost, now I am meant to add to that collection? Notebooks that store my life story. Ah, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. One thing is for sure, I shouldn’t start working on it till 2010, when things are different and are starting to look up. Maybe when I start to see that shinning glimmer of hope that I am not a psychopath and I haven’t mistakenly convinced myself that I am a misunderstood genius, maybe then I can sit down and take myself seriously and write that memoir

But until then it will steady sound like the ranting of a man with too much time on his hands and a very active imagination. People think that being creative is a good thing, and a good thing only. Sure yes it is nice to be creative and have the ability to solve problems uniquely and think rapidly on the fly, things like that make me feel like Peter Parker. But its no fun thinking you house the devil in your head or that all this self talking to yourself has driven you crazy, then your imagination becomes your own worse enemy because your fears become real and everything you think…just might be. I have this idea in my mind that one day I will meet and work with Kanye West. So years ago I started the habit of referring to him as ‘Mr. West’ only so that it will feel more natural for me to call him that when I actually do meet him. I want to call him Mr. West so that I am seen as being respectful and not just another fan who wants an autograph or a picture, I want him to regard me, at least in that first initial meeting (wherever and however it may play out) as a serious artist with serious proposals. I write all this with a straight face.

I have built a huge fantasy in my mind about working in studios, making movies, being on Oprah. One of my most vivid fantasies is being on the Oprah show. I read in a paper a few weeks ago that in a year the show is being cancelled. So how is it that I will ever be on that show? Sure, sure I have a year but honestly…

Instead of encourage me it seems to knock the encouragement and what little confidence I had right out of me. To make matters worse my memory is so shot I cant recall if I was high during these daydreams or not, because if I was it makes it all the easier for me to dismiss them as insane imaginative ranting of a self-deluded sociopath.

Three pages after I wake Sun-Dec-20 (1)

I read that after waking up it is best to write three pages at least, of free form writing. If only to get the fluff out of the way and get creative juices flowing. As I sit down right now, on a time clock even I find it hard to focus on anything to write about. It seems the little reading I do has a major positive impact on me. I end up learning all sorts of new things. You think that would encourage me to read more but it doesn’t. I’m not sure what I blow my time on, but its not reading. Strike that. I lied. I know what I spend my time doing. Whishing for better. I spend most of my time procrastinating. I spend most of my time waiting to get something I don’t have. I met an interesting person, last night. Sometimes in life, I meet a person so impressive that I want to be like them. Not exactly like them but I see qualities in them that I want for myself.

I feel I am living up to only 25% of my potential. Damn straight everyone should be disappointed in me, no one so much as myself. Letting my youth spoil like fruit in the sun. I should be doing something with all this. Time is against me, more so now than ever. I have a month to turn things around and waiting is not an option. I suppose I think I do myself a favor by not stressing out over certain things. It is my nature to mull and worry over the most far away things in the cosmo’s but then turn a blind eye to the building disasters in front of me. I can write and write till my graphite falls off but until I put those words into action I might as well be writing in sand script, the letters have no meaning to me.

I suppose the first step is being confident and satisfied with yourself. Though admittedly I am never satisfied with anything, not my art, not my life, an least of all my self. I have had it told to me that I have serious self loathing issues. Maybe my dissatisfaction has led me to strive for self improvement. This is what this writing is a step to self-improvement. ‘you say you wanna be the next Kobe Bryant but you don’t play for a team and you call yourself a writer but you cant produce complete work.’ For a long time I have been chasing that elusive title as ‘writer’ I have long had ideas but lacked the discipline and the strength to finish them

I wake up with the most inane thoughts. Maybe I should stop looking at myself through the lens of others people lives and take a step back. Maybe I should look at it from a factual point of view. Or maybe just my own point of view will do fine. One problem is that I expect things to come easy and if I can slack on something I will. I have this belief that I can pick up anything and automatically be the best at it. I don’t know where this thinking comes from. It is true that I can quickly catch on an excel at most things, so when try and fail at something I automatically assume I’ll never get it.

I don’t even dream anymore when I sleep. I see visions that I can remember. I recall waking up one day this week thinking about Chris Brown and why he beat Rihanna. I picked up a copy of GQ with her on the cover a few days later. I recall also this week waking up with the lyric “But they say you be on that conscious tip, girl get your head right get up on this conscious dick.” And recalling how disgusted I was with that line.

It seems I spend a lot of the time recalling and thinking about things that disgust me, annoy or otherwise disappoint me. The hook of “Halle Berry! Halle Berry Halle Berry.” Stayed on my mind for weeks despite having forgotten where it came from and numerous attempts to dislodge it from my mind. I even started replacing Halle Berry with other words. Kansas City! Kansas City Kansas City. Just to see if it would fit. I swear my mind is a computer or at the very least working at the whim of someone else. There have been times I would wake up suddenly and still hear my mind talking, as if having a serious conversation or simply listening to one. However as soon as I realized it was taking place the conversation was lost to me and almost instantly forgotten as if I had been eavesdropping on the thoughts of my own brain. The words I thought I heard where no longer remembered.

I use to believe that I was unique, a gifted individual, someone set apart. Now I believe that I simply do not understand myself and have allowed people to attach their opinions of me, on me and I wear them as my own. Though I would hardly consider myself average or normal I just don’t feel as if I have earned the right to coin myself as unique or gifted. Maybe talented as I have enough imagination to fill several college ruled notebooks but other than a few exocentric rantings, what sets me apart from anyone else?

I suppose that since I am still young I am allowed to not know these things yet. However, three pages later and I still feel no better sense of direction. Ah! There I go assuming I’ll get it on the first try…

Three pages after I wake Sun-Dec-20 (2)

Even though I have not just woken and have been up for several hours now, I cant stop thinking. So, I decided to write for another three pages. As long as I am sitting here on the clock getting paid I might as well write. If I can do that on their time I can do it on mind. Otherwise it just goes to show, I really won’t make sacrifices for writing. As if I cant spare any of the twenty hours I spend sleeping. I over exaggerate. I don’t sleep nearly that long. I actually don’t sleep enough, but I will choose to sleep over most anything including getting up for work and writing.

I realized something, I am forgetting stories. Well actually I don’t know if they are forgotten as much as they are just not thought about. When I look over my notes all my mental notes on the idea come flooding back. One thing that frustrates me and when I fix this problem it will go a long way to allowing me to take myself seriously is that I have mounds of unfinished work. It is not rare for me to get bored halfway through a project or move on to something else. It has been suggested that I have ADD. Then I consider the source of that suggestion and I consider it a misdiagnosis. Then again people have labeled me all sorts of things in my young life. Doesn’t mean I believe all of it. One label I have resisted my whole life thus far is that of ‘bright’ Usually teachers use this term and it is followed by the words “But he doesn’t apply himself.” I tend to think that ‘bright’ is a term they use for most their students, more than ever I see it as a burden of high expectations. I already see where this line of thinking will take me.

Why is it I would rather believe I am dull and incompetent than bright. Is it easier to give up or to try? I have heard both, that I am worthless and genius. Its easier to believe the latter but honestly I know better. You can only fool yourself for so long. I look at what I have now, scattered ideas and scattered incomplete notes. How is this anything more than a hobby? As my father put it “This is a huge scam.” That’s how I feel most times when people heap compliments on me. The usual bright remarks make me cringe and I feel like I have tricked them into believing something that is not true. I feel no great reward or accomplishment, I feel guilty that this person believes me to be better than I really am.

A fraud. I suppose if I sat down and wrote more like this I would learn a lot more, if nothing else I would get better in the craft I am trying to dedicate my life to. Maybe if I got all this filthy junk out my head I could concentrate more on the projects in front of me. I only get out of my mind what I put into it. The midnight sub conscious ramblings of my mind is merely a byproduct of all the information I store in it during the day light hours.

As much comfort as it gives me to downplay myself I do realize that I am burning an enormous amount of potential. I remember as a youth reading the encyclopedia for fun. I was always alone as a youth, my poor school grades kept me locked away in my room during the school months so what better way for a future hermit to spend his time than to read books all day. Sometimes I wonder had I not have grown up the way I did, would I still be a writer. Am I a writer because of how I grew up or despite how I grew up?

I admit always being creative but again Is this because I was locked away in my room with only myself to talk to? I don’t recall an imaginary friend I recall talking to myself knowing full well I was the only one who would answer. Even now talking aloud to myself gives me comfort in stressful situations.

I have only a few minutes left before the end of my shift. I admit I suck ever dollar out this company. Used them as much as they used me. I have about half a page left on the third and last page. Just as well I’m tired of writing, I want to think now. Thinking leads me to writing.

Three pages after i wake Mon-Dec-21 (1)

I woke up today with the fleeting thought that I was getting unwanted text messages from someone I did not want to talk to. Ironically enough I was finally stirred awake by a text message from someone I did not want to talk to.

I have had to realize today that I am always skeptical of everything. Of everyone, I have had it told to me that I am far too trusting and I believe everything says to me, but I don’t think that is the case. I don’t believe anything anyone says to me, and I am the type of person who has to experience things first hand. I am vaguely surprised that I believe in God and haven’t decided to wait till death to start being a believer in a high power. Maybe because I don’t allow myself to be that ignorant.

I feel as if I have missed out today, like I am missing something. I discovered that I am made single again today, under mysterious circumstances. The scent of ‘taken’ is gone from my body and I noticed that I am again repulsive to the opposite sex. I over stretch things…but really not that far. I feel like I have been made alone again, and all I had was a few month time period where I was not, kinda of just faking it…kinda of like a time out instead of anything substantial. I am not sure if I am being emo or realistic.

The snow has locked me into the house again with the rest of my family. I am starting to have ‘reflective thoughts’ again. This time about my family and the way I have been growing up. Its coming to the fore front of my mind again as if I wont be living with them anymore. That’s a good thing, I just hope it wont be like last time when I was sitting in a jail cell. I almost feel like I am trapped in a bad marriage, though I have felt that way for a long time, since I started being a teenager at the age of 12. I started to realize how I was not happy in the company of my family.

Even talking about them brings back all the memories that I have worked so hard to repress in order to make it through the day and put on a brave face. My father calls it ‘mental gymnastics’ I’m not sure what I was doing when he coined the phrase but its now a phrase I use to describe the trickery I do to my own mind to believe that things need to stay the way they are or I wont make it out alive, or as I know myself. I sort of feel like I am in some sort of war zone and as soon as I leave the battlefield I know I will go into shock of having seen and done all the things I did on the battlefield. Its like knowing that as soon as things change, as soon as you are on that plane back to new york city you aren’t going to be the same.

I have the option of going over to the current war, and to be honest that’s not looking to bad right about now. I have nothing over here to stay for. It’s a win for the fact that I get to stay away from my family. I know how that sounds, but its how I feel. I enjoy time away to understand myself, because I know that I will never really be able to know myself until I get to behave as I usually would. Let me be clear, the person I pretend to be inside these walls is not who I really am, and the longer I stay trying to fake someone else the more damage I do to myself.

A time will come when I will crack open a psychology book and start reading and run across chapters that make it seem like I am reading about myself. I know it will happen, because it already has. Reading about yourself in a mental health book is never a good thing. It only reinforces all the negative thoughts that others have placed in my mind. “Something is wrong with you…something is seriously wrong with you.” You know that sort of thing.

So it should be seen as something great that my mind or the universe or whoever it is that is controlling the gears of my brain is saying that it is time to take a review of your life so far in this situation. Last time that happened I was leaving Kansas City, and I didn’t even know it yet. Even though I had been trying and making plots to leave Kansas for more than three years, I didn’t start feeling like I was really leaving until the last year, even before I knew I would be in DC.

What is this teaching me, the ability to hold a couple of different personalities in one body? That I would make a great actor? I would hope not, maybe I’ll turn out to be a sociopath killer during the night hours and a well loved person during the day. Exactly like Mr. Brooks. But that’s a far stretch even for me to think like that. I know that all this is having a profound and lasting effect on me. I mean I am still suffering from my first heart break and the trust issues I picked up from it. I already know that I don’t trust people, that’s male or female, but a female in a relationship with me or trying to form a relationship with me, I believe is lying to me 100% of the time. It just feels safer to assume that than to assume I am being told the truth, and then one-day realizing I was being lied to. At least that way I can say I knew it was happening.

I was talking yesterday about how romantic it is to be smart and self teach yourself various things. I think now that I realize I have all this extra time on my hands, and in an effort to keep myself productive I will take that up, and start picking up little improvement projects. I figure if I can keep this thing running (Writing three pages) then slowly but surely I can start to add other things that will not only improve me as a writer but will improve me overall as a man. At this stage, I can never stop improving. Especially when all your faults are put under a microscope and scrutinized. I feel like I am training to be a celebrity or something. I hope not, my god I even hate the word celebrity.

No amount of writing though will help me completely. I think I may one day have to get all weepy in front of a paid stranger or risk getting all weepy in front of a stranger who I am not paying. I cant vent up all this emotion, and while writing is a good temporary solution it is by no means long term and I can suspect this will not help me any more than ignoring it will. I hope that once I start clearing out my head though, with all this bent up emotion and words it will clear some space for me to finish my projects. I suppose that’s why me and weed had such a strong bond in the start, it was an easy way for me to take myself out of my mind and my current hopeless situation and into a comfortable zone where I could reflect and think. Of course when I did too much thinking my thoughts would always lead me back to how hopeless my current situation was. Ha! But for the times weed actually allowed me to escape I came back with vivid stories and notes. Of course I don’t believe that weed brought me the stories, I know better than that. I do believe that it gave me the time and space I needed to let me imagination loose. Its hard for me to think about one thing when I have forty million problems and the cosmo’s facing down on me.
Again, of course, it was not all that bad but everyone’s own problems seem like a lot.

For the past few couple of days I feel like I have been relying to much on the company of others. Like a baby to a bottle, what happened to the days as a youth where I can sit in my room for days on end without having to speak to another soul. What is this all of a sudden where I go social and feel the need to interact with other people.

Sadly I don’t even know if I was being sarcastic with myself jus then. Its not like I cant find books to go read, its not like there is not a library almost a block away. Maybe that’s what I should do, maybe I should go take my emo self on to the local library and start reading up on classic lit, never know what I can find. Something tells me that I may end up looking for a psychology book and end up reading about myself then I wont want to come back once I realize how far gone I am.

Sometimes I think they way I grew up is training, almost as if people are not put through more than they can handle. I actually got that quote from the bible, but I believe it to be true. After all what does not kill us makes us stronger. I do know that the relationship I have with my family is only a starter for something else. I do know that later in my life when my family is no longer a tax on my mental health something else will replace the negative feedback and animosity I feel from them. I can only wonder who, and in a small part I feel sad for the future, because I really don’t want to have to deal with that anymore.

I already feel as if my training has been paying off. Training is a funny word but I try and make light of it all. I am able to face skeptics and haters to the face without the blink of an eye because I know that nothing that anyone can say will be worse than the words of my father. I know that there is nothing that anyone can do to try and tear me down worse that what he has tried to do. I have never seen a man that so closely resembles the American eagle, with an arrow in one claw and a peace olive in the other.

I hate to make it seem like everyday is like autswitz but I spend half the day waiting for the other shoe to drop, the arrow to fall out the claw after the olive branch. However I know full well that when I start to feel like an adult (And lets face it my parents are the reason I still feel like a child) I will look back on this and smile with gratitude the things I lived through and the things he put me through. Not so much thankful to him because there is no grand maser plan in his actions, he has admitted so himself. I will be thankful to that higher power, to that whisper in my mind that tells me that this will soon be nothing. That little boost of confidence that sometimes only last five minutes…but maybe that’s all I need. That five minutes of clarity. A lot can happen in five minutes, who knows what I might have done had I not had that mini vacation from the burden that is my own intellect.

Sounds like I may be a drinker sometime in the future…to ease the burden of my own intellect. My god my god what have they done to me my god?

Three pages after I wake Sun-Dec-20 (4)

The safest place to hide things from anyone is a book, because most people don’t read, and most people wont read anything a page long if they aren’t grabbed by the first three sentences or are already interested in what they are reading. That explains why I write and say some of the things I do, with little fear of backlash. Though I suppose once I…

I have found the right music to help me write some thoughts I usually keep locked away, share some things I usually only confide in with my closest confidant. The reason is because failure is such a shame, and more than anything I don’t want to look back on my twenties as the time I was a reckless dreamer. I am staring at the cover for a reason, and that is to give me confidence to continue on with what I want to get out in the open. It is scary to see something so vividly and then have to realize that you were only fooling yourself. How could I ever trust myself again. The first time was love…

I have dreams at night that I cant let go, and I know before I go on into further detail that this makes me seem like a crazy person and that’s all fine and well I have long accepted that fact. As I have been told I do a lot of preamble so I’ll stop and get on with it.

I had a dream so real that it made me sad to wake up to reality. I was in a music studio, sitting in front of a beautiful women who was singing in the booth. I saw the woman, but I didn’t see her. I saw that she was beautiful, I knew that I was awe struck by her and her singing, and I knew in my heart that song she was singing was written by me and was being sung to me, as the beautiful woman was looking and smiling right at me. I feel the glare of people behind me though I did not see them, I could feel the heat of their eyes on my back, but me and the beautiful woman kept looking at each other. In my dream I saw myself getting up, and walking into the booth with her showing her what I had written on a piece of paper, she smiled nodded and kept on singing as I walked back out the booth. The dream ended almost as if the whole thing was a movie and the ‘camera’ slowly panned from behind me to a high corner in the studio and all I could hear was the song of the beautiful woman, though to this day I do not know the words even though I know I heard and wrote the complete song in that dream.

I make no guesses as to what that dream means, if it is a sign of things to come, or if its just a by product of random assortment of things I saw and thought about the day before. I can only hope that is a omen. This brings me to the subject of Rihanna. I have never admitted this, because as I said before it makes me sound even more mentally unstable than I know I already seem. But damn the appearances!

I became aware of Rihanna around the same time most Americans did, with the song umbrella, though I unknowingly had heard her songs and voice before that. When I first heard the song I didn’t really care for it, as I don’t care for most music I hear on the radio, but when I sat down and watched the video, I guess maybe it was the smile, maybe it was her singing accent, maybe it was something else all together but I was taken by her. I am not so naïve to call it love. I don’t even know the woman any more than the next man that has only read about her in articles or seen her in music video’s. I cant even claim to have gone out of my way to know about her. All I know is that when I look at her pictures or listen to her songs I feel as if I should be there. Almost in the same way as I feel when I see Kanye West and others doing what they do, I feel as if I am missing from that picture. However the way I feel ‘I should be there’ is slightly different when I see Rihanna. I cant say that I obsess over her, or that I plot and plan to meet her like I want to meet Mr. West. As a matter of fact I have assured myself that I would introduce myself to Mr. West when the opportunity presents its self. I could never be so bold as to introduce myself to Rihanna.

I admit that her picture, or hearing her voice is always an inspiration to me, the kind of inspiration that send shivers up my spine, goose bumps really. I would gladly write music for her, and as a matter of fact I plan to in an effort to better my song writing skills sit down and write songs with certain artists in mind, Rihanna being one of them. I’m not claiming that I think I could ever date the woman, or even know her anymore than you can know a person by watching you-tube videos of them but I am claiming that she inspires me in a way that no other artist male or female does. Of course she is not the only woman that I would consider beautiful or would be shy about introducing myself to. I don’t think I have the courage to say “hello” to Alicia Keys, another artist I would gladly write with, and whose songs inspire me and give me Goosebumps.

There is something unmistakable the creative effect Rihanna’s image has on me. I suppose that is why I picked up the Issue of GQ the way I did on such impulse. It is not the first GQ issue I have purchased and I know it wont be the last as I have made it a goal to write something for GQ and have it printed. I am very familiar with the magazine. I knew that whatever was inside that magazine would inform and inspire me, a little more than usual. I was not let down. While I don’t think it a huge accomplishment to say that I have never lusted over her body, I am not going to lie and say I don’t find the woman sexually attractive, but what I do like more than anything is looking into her eyes, and on the rare times people can make her smile. But its no secret to know that I love the smile of a beautiful woman.

Leaving Rihanna to go on to other dreams I have had, I once dreamed myself in the white house, inside the oval office Sitting in the room with me was the President and the father of one of my friends. We all sat on a couch and they sat on either side of me glaring at me saying that I was a disappointment and that I had let them down. I woke up from that dream very sad why was my sub-conscious trying to tell me the President of the United States thought I was letting him down. I suppose I was feeling let down by myself and what better way to make me see that than by using a man that I have much respect for. I am sure my mind knew not to use my father in place of my friends father because I am already very familiar with how he feels about me and my progress so far in this life. What makes this dream weird is that a few days after that, maybe a week or so I had the exact same dream except this time they were congratulating me, saying what a wonderful job I had done and that what a credit to the black race I was. I don’t recall doing anything differently, but maybe my attitude had changed maybe sub consciously I had changed. I was pretty shaken up by the first dream, something is pretty wrong when the president shows up in your dreams to scold you.

I mentioned before that I had dreams of being on Oprah, I have actually had sleeping dreams of being on Oprah and her asking me tough questions about my life before I ‘made it’. I have had it more than once actually and sometimes they vary a little bit but they are always the same and they all seem to real. Certain dreams seem as if they have already happened and I am just seeing a sneak preview. Yet it is so hard for me to walk away with a good feeling for more than five minutes, because I quickly realize that it was a dream nothing more than a dream and now I am stuck with the reality of my situation far far away from what I had been dreaming of moments ago.

I would have given anything to be back in the white house with the president or back in that studio in front of that beautiful woman singing to me, but I was back where I always was, at the bottom. That is why I get so upset with myself for what I feel like is me burning my youth, because these dreams are all fine and well while I am young and still have a shot of making them come true. There is no reason for me not to believe that I could be shaking hands with the president, laughing with Oprah, writing for Rihanna. No reason at all. I think about all the time and trials and work it will take, and I suppose I get scared and daunted by it all. Its not that I am lazy, I don’t feel I am lazy, I suppose I just don’t have the confidence yet to claim my dreams. Its almost like its right there in front of my eyes but I don’t see it, I don’t see it enough to reach out and grab it. Maybe just like the dreams of the white house and the presidential scolding Rihanna is a symbol of my dreams. Not so much her, but what she represents to me. I suppose I have always wanted those far away things. As my brother always likes to quote. “Ah the unattainable dreams, those are the best kind.”

I don’t see my dreams as unattainable, hard yes..sure. but not unattainable. I don’t believe that I would be tormented with such vivid dreams if they were not the utmost longings of my soul. As I have heard it said. “hell is not a place you go if your not a Christian, but the failure of your life’s greatest ambitions.” Rihanna represents (as least at this stage of my life) my life greatest ambitions that is why she effects me the way she does, I don’t know how she came to symbolize that but I realize now that she does.

And to think about it…I wouldn’t have it any other way my ambition is very sexy. Yes, my ambition has been beaten, it has been made fun of it, and it has been doubted, but it is still strong and it is embodied perfectly by a young woman from the Caribbean.