My Bleeding Pen

2007-03-29T11:22:00.001-04:00

Identity's

timeless torture

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the hardest part about identity is not pursuing, is not entertaining, is not riding the quirks of who we are. not that it's easy. it is. and, true. it isn't. still, all honesty out and accounted for
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identity is only an issue when we let ourselves deny ourselves. or. and, this is more often. others deny us; others define us before definitions actually form and clutter about us; others convince us that their dict'shun'ary is the truth - regardless if they are the same sort of victim to someone else that you are now being expected to be to them. tragedy of the masses, no doubt
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i've come to know and appreciate identity as a non linear, linear journey. mapped in naming moments. of which, the only true challenge. is others. recognizing and accepting each moment. whether present or not; whether privy or not; whether introduced (to each in turn, in clusters, or, never introduced). but. still sought. to understand and acknowledge. each moment. as a defining episode. marked in new significance. of our name. for greater illustration of who we are

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we change. and. we don't. we don't change. and. we do. remaining the same in new skin. remaining the same in new mind. remaining the same in new spirit. remaining the same in old selves. becoming new in old selves. our reflection alters just as it loses no detail

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we see it. we feel it. we live it. who else can accurately experience us. all the reason why. it is exceptionally important to pursue, to entertain and to ride the quirks. of ourselves. we have to. to fully understand. who we are. to effectively. argue who we are. when necessity arises. & it will

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self inspired - witnessing self, and being inspired by the view, fear of self is no threat. fear of self is mere challenge. better yet, amusement. fear of self becomes possession of creativity; in and re vention of self; creationists of life and living in result of self & drive

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identity is a timeless torture,

because, it is, has been, will be a private quality craze-easily debated as public domain

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by a rose named Zy'casle
Command
As far as the eye can see
Command
With my body
And, I am JUST Standing
Tall,
A/euro-centric walls
Laid from 2, who became 1
Long enough 2 lead a new 1
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Confident
In loyalty
Trained with no words
Just raw intention
That no one can take away from me,

My Castle

2007-03-22T08:24:00.000-04:00

Life's

timeless torture

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life is a miraculous achievement ~ it is so easy, that it's hard ~ it is so easy to survive, and still breathe lifeless ~ it is so easy to fail, and never know the amount & level of success we've had
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we don't approach life with the strategy, the fight that we should

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life is no more and is no less an accredited institution, teaching. weeding. out the weak. spoon feeding. the strong and picked to be strong. a popularity contest. as usual. but also. the flutter and joust. of forces of the universe. are you stepping into their path. if so, is this the proper moment to do so. if not, will the next step be. wild, wild stuff. considering
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we actually have no control over any of it. while we absolutely do. this is important. absolutely do
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by a rose named Apple

night settles anew - its shadowy observance

cradles, bosom in bounty skies, exposing terrain

in flight by fallen heavens. life begins on journey's

end, within breath is it that these riches are spent

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love is the training for rich with poverty. because love is the act of removal. taking away to gain. and in losing, self, possessions, emotions, we learn life. still, there are the bonds and pacts. that do not need saying. they. and the rules binding them. just are. i am as i am. you are as you are. reserved is the right, no - the privilege and duty. to be just as 'i am', 'you are'

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life holds no promises, life is easily and willingly. disguised. long past death. and, life is just as whimsical as it is set to stone. life is about plan, execute, assess, re group, re plan, execute, assess. repeat and adjust as necessary. life is about legacy in purpose. and purpose serves.

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purpose serves: the eager & the idle

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life is a timeless torture because we, at birth, inherit a fatal purpose - death, and many of us disappoint, sacrifice, confuse the eventual plan with details in journey, 4 meaning behind

the

plan

2007-03-15T09:32:00.000-04:00

Love's
timeless torture

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love is the only thing that can not be conditioned. taught. actions in habit can give the look of love. but love is rogue. it is. or it's not. and possessors. and desirers. are prey to love's decisions
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in the hush of its confusion, love plots fury - unleashed in guide to its own predictable rampage
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at least, this is what love is infamous for. at least, this is what burns in memory. at least, this is the lasting mark love leaves on the world. pouring ache from the hearts of too many to record. still, it remains recorded in the echos of existence
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love isn't hostile. it's just independent. fiercely independent. especially in a culture, in a lifetime that insists on control. and so, love offers no apology. as i am. or. as you are. or. as you were. love seizes opportunity. even when opportunity is weighed in singular vote
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all or nothing - love is the great test of bare acceptance

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it's. that is, love is. akin fumbling in the dichotomy of age. try to stay with me. the perception: sweet & nice = age; aged = sweet & nice. still headed straight. but, age is just the accumulation of anything. not just years. of, yes, anything. because. bearing to the left here. in the simple truth of addition. is the undeniable truth of more. and. more, of which, vows for age: duration of existence; bring to maturity; a particular period of history . . . as noted in the overall encapsulation of the moment. back on the main route, only slightly uphill. which means, racists grow up to be big, old racists. only. winding back to my starting point. love insists endearment of the elderly. and, in giving, we often confuse deference for attributes. fumbling in dichotomy of age

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by a rose named Ba
Did I tell you? I have kept each flower you have given me. The long-stem, single rose you placed in my palm from the timid, anxiousness of your own - not knowing mine were equally timid and anxious. That rose’s bulb drooped at the neck, heavy with pride. It reminded me of our first night together. Then, it’s bulb was thirsty – I knew because I was too. It was scarlet, it’s leaves withered and it made me flightless with it, not wanting to leave us. At the hems, that rose became a desperate stalk before stalk less. Did I tell you? Each bouquet you have ever apologized with decorates my kitchen counter, paints my bedroom. My living room tastes of each petals scent. They are dried, like my heart, seeking a bottomless pool of watery substance, like me – my spirit. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
the same can be said. and explained. of patience, self knowledge & appreciation. back behind the wheel. peculiar punishment - hurting self to hurt others. a strange, effective tactic. that does - at its core - mean the hurtee. hurting self. is actually a self-centered, presumptuous ass. or. a desperate being. with no more worth. other than self. do these folks actually know suffering. surely self-provoked, prolonged suffering has a buffer. but, then aren't we all subscribers. to peculiar punishment: love
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told you, fumbling. although, not entirely. love works both ways. which is why it can, does, will work for and against
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it just happens, that love's legacy is in its against. these victims are compelled to cry out in pain
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when a person is in love. they are quiet. they are watchful. they are cautious and caring. not to lose it. reckless in self abandonment, yes. but not in regards to every and anything else. they have love. they need it to last. when it ends. they do, too. and in the fall are many emotions, words, pleas, tears, questions, and quests - secret and not - to reclaim the lost prize
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love is a timeless torture because love founds everything; love is a timeless torture because love destroys all; love is a timeless torture because it has done so, and because love continues

to be
a
bless'ed
curse

2007-03-08T10:18:00.001-05:00

slow down. some time ago i decided this. wait. before answering. wait. before doing. no specific amount of time - although its since been heard 24 hrs is the rule. still, wait. until don't feel rushed. or forced. allow marination. planned breathing. when necessary. often. one option
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hum. though. humming isn't always polite. and. humming in thought isn't as therapeutic. option two
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goal: universal collab ~ not necessarily with folks of the universe as with forces of the universe
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target: slow ~ not necessarily as an element of speedometers as much as of calculation
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slow is self consumption in a constant, productive, appreciative, no doubt envied meditation
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living slow is the kind of life you journal. goals. aspirations. journey & lesson. sounds routine. but. no. it's a proactive course of words; seasoned by foresight - rather than. scribbled fury of reaction
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never mind. better yet. 'forget about it' - the forces of the universe compel us, guide us. we need only let ourselves be led. ok, well. there are bad forces of the universe. so. as always, just say no; don't follow peer pressure; and all that good-willed blah blah. when it feels right, and your 'feels right' has been reliable in the past, be led
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these forces scooped me some time back. slow is now my concern (mark of a worry hog), my tribute. to self
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when i decided slow had to become my way. my life. i learned the hard way. what the decision did not mean: now, slow is not late or dumb. slow isn't regional. north. south. those bridges have been burnt and rebuilt. gone issues. slow isn't racial. while so much can be read into the concept of 'slow' on hidden agendas. its origin is in anti gastrointestinal problems: wo'ow
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slow is plan in the outer limits of stress. slow is culture, and its artifacts breathe. true, slow is a personality quirk in some. also true, it's eccentricity on others
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but consumed in its birth, slow is raw genius
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by a rose named tamra
i've been living 'slow' for so long it seemed silly that there was an actual movement - so to speak, created to encourage it. but when i look at my surroundings i realize the necessity. it should be an urgency. it really does seem like humankind is intent to kill itself off. food. sex. thoughts leading to mental instability. laziness. delusions of rights and possessions. our never ending sprint through progress and obsession with making things as tiny and fast as possible. we have become scary. do we even have control of ourselves anymore?not all of us. there are true gems among us. only i wonder if there's a battle between slow and fast, how outnumbered would slow be?
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living 'slow' isn't any different from living, except that - for me - there is pleasure in everything i do. i used to get so mad at stuff. just very mad for the dumbest reason. and things would always work out. i just began to realize that my plan, my urgency in the moment, isn't always what the world or what life has for me. so, being the multitasking, busy body i am. i always have several things on my list of to dos. i keep a stack of projects.
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when life shows me it's not time to do whatever specific thing i want to cross off my list. i move on. do something else. i never rush or force it. i enjoy it, and it really does help on so many levels. i've been doing this so long that i don't feel different or special. not that i ever did. i think i am finally understanding how blessed i've been to naturally flow to 'slow' and maintain the habit.

2007-03-01T09:36:00.000-05:00

living 'right out' is not. the same as 'living fierce.' which is the act of breathing. for sake of loyalty to inspiration. while. right out living is. the act of breathing. for sake of preserving inspiration
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it's hard
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to tell someone exactly what you think. or. how you feel about the wrong they've done you. let's just be honest. right out living is only an issue when it pertains to bad situations. so let's run with it. and. that's precisely what i am referring to when i say living 'right out'
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living 'right out': defined: poked: ready, set, activate: hold tight to any inspiration you have. for the benefit of self. or, equally. for the benefit of others. in a bold and mutually desperate attempt to preserve that inspiration. even at the expense of other's feelings. it will bother you, too. yes, you not putting yourself out to accommodate others. will bother you. it will unsettle your feelings. only because it's so habit that it's natural. sooooo. play with it. 'til you're comfortable
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right out living is selfish, yes. but that's all it is. and. selfish has become a commodity. and as such. seek quality over quantity. selfish is not mean. selfish is not brash or nasty, vulgar, tempered. selfish is calculated preoccupation with preserving inspiration. this includes base energy to pursue inspiration. and. desire to pursue the pursuit of inspiration. to a degree that creates an aire of distance and shallow
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this is your goal. sort of. essentially, don't give them more than you have to. so that you can give yourself more than you'd hoped or planned or believed. don't focus on being distant or shallow. pay attention. answer; respond. but keep your inspiration in the back of your mind, executing exact answer;response so you can get to pursuing your inspiration. and. truth is, many of us do this already. time to formalize
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by a rose named aria
i should've just told her. just said it. click. delete. empty trash. but i knew that wouldn't be the end of it. she's the last word type. and, highly strung. not a clue of her condescending tone. never judging because she's convinced she's the bible police. i love and live god, too. we just have different approaches. and i just didn't appreciate her tone. yes, email has tone. it has character. because it has you dripped all over it. to: knows if you are smiling or screaming or faking. but there are still people who feel it necessary to capitalize the letters. to use italics. to type more than one very. you know, if you just say it, the meaning is not lost. and, maybe you even sneak some politeness in there. so, i just wrote how i felt in a vague direct message. without, of course, bringing up past trespasses. i tried to share responsibility and ended up taking full. i clicked send and thought. 'she won't get it.' then i spent the day wishing i'd just said what i had to say. lost whatever would have been lost. but kept my clarity of mind. now the window is closed. and i don't think about it - until she emails me. and then i go through all this emotion. what does it say? will it be mean? do i respond? should i be mean back? i should just crack that fake porcelain horse of hers. should i just delete it without reading it? what if it's important? what if it's not? and worse, what if it's mean? so i read it. because i know only god can put hurt in me. and when he does, there is a lesson for me to learn. and, her messages have been junk mail. so far. and i want to send her an email that says, 'you know what - you irritate me.' but i don't. because my window was open.
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then i closed it

2007-02-22T07:53:00.001-05:00

a stirring thirst

individuality

the diverse

elements

of existence

that

make

people intriguing

i've always had this
hope i never lose it

i say hope because. as we mature and aspire. new goals mandate certain changes. and some certain changes lead us away from initial and more basic places. in mind set and heart set. meaning, often, fierce acts and motive. & fierce absorption in acts, motives. but not living fierce

living fierce is a chemistry of confidence & challenge

not confrontation. not cocky. not selfish, aggressive or charismatic. although, charisma might be that certain something lingering from living fierce that is sketching your presence where ever you go. making you the nameless inspiration to strangers with a mutual affinity for individuality

thankfully. each of us is someone. and a part of something. that entices out the best. or the worst. of ourselves. of others. and, this is just the natural part of this phenomenon. which, i appreciate, but am not talking about. mainly because it doesn't take anything for a person to love me. or hate me. we all experience this. whether we know or not. whether we care or not. it's a result of our bare presence. in the world, at that place, by those people, for that time

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still: i'm talking about living fierce, not just living

1st: la'ictionary: living = course of randomly or seemingly randomly calculated acts; fierce = without regard or quest for validation

living fierce. is. being. and. being surrounded by. ambitious people . . . curious people . . . beautiful people . . . people who know their reflection and talent is impressive. and still, this is not what makes them striking. people who know it is their ambition . . . their willingness to pursue the 'maybe me' of curiosity - this is a powerful existence

sweet peaches. the excitement of ambition, pursued. i enjoy the new-ness of potential, and the 'there's nothing to lose' of individuals' exploring, stating, and entertaining individuality - not only is this powerful, this is fierce. talent becoming talent. talent sharing talent. and talent's reflection - because talent is too intriguing to not change at any given moment. just witnessing this is living fierce

living fierce. is. an open invitation. to. each day. to be full of possibility. & possibility is just focus, dedication + discipline removed from success

some say success = opportunity + preparation: it's ideal. very close to the truth. it had a time. and that time influences the current as it gains on dated. opportunity; preparation. wide open. even still, without a time line, opportunity is 100% ambition. and, preparation. is 100% ambition. want it, believe; pursue. but let's not go too many words astray

live. and, if you can venture it. live fierce

2007-02-19T18:31:00.000-05:00

my pretty. powder blue. tarp-covered baby. apparently, after some confused furry crawling creature's visit before the 2007 Valentine's Day snow storm in syracuse

my poor. pretty. powder blue. and still. tarp-covered baby. after the snow storm. and apparently since no furry crawling creature. let alone i. will venture to touch him

part 1 of the snow storm, when his - i still don't have a name for him, my old-school soon-2-be pimped out ride - butt was still sticking out. and i did plan to dig him out. and start him up. and talk about our future. however, after part 2 of the snow storm. i imagined my fragile size 4 frame. turning corpse. collapsed under sun-loosed icicles. OR. beneath feets of cold white stuff.

thankfully, i am blessed to pull on my boyish but cheer-ry pjs and matching bandanna. of pinks and yellows, lines and swirls. sip tea. and frequently peek out the window: saying: hey lover, i'll have u out soon. and i mean it. probably as soon as my big brother brings his big sons to help him un dig his little sis' car. it is part his fault - he gave me the car

2007-02-15T18:10:00.000-05:00

'THE 12'
parts 8 & 12 - Matthew the Tax Collector ~ Judas the Scariot

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influence: despised before accepted; accepted before despised :legacy

easily. the trappings of money, specifically greed for money. can be poked and prodded here. but. money. greed even. gets a bad reputation. and we knock them and their case-study, hard luck history around with much undeserved and uncredited authority. the issue is judgment: judgment is the worst act we can commit. because there are no mitigating factors. whereas, murder, let's say. can and does become explained away. how do you justify judgment. and still, the gluttony for judgment is hushed epidemic. it happens. we know it happens. we can't control it. we shan't control it. not in ourselves. not in others. (because it does serve a very basic purpose in survival) we can't gather statistics on it. tracking it would be horrific. it is blatant. and, double secret-blind operations. it is natural and taught. it's a thrill and a downer. and, and this is why it is hushed epidemic, we don't get fat from it; we don't get sick from it; we aren't incarcerated because of it . . . there is no justice in battling judgment. of course, you have to commit the crime to identify it. judgment is the substance of an insatiable defect of character: and, as with any element of character, it is accepted and despised on the whims of others. self, too, yes. but mostly others. which is why the only nemesis to judgment is confidence. secure in the confidence of your decisions. guilt and repentance aren't always 'the end.' sounds nice, but . . . confidence is. confidence is always present - who or what the confidence is in is the question
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just so you know, i'm ignoring matthias. his influence and legacy just don't command the level of attention and respect as matthew. and certainly, not of judas. shucks, matthew barely does and certainly wouldn't have, if i didn't appreciate the mutual money element in his and judas' roles - and, so, the judging continues

by a rose named sela'rose
three weeks ago i stole from my mom. i didn't start out stealing. i started out trying to sneak some information from her purse to help plan this damn party for her. my stupid a** aunts want to surprise her. so i agree to get this info. but it's not in her purse. then, i check her drawers and i find an envelope. who hides money in a drawer in an envelope. so i open it, and it wasn't much. but enough. i have things i need to do. and i thought i could borrow it. return it when my check finally came and she wouldn't know. turns out, it wasn't her money. turns out my check never came and won't come. turns out i'm a thief. well, it's not the first time. but what bothers me is i really meant to do right by her. i don't no where i got it from. because i am truly a disgrace to my family. and i'm getting sick of it. because i can't help it. i mean, i feel like i'm doing sensible, good things. and they turn into crap. i can't really explain it. except that, it's like whatever i do or touch goes bad. i don't like thinking about it. i don't even like writing about it or writing about anything. but i'm writing this hoping she'll know i never meant to hurt her
thoughts on judas
i'm confused. well, no - i'm opinionated: judas was set up. excuse me lord, but . . . set up for eternal damnation. not talking about his soul. i think. because he was divinely entrapped. that judas was scheduled for salvation. initially. and, when. he committed suicide. his slip was pinked. and fedex'ed to the other retrieval office. perhaps he was debriefed. but i doubt it, only because of the whole mercy and compassion thing. so, anyhoot. i'm talking about his name: the first books of the disciples aren't clear. some say judas was thieving. helping himself of money he collected during discipleship. others, not so much. meaning, they don't say more than he was keeper to the group's money bag. maybe his accuser was jealous. forward: what about judas' final, lasting act. the betrayal. regardless of how it actually went down. someone had to be that catalyst. issue: was it betrayal - if it was divine orchestration that the chain of events went down, then judas was not a betrayer, but was a divine tool for human-ill effect/affect with intent of ultimate worldly spiritual purpose. judas did what needed to be done. in fact, he did it against his will. sort of like involuntary murder 1 by reason of temporary insanity. except judas was in a state of conscious possession. why else, when after the sad of the matter went down, would judas realize what he'd done and feel remorse and feel guilt, then kill himself
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because he knew not what he'd done . . . and i believe to disregard or miss this truth is a blatant miseducation and ultimate worldly spiritual purpose losta portrait

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i remember when i finished the last letter. i felt a rush. it was a mixture of panic and relief. i remember the flow of each. but i can't remember what each exactly said. they were all positive. outlining, of course, that it is no secret we weren't relating well. and my hope, desire and intention to fix it. that we'd have to try together.

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i know my mind and heart were on the same word of the same sentence of each page i wrote that night. i just can't bring back the realness of it. i remember being out in the snow. bitter wind hitting my face. my hands stiffening in the night air. i had the letters in my hand. i didn't want to smush them. i wanted them to arrive crisp and pretty. each letter had a tiny inspirations or quote book enclosed.

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i walked to the mailbox. opened it. held the handful of letters over the opening. pulled back. looked at each letter to make sure it had a stamp. that the colorful stickers were still flat. i used 'love' stamps and whimsical word stickers. i think some stickers were of butterflies. i wanted to convey that after the storm, there's brightness, fun, if not love. i made sure each had complete addresses. and i said a prayer: let these letters be received in the spirit that they were written. allow us to be able to talk about our problems. and please let us do what needs to be done to have better relations from here on out.

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maybe the night air was too swift. and carried my prayer off to bless something else out in the cold of that night. because it certainly didn't escort my letters. it didn't escort all of my letters, i should say. it did deliver those letters to my family and friends. but with every one - specifically 2 people - who absolutely needed to receive my letters in good spirits, things got worse. much worse. so that to this day, i hate just the thought of them.

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it took a lot for me to gain the courage to set myself vulnerable to them. to reach out. and say i want to work on our relationship. and, what i learned. from different sources. reliable sources. is that these 2 people rather lie about my letters content and intent. 'cursing out' is what i believe the sources' quoted. not once did i use a curse word nor cursing implications. i wrote from the heart. stated the obvious. placed AND accepted blame. offered what we could do to mutually fix the problem. and expected...

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actually, i'm not sure what i expected. not specifics. but i did expect some sort of resolution where we actual get along. instead the lies started. and, naturally, they conveniently disposed of the letters. rather than keep proof of my maliciousness. and my feelings were hurt. not just that, my feelings were hurt by their words and treatment before i reached out to them. after my letters, they just added a waste of my time.

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god really does put people in your life. and he removes people from your life. he removed these 2 people from my life. because i was willing to put myself in their harm's way. just to be able to say with honesty that we get along. and for us to actually be able to get along. but. god saw fit that i am not to be in their harm's way

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and, my life has been blessed and good to me. what i mean is, i don't miss and don't lack anything from them not being in my life. except a lot of unnecessary stressful negativity. amen

2007-02-09T07:56:00.000-05:00

it's not integrity theft - in my mind - because it is your integrity that creates you a secondary victim. whereas your honesty is the non tangible, tangible - i'll say - used to defraud. muddled, but . . . at first i thought 'this is another case of identity theft' but: 'they' don't recognize the raw hunt & devour of this crime. which, if 'they' ever do, will lax the definition of identity theft. to: include: one person's use of a second person's name or time or energy or resources - material and not - based on an agreement made by the passive-malicious intent and result of the first person in harm to a third person byway of the second person's ignorance to the true nature and motive of the first person and that person's crime. it is identity theft. 101. sort of the simplification of the perfect crime. a name. an act in honesty. honesty to honor my word to the criminal. while the criminal dishonors their word to the primary victim. i thought it was a theft of my name, but it truly is a theft of my honesty. i can change my name. place of residence. social security number. but my honesty isn't chameleon. integrity reminds me of my honesty's inflexibility
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this is embarrassing, being duped always is
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. . . about 6 mos ago: i wanted to earn extra cash. thru careerbuilder.com & monster.com - in fact, i never subscribed to monster.com, but gullibility builds a reputation, fast, and they contacted me - i fell into a scam. not by the job search banks. by scammers posting 'jobs' on these banks
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basically, i was offered and accepted a position as a financial agent by independent contract to wire transfer money. supposedly legitimate payment thru legitimate business activity. too good to be true. supposedly not only legal, but supported by us law. who knows where to find this law - i'd like confirmation. i was in the position of financial agent for about two weeks. i had two transactions. 1st: a woman out of my state by certified check from chase manhattan bank. i deposited the check. the bank - m&t - never contacted me. i followed up with the bank to complete the transaction. i learned my account was on hold; the check was canceled. i - keeping my 'employer' informed of every step - inquired. i was told the customer bought furniture, which she found elsewhere cheaper. no problem. in fact, good for her. 2nd) a woman, again out of state, sent me a check. this time the envelope (or maybe it was the check) has what looks like contest information on it. a combination of numbers and letters. and. it just doesn't feel right. plus, the company's information is simply 'payment processing center'
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i'm awake now

i repackaged the check. mailed it directly to the woman. with a note. simply stated: i think you are or have been the victim of a scam. i apologize for any inconvenience. if you have purchased merchandise from a legitimate company. still. i prefer to inconvenience you. and let you work it out with the company. if my interpretation of the situation is wrong. rather than be part to your victimization. i included my name and number. with an invitation to contact me

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i wanted to wait to inform my 'employer.' but he or she was persistent on status. and, so. needless to say. he or she was most - no, only - concerned that i contacted the customer directly

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we were both victims. me and each woman living out of my state. as far as i know. i continue to be. the criminal(s) has my name, which can be gotten most anywhere. i mean, names aren't confidential record. but . . . they have it in this bad context. and, my signature from the independent contractor agreement. and, a copy of my license. they conducted themselves like any other job i applied to and accepted. and, well . . . the embarrassment is returning. so . . . will this come back to haunt me years from now. only time knows

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making amends: i hope: to the first woman, the woman who got wind i guess and canceled her check, i sent a card, explaining what happened on my end, and telling her i need her to know, i am not a monster. i never meant to victimize her. i never heard from her

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and, i thought. i let it all go. you know. my error. move on. i and god know the truth. please bless me not to become another of countless people. whose name and person are used to defraud others. i put an id theft alert on my social security number. and, with all the credit bureaus. i told the job banks. i did not file a police report. i just did not have the energy or desire to relive my dumbness. plus, what would or can they do besides tell me to create an alert

like i said, i thought i let it all go - most recent to 1st correspondence
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La Walker
To: Alex jonnes (alesmillion7329@yahoo.com)
Subject: RE: My Father Condition.. Kindly Reply Me Today .. 28-01-2007
Hello Mr. Alex Jones,
You and your loved ones have my sympathy and prayers for the condition of your father. I know it must be a very difficult time for you. Regarding the check, I have not yet received it. But will let you know as soon as it arrives. In the meantime, please go ahead and cancel payment on the check.
My reasons:
1) I am an honest person.
2) I cannot in clear conscience complete a transaction that costs you $2,9915.00 to ship an item(s) that costs $85.00
3) I cannot in clear conscience reason why I would have to western union money between employees/inner workings of your company
4) My lawyer advised me that your request is highly irregular in business practice.
5) My business is legitimate, and I strive to maintain the integrity of my business in every aspect of practices & policies.
6) Your daughter's birthday is in October, which gives us plenty of time to coordinate the completion and receipt of her gift from my company under U.S. conventional methods
Therefore, when the check arrives, I will make it void, then I will return it to you. If this is a misunderstanding, you and your company have my apologies. Me and my staff are more than happy to accommodate your needs. However, we cannot accommodate them at this time under the stipulations you have set forth. Please know that I am not questioning your honesty. Still, at this time what you ask of me is highly irregular in business practice.
If you are interested in my products, please do not hesitate to make a purchase from my website or catalog or storefront. As I mentioned previously, all such details will be finalized in the coming months.
Again, I will contact you as soon as the check arrives - at which time I will void it and return it. My sympathies and prayers for better health for your father. Safe travel to you and your loved ones.
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Date: Sun, 28 Jan 2007 09:57:34 -0800
From: alesmillion7329@yahoo.com
Subject: My Father Condition.. Kindly Reply Me Today .. 28-01-2007
To: lawalker_ink@hotmail.com
Good Evening,
How are you doing this Evening, I came online to update you in regards to the arriver of the check and i did got your email, I was contacted by Guy's and St Thomas' Hospital NHS Trust that my Father was in there huspital for operation all because he was sicked, Suffering from an Trypanosomiasis and i am unhappy, because i love him alot, because is the only person i have has a father. Truly is a Old man of 82 years of age, But i still was him in this world as a father. My son know's him and they regards him, All my family knows him as a father.
Now that he is suffering from an Trypanosomiasis, I dont know what to do and i was told he will go under a surgical operation because of the Trypanosomiasis sickness...I will be travelling out of country tomorrow afternoon 29-01-2007 to visite him in Guy's and St Thomas' Hospital NHS Trustl "Poland ". But i know the lord will take control of things.
However, Talking of the Update regarding the check, You know i always told you it will surely get to you and am trying all the best to see you receive the payment, Every things on Business based on trust, It's truly we have not meet or see each other before, But the way you sound to me in the e-mail make me happy and trust you , This make me happy. Am very happy, My associate told me that the check was mailed out via Regular mail, and it will surely get to you as i have promised you, am travelling to Poland to look my father condition in the hospital.
First of all, I will Appreciate, If you do prove your honest , I will be glad you update me always regarding the status of the payment......As well, the clearance of the check Update, It should clear in 1 to 2 working days, Go ahead and bank the payment once you have it , Once the check clear, I will direct you on how the picking up will take place,I am sure you are getten me rigth for all arrangement. I have bougth a Laptop computer registerd with Internet to communicate with you when i get to Poland ,Will be able to look my e-mail to read from you and futher the transaction with you, I know all will be alrigth, Just the matter of time and day. I always pray, because of the problem on my neck now.. I know i will spend some money at the hospital, because for someone to go under operation in huspital is not so ealy, I know the lord will hill him in Jesus name...

Today is 28-01-2007 Try make sure you always check the mail for the arriver of the check, I will be glad if you can do respond to me in the email every day as Update of transaction. I will reply you once i got your email. Thanks and best of regards. I will be awaiting your Email Today.
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La Walker wrote:
Good morning,I will follow up with you as soon as the check arrives. Again, we appreciate your order, and look forward to providing a uniquely special gift-giving experience. One more question: Are you interested in discussing possible options for more cost-efficient shipping?
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Date: Thu, 25 Jan 2007 04:05:11 -0800

From: alesmillion7329@yahoo.com

Subject: RE: Payment Information Needed..

To: lawalker_ink@hotmail.com
Thanks You..
Sorry for the late reply,. was on holiday .. Just back to office now.. Here are the answers to your question.. The ethnicity doll i desire is.. italian The theme i desire is horses. No i do not have additional specific requirements, It's not a problem Ok..Do not worry. My daughter's will be 11 on October 2007...
The check for the sum of $3000 was sent out to you, It will get to you anytime this week.. When you have the check, do deduct your selling cost and the remaining funds will be send via western union money transfer to the shipper that will come over for the pick up...
I will be looking forward to read from you.. Ok... Best Regards..
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La Walker wrote:
Good day again Mr. Alex Jones,

I understand your request, and we appreciate your purchase. The information you need is listed below. I do however need to know a few things to ensure your satisfaction with the product.

Please tell me:

1) what ethnicity doll do you desire - for example, italian

3) what theme do you desire - for example, doctor or interest in horses

4) do you have additional specific requirements - this would be anything within your purchase budget that you want included in the preparation of the doll

5) please also tell us your daughter's age and her birthday - this is because the waiting time is 2 weeks, but we will make every effort to get the purchase to you in time for her birthday.

The information you need is: payable to PurpleThumbCreationPost Office Box 684Syracuse, New York 13205-0684. Looking forward to your response, and the receipt of your payment.

Thanks again for your interest. La
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Date: Wed, 17 Jan 2007 02:37:43 -0800

From: alesmillion7329@yahoo.com

Subject: Payment Information Needed..

To: lawalker_ink@hotmail.com

Thanks You...
Here are the answer to your question...
Kindly understand that am set to make the best offer, I will be paying the sum of 85$ am sure you can consider it sold to me..?

If the doll is ok, I will be glad to purchase from you, Yes it's a gift for my doughter and want it to be package in gift box, Shipment arrangement already made, when you have the payment, the shipper will be send to your place for the pick up.. Ok..
If you are satify in selling to me, Let me have the Payment information of there the check for the payment will be send out to.. Thanks and best of Regards..
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La Walker wrote:
Good day Mr. Alex Jones,

Currently there is a two-week turnaround for Love-worn Dolls. We are servicing special-order clients only for the next couple months. This is because of business items underway in the grand opening and renovations of PurpleThumbCreation ~ Bama Cynt Ink. Finalizations are scheduled for May 1. In the meantime, as I said, we have been servicing special-order clients. We are happy to complete your order for a Love-worn Doll.

To do so, please provide the following information:

1) do you wish to pay $45.00, $65.00 or $85.00

2) what, if any, ethnicity doll do you desire

3) what, if any, theme do you desire

4) do you have additional specific requirements

5) is this a gift, and if so, do you want it packaged as a gift to the gift recipient - if yes, please provide recipients name and address.

If you have questions, please do not hesitate to ask. There is no picture available at this moment for your purchase. This is because your Love-worn Doll will be made-to-order, as are all Love-worn Dolls until May 1. However, all Love-worn Dolls are accompanied by a picture and introduction card when received.

Thank you for your time. I look forward to doing business with you. La
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Date: Sat, 13 Jan 2007 10:36:44 -0800

From: alesmillion7329@yahoo.com

Subject: Love-worn Dolls $65

To: LaWalker_Ink@hotmail.com

Greetings,

I will like to know the last asking price of the item okay...The method of payment will be via Us Certisfied Cashiers Check and will surely clear. I don't want you to worry about the shipment of it,i have a shipping company that will take care of the shipment. Most important,i need your your full name and address in which the Payment will be mailed to as soon as possible, The details needed for the payment is below: Name that will be on the Check Full Address... State... City.. Zip Code.. Country... Phone number...

I will be waiting to hear from you and if you have picture you can simply forward it to me for me to view. Hope to hear from you soon.

Thanks. Regards Mr Alex Expecting Reply..

something so simple quickly became something so suspect. and, now. i am mad. a little confused. & curious: why these 'foreigners' think we us'ers are so gullible. not that criminals aren't among us, but . . .

2007-02-08T02:27:00.000-05:00

'THE 12'
parts 10 & 11
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What is bad about being 'nothing too special'?

by a rose named Till

today i went to the mall. i was just looking. i wanted to treat myself to those chocolate bunnies at the shop across from the slushy place. actually, i wanted to treat myself to a slushy, too. it's been so long since i've been able to do anything or go anywhere. sometimes i feel like i am not even living. it is almost like i spend so much time at work. or so much time getting to and from work. or some much time worrying about this bill and that money i never got. i just want to sleep all the time. but i decided i was going to get out of the house today. if i didn't do nothing while i was out didn't matter. i just wanted to be out. i wish i lived in a big celebrity city. those places where famous people be at the mall. and you can walk right up to them and talk and take a picture. i use to like to get dressed. now, i am just happy to be covered. i am not that fat, but i've put on a lot of weight. and i don't really care because no one is ever looking at me. i mean i have guy friends, when i need anything they take care of it. sometimes i feel bad because i know they have girlfriends. but we really are just friends. i just get lonely sometimes. and they don't like to see me hurting. besides, they like to hang out at my place. and i like to cook for them. and sometimes they bring their girlfriends over. we are more like family then friends. but, i don't feel right asking them to go anywhere with me. so, today i went to the mall alone. i ate a couple chocolate bunnies. but then, i started feeling bad and i threw the rest out. it was funny because the lady in the store saw me. and she came over. offering me a sample of a different kind. she said she was sorry if i was not happy with my purchase. i just stared at her, sipping my slushy

Thaddaeus ~ Simon the Zealot ~ Judas son of James

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influence: real follower; preacher; known zealot; patriot

legacy: ordinary people living extra ordinary lives; natives

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'There have to be differences among you to show who has God's approval' and, i doubt. better yet, i'd argue. this quote was said. was composed. has been handed down as if tradition. for those on the upper di end of differences. first in line to witness his approval. feeling cheated, feeling overlooked, feeling under appreciated. going through each day, mantra-ing my suffering is my salvation. so, let me get to it: poking around: why do we believe suffering is the mark of the chosen. that living a hard life is salvation by default. i don't think this. i do think we are each tools to each other's lessons. and i believe we go through things to learn a lesson. and if we don't learn that lesson, we continue to go through things. until we do or we die or we don't. but end up with a hard filled life. it is in the purpose of means in life, not death. good. and. bad. hard. and easy. blessed. and. stressed. don't employ loyalty. and, they shouldn't. we are all just people. someone decides this one is more valuable or more likable or more. . . which we only question when we feel cheated, overlooked, under appreciated. and, heaven help us, for those of us who don't question. convinced we are lesser. we are all just people. after the blah blahs of you are something soooo special, there is just a person. and, sadly. we often don't know they know pain and hurt and suffering. because we have granted them status of more. sitting them above. the minutia of dark spots us relational folks of lesser go through. not good. not bad. barring the extremes, of course. *each of us just a breathing subject to life and the nuances of life's and lives' traffic in and around the other
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just to be sure: nothing isn't in you that isn't suppose to be there. your life. anyone's life is simple. believe in you & pursue you, even if pursuing you means doing nothing different

a portrait

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I'm nothing special.
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I don't think I've ever been. I'm always one of the ones wearing the latest styles. I am always just trying to fit in, be noticed. Living life happy and satisfied with the streets I've taken. I've never been anywhere. That would be nice - to go somewhere. I probably wouldn't go anywhere if I could, though. Only because I don't know anyone anywhere else. It's just safer where I am. I know everything about where I am. And I'm happy.
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Sometimes I think that maybe there is something better. Something more glamorous I can be doing with my life. But I don't actually think it could happen. It's not a fantasy, just playing around. I really am satisfied with my life. I work. I pay my bills. I date and go out with my friends. My kids are fed, and I keep me and my kids well dressed. It's not as hard as some people make it seem. I mean, yes I get tired of going to work. But I go because I must.
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I get tired of running behind my kids, especially when they seem ungrateful and triflin. But that is life. It is my life. I live for my kids. They really are the only thing I can offer the world that amounts to any worth. And, I think all kids start out bad and snooping - getting into everything. Not that they mean to be bad. They are just being kids. I think everyone should have a kid. Man and woman. Everyone should have a kid in their care, because to care for a kid really does give you an appreciation of patience and rest.
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If there was more patience in the world, and more rest in it, there wouldn't be so much war and fighting and killing. I've seen and heard about people who were just nasty with mean before they had a kid. After they had a kid, they became so nice. It was unexpected by a lot of folks. But not me. It is just a kind of natural thing that happens. It should happen if it doesn't. There are people who have a kid and they go crazy or get sick. I feel sorry for them. To get sick isn't as bad in the sense that you can get help for the sickness. But to go crazy, seems like more of a thing that turns into the stuff we see on the news when people kill others and hurt they kids. I personally don't think this is natural.
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But to have a kid and then see yourself slowing down to hear each word they learn and try to say. And, to slow down to see them learn how to move their body and stuff like that. It is a real blessing, and I just hope that my being patient for them teaches them to grow into grown folks who appreciate patience. And, interact with people they know and strangers with patience. Rest will always come. Whether a person deserves it or not, they will get them some rest.
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Patience doesn't work like that.

2007-02-04T11:35:00.000-05:00

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i want to

at least, i think i do

i'm scared. i know i am scared. and not because i was watching 'snapped' when eHarmony's commercial came on

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it isn't even my un coerced affinity for listing what ifs. nor of that affinity's preference for the non pleasant. so, it couldn't be a reasoning: like: if we are all in potential of cancer...only need a trigger to activate cancer within us...then, can we all be in potential of snapped...and, only need a trigger to activate this snapped within us. of course, no part of paying a dating service to hook me up with a psychotic crossed my mind. (i visited a couple places. ok, more than a couple. my god, there's so many. and, i am cursed with an innate pursuit for exhaust. but i just couldn't do it. aaaaaaanyhoot. it seems the more $ + time demanding the service = the more thorough. i don't know if thorough is exactly the word. maybe, clinical - in the commercial sense, if there is one.)

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never mind that some one should have put a bit more thought into this commercial-show pairing. maybe they thought it would spark images of thoroughly picked and paired specimens. ok, maybe. but how thorough are these services. background check. check. dna test. negative. routine physical. negative. and don't get me started on who's generating the bulk of this info. me. for example, i'm 5'9'' but taller is sexier. so. i'm usually 5 feet 10 inches and a quarter

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seriously. i've been seeing these commercials. and i've been saying to myself. what if. there is an entire world of people. is there a mate to my soul out there. is there one per peoples. because, you know they say, we have a twin of other race. and if there is an identical us minus maybe exact pigmentation. then can't there be a twin us of personality. and of other collective minutia of existence. wo'ow this is exciting. and, if so, then there has to be a mate to my soul for the various souls of me. (ok, i don't like using the word soul like that. but i can't pin it, so i'm leaving it.)

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a mate to my soul. i'll never meet. unless i hit the cyber club scene. even then. i'm assuming my mate has enlisted, too. but, then. i think. what if. the mate to my soul is looking at me every day. and i'm not looking back. or. is talking to me every day. and. i'm not talking back. then, i think. i'm too young to consider cyber clubs. but then, i disagree with any ism - and shouldn't my protest include active participation. but then, i think. it really is embarrassing. laying out total self. to have some html. or initialed person. or, non initialed body. interpret and notify

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is there some debriefing. i found lists of 10 tips. only 10? among them: don't be overly sarcastic; don't talk about past relationships; don't talk about sex or anything too personal; be honest; create a unique profile; don't be discouraged; mass market. yeeeeah. sounds like a contradiction to me. sounds like some lie-by-omission to me. sounds like some major assumption to me. sounds like some role playing. and devaluing of potential mates. to me

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do i get first dibs. on who and what. i am. before who and what i am. is passed on to these paper-generated soul mates. and, how much does physical and genetic history play in. let's just be honest. sex is a possibility. i mean, i saw sites that ask if your goal is dating, marriage, children, sex. just like that. side note: there are people looking for children; 'marriage then children' wasn't a choice; each item was a separate goal. and, i'm not old fashion. but, where's the home training. unless - wait i just had a thought - unless, this is a step better than anonymous sperm and egg donation. let's say, cooperative insemination. wasn't there a scene on this in 'the big chill.' i love old movies

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back on track: so, i want to try it. just create a user name. and password. lay out my wants. try to answer those questions. which will be tough. because my personality isn't straight forward. ok, it is. but not with love and passion. these are delicate, flirty, fun, free. . .(laughing). anyhoot. i am creative everything. especially words. who can understand me. those questions aren't designed for me. and answering straight (no offense), doesn't really convey my meaning. so, then. am i lying. how can i meet my soul mate on a foundation started in a lie

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some of my friends have thought about it. and the biggest issue. is whether it makes them desperate. does it? how much of a catch can you be. if you have to cyber club. still, none of this is why i'm scared. like i do, i'm just thinking out loud. there is a world of people. if i am seeking my soul mate. surely, the entire world is my club scene

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i am scared. that. i will. meet the mate to my soul. and not be able to have him. how much does it cost to get to the other end of the world. and, why should i be the one to relocate?

2007-02-01T14:28:00.001-05:00

by a rose named Tania

i jogged to the bus stop yesterday morning. it was still before dawn. i felt great, rushed but great. as usual i left the porch sprinting. it was dignified sprinting with my head up and my arms close to my sides. my body swayed side to side, swift but more so elegant than exercise. i do this every time. i don't know why i'm always running late when i have to catch the bus. usually, i don't break a sweat or even end up panting. but yesterday i felt dampness weighing on my body inside my clothes. and my chest started hurting. like someone was on the inside, pushing hard on my heart. suffocating me into myself. i looked toward the bus stop and saw two figures. i had time. i walked the rest of the way. the bus stop is only a block from my house. and in fact, the bus ended up being 20 minutes late. my chest kept hurting, but it was a dull pain. i guess what a broken heart would feel like. it didn't feel like what they describe as a heart attack. i was so nauseous. i just prayed. 'please god let this bus hurry up.' 'please god just don't let me pass out.' 'please god, i can do this. i know i can do this.' it was awful. my mind went prickly. it felt like boiling blood was swishing inside my head. the dark of the morning became the color of light pounding in my head. my breath was short, heavy and scary. i honestly felt like i was going to pass out. i remember bending over. spitting thick globs of saliva, trying to calm something inside of me. i told my mom and elo about it. but i didn't tell my mom i think it was a panic attack. i guess i was embarrassed. or maybe i didn't want to break down in front of her, again. when i finally got on the bus. i concentrated on calming down. i told myself i would ask my mom for a hug. i really needed one. but when i got to the house, i just didn't. i told her i was really scared. i tried to describe it to my satisfaction. but i wasn't honest about it all. the words i needed i couldn't find. elo said she thinks it was an anxiety attack, too. after all this time, in this city, with these people, i'm not surprised

'The 12'
parts 5,6,7

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the water. the quality of its soil. its people. what about a city deteriorates it. it's not the weather. unless the weather is a gauge of breathing seasons. seasons of humans. coming and going, and claiming and disclaiming. bastard townies. not bastards as anything other than illegitimate. arrived in intrusion. in most cities, this wave is called and treated as tourism. in other cities it is a predictable fluke of chemistry. timed and never quite accepted, but ongoing nonetheless. rerooting the city's origins. origins rerooted, rebooted so often that the links can't be traced. what do these cities think of this. blessed. cursed. deteriorating in a bastard mentality. looking normal. carrying on normal. not normal. except in the commonplace of its deterioration

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Philip ~ Bartholomew ~ Thomas

influence: TESTS . . . LOYAL . . . DOUBT :legacy

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a collective mud mentality. unhappy. and happy to enlist as many as possible. doubting anything long-term good will or can come. up for the test every time. because the test is now habit. loyal to a culture of tears + weep, spite + fight, living miserably

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when there is hope, there is more hopelessness to swallow it. when there is help, it is from miserly public servants. who look at you and see what they use to be. what they are one day's work from returning to. there is true hope; there is true help. but getting to it . . . but recognizing it . . . but telling pride to shut the hell up . . . but getting past this culture of stagnation. it really is sad. these cities drain life from their people. their people drain life from these cities

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why stay?

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there must be something worth holding on. the predictability of life in these cities. the absence of motivation and aspiration. it being a city of no ghettos. not structural ghettos. but it is plight with ghetto mentality. if the narrator dies, does it die with. if the narrator doesn't care, does it continue to matter. who has gotten above and away from it. and looked back. vested in it

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they say god doesn't give more than you can bear. i disagree. firm policy: break and build. breaking in what you bear is how you realize what you are capable of, what you cherish, and hopefully, why. it's a calculation of simple figures. but break went rogue in these cities, slow travels in breaking. with each new tenant the salt - admirable and vibrant before turning sterile
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this is not loonspuddery. the topic is not of conspiracy. but is of working theory. what obligations does a tenant have to these cities. do the cities have obligations. when is it ok to settle the account as delinquent? is it betrayal to leave. is it defeat to return
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maybe the issue is not the cities or the people. rather the dream. that there is something to not making peace with what is. with not settling for less, giving up. is it reasonable to assume that opportunity + desire won't always miss each other. i gave you milk not solid food for you are not yet ready for it. can a child special order solids. and if so, will not yet ready for it assert itself. jesus sought phil. and, phil was thronged in tests. are these cities; are these people a test. a test gone wrong, terribly wrong. that truth and purpose are subject to the perfect murder. or a test disciplined in its execution. how does doubt get out of its own way. and loyalty? is this the stuff the disciples who turned back were made of. worshipping. believing. repenting. on hours. oblivious off hours. i'm going to the enemy's camp and taking back what belongs to me. that's what living in these cities, with these people, is - being in the enemy's camp, searching for belongings

a portrait

lightning zipped across the sky. i was in the south. passing through ga. it was a mostly clear and blue day. then out of no where came these streaks of red and orange. these cloud-kissed fiery hues. it was beautiful

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it looked like veins on god's hands. maybe it looked like his temple pulsing to someone else. but i saw the image of his hands in my head. a gentle hand reaching out. to me i imagined. i wanted him to touch me. i wanted his blood to slow to a speed that allowed him to touch me. but the streaks came and left the sky quick. full of purpose and path. not an accidental brushing. if he touches me, i think it will be an accidental brushing

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aren't our paths meant to cross. i want the experience to feel planned. i kept watching. wanting the streaks to come back. thunder came. by the time i left ga., all of the threat of rain was gone. i think i was holding my breath. for many states, my mental state changing digressively with each u.s. state. i needed the streaks. i needed god to reassure me he was still there. but. i knew he had been there and was now gone

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i wished i'd went with him. instead of riding the interstate. going back to the place i came from. cortland. tully. . . to the same old but loyal things. a fabulous apartment in a horrible place. a decent job from solid references. shaky financial means to a mundane life. as i got closer to getting back, dark clouds crept in. stern grays and scattered white

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i saw the face of a mad dog in the clouds. facing toward me but not directly to me. snarling. its eyes wide and expecting the next victim to cross its path. i was overwhelmed with tears. i just started crying. i knew it was a bad decision

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i tried to get help from two churches in fla. they refused to open the door. saying they'd be open sunday. where is the refuge if not at church. and if they turned me away, wouldn't another and another. i slept in the car. slept on floors. ate church's chicken until i felt like throwing up from the thought of eating it. i worked the temp agencies, and found myself in the thick of the same things i was trying to get away from. so i packed my trash and trashed it. resettled my bags in the back seat and trunk. and started home

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oh, god. i call it home so easily. and i really went through this. first feeling like i saw the hand of god within my reach. then several hours and states later. feeling like i was entering a place of hell. but back then i didn't make the connection. i just came back into the same committed disappointment. wishing i'd never left. because then. i wouldn't have to explain why i came back

2007-01-25T17:47:00.001-05:00

'The 12'
parts three & nine
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i did a background check. came up with little to nothing. on james the disciple. agreed, by various sources, is that 1) jesus was in company of many named james, 2) which james did which things is muddled, 3) what james did do wasn't much. story could go. it's the mystery of james that departs him. little known = much ado. bear with me - 1st habit of highly regarded people: give'em nothing and witness yourself become legend. it's true. the less people know about you the more they speculate, expect. *his name was james 'the less'
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JAMES

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is humility overrated?
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and, not that his references are lacking. james was known as one of the boanerges, sons of thunder. mysterious isn't quite sufficient. this man managed to be reputed for a 'temperament like lightning' AND be recorded in history as if he nearly didn't exist. brings in an entirely new element of energy
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it made me think. what if. just what if. he, james. was one of those people. who could never quite get there. you know. those people always overlooked by attention. accident prone. or worse. droning out life until eventual pass, when some loudmouth realizes, his agreeable presence, was better than most alternatives, especially in a neighborhood of conceit and connive
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and, not just that. forgotten could be any of us. obsessed with trend, until trend blends us all. a life on mute. saying plenty and nothing much at the same time. but, james. forgotten on the minutia of his life. he witnessed resurrections. . .attended meetings. . . it might be argued. he is the memory. of skeptic followers. whose presence was lost in that of many. until, when all practicality permissioned him, he stepped out. and, by this time, he's an apostle. his contribution. something entirely other. i choose. james left a street mentality. left it from the use of his temperament. harnessed his energy. watched and waited. for his purpose. implemented himself. and cloaked everything in humility
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humility - it works best when loudmouths are available and willing to promote you. but in a petri dish, humility leaves little to build a complete profile on
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influence: james the apostle represents the power of spiritual law and order XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
legacy: while the preceding powers prepared the path to holiness and opened that path to higher spiritual awareness, james' power of spiritual law and order created a 'static condition of ever out flowing energy as things begin to unfold'
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just to be sure: it ain't over 'til you decide it's over - james the disciple is a case study in the practicality of religion

by a rose name shoni
she's older than me. not alot older, but she wears skirts alot and tells people i'm her little sister. we don't look like each other. but i don't mind being her sister. i like her. she shares candy with me. and talks about stuff i really don't understand. but she smiles all the time, too. i like that. the other day, she asked me to go to church. i went. it was a small church. there wasn't alot of people in it. it was at night. snow was everywhere outside. and it was real warm inside. i felt funny. kind of like i didn't want it to stop. this man was in front of us. talking and singing. he would hum, and wipe his head with this towel. i think he was the preacher. he was very loud. but he didn't scare me. nobody there did. they kept rocking back and forth, and hugging each other. then they took chairs. the kind that fold. they put a row of chairs in front of us. then the man and some other people told me to sit in a chair. i did. i wanted to. i liked sitting there so everybody could see me. people started shaking my hand, and hugging me. i was a little shy, but i liked it. when we left my friend walked me home. she said she would take me back again. but i felt different when i got home. like, what if they aren't happy to see me again? so, i'm not going back.
i wonder whether: the healed. who went off rejoicing. but neglected to credit jesus. or his particular god. were revoked of their healing. i know. jesus told many. not to tell. that he was involved. in their healing. but. there were stories. of people who were healed. who, when asked. said they didn't know who healed them. ok, so. not knowing. is very different. from not giving credit. and. not knowing versus not giving credit. is very different from not caring enough to ask. or not thinking clear enough to ask. or not wanting to ask. who do i give credit for this miracle? can i give credit for this miracle? are you taking new clients? and if so, as a happy customer, can i recommend new clients? word of mouth was a powerful communicator back then. and there were newspapers. i think. anyhoot. it was no secret. a man, claiming to be the son of god, was at such and such place. . .performing such and such miracle. . .including healing

were there many men. walking around. and making claims. like jesus. were there many miracles. of healing. going around before jesus. where would be the confusion. in offering i think it was jesus

2007-01-23T21:06:00.001-05:00

the look, feel, the tone and weight - it's an exercise of the mind, but not impossible to visualize what my bible: my bleeding pen, packaged and priced, would be. bible = words & meaning, on good and not good, in confidence of understanding; not always welcome nor pleasant; originating from truth. a bible. not the bible
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i am not bold or conceited to claim my bleeding pen is divinely orchestrated. it is an orchestrated purpose: an extension of gift/talent, or, at very least, an extension of self to the world. and so, whether divine-vouched or not, my bleeding pen is divine. divine: in this context: most basic to creation: creation out of words: words in pursuit of understanding: divine, submission to the extension of self as exhausted in specifications of each date-stamped publish
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me. just being me
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Words in the Bible:

773,692

~ http://www.gotquestions.org/Bible-stats.html

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at first i thought. well. if i'm writing a bible. with or minus intention. then. i want. no. then, i have to. reword some stuff. i'll need to reconsider images. expand. trim, and delete. but then. i realized. jesus wasn't concerned about the judgment of his tone or garb or his meaning. he was just as he was. himself. and, belief; following, was beyond his control. that is, beyond his control beyond his consistent and passionate expression
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his words weren't counted. not by him. his emotion - exposed confidante, specific to spec of any given expression. expression in general. and, expression in micros. speech...poem, or parable...non verbals. the only stipulation - understanding; truth
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and. in some corridor. of my reasoning. it was clear

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POEM:
Yes
Ask,
if you want to know
Be warned: with each question rests a fork in the road, Where the right; truthful answer leads to elation – sometimes And chaos in others Where the wrong; false answer leads to a set of similar revelations Yet, should you ask and receive no reply, would you be terribly disturbed? No answer is as powerful as the one waiting to be heard And, why is it that the truth can be so painful?
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Ask because you want to know
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But with that question you must understand comes a path, a path chosen of the two, the only two – truths and lies One – the latter – often made heavenly with the gently tough of falsity, defiance The other made in the image of a mother, kind, gentle mother, gracing one’s existence with the weaking blow of all that’s no mystery, sometimes most comforting, others too much to bear
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There is no mystery in the truth
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It is weaking

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it was clear to me. why. i do this. this began as a discipline of writing. hone my ability to write on command. i've always loved the written word. i've always relished strokes of letters and pronunciations and meanings, and the obvious v. the unknown, and questions. that need to be asked. and those that don't. naturally. these would exhaust my energy in each publish. i give 100% to everything i do. i can't explain my creativity, my unconventional ism. it's just in me, and it just has to come out
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which, i think, is my point. see. i've been trying to write about blogging - the purpose and intent of it for those of us who do it just because. no check. but consistent and passionate clocking in. and, not just bloggers. people who distribute their personal writings. what motivates this sharing? why it matters: it doesn't. . .i noticed the bulk of the blogging environment is folks. who write, share pictures for their own reasons. without apparent compensation. in as basic a compensation as comments; site visitors. is it for ourselves? if so, why not just journal, or diary, or seek counseling. anything less self stating
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this is the point: self stating. we each have something to say or show. and. someone. somewhere. needs to hear or see us. or. someone. somewhere. wants to hear or see us. however it boils, it's divine. because we need only be ourselves.
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at some point. back when. . . i realized. i had to write about what i now identify as the timeless tortures. someone is always hungry, lonely, cold, lost, scared, resentful, confused, disappointed, regretful, angry, misunderstood, rejected, in pain, emotionally spent. . .and, still. they are never alone. someone can always identify. i choose to always identify
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and, if nothing else. say. simply. i understand. or, at best. i am trying to understand. no. dark spots is not my speciality. a pursuit for understanding - through consistent, passionate and most often 'oh my-drenched results - is
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i am just being me

2007-01-18T08:08:00.000-05:00

'The 12'
parts two & four - Andrew ~ John

When does belief become dangerous?

influence: andrew was a disciple of john the baptist who followed jesus on john's recommendation; the first thing andrew did was to find his brother simon and tell him, "We have found the Messiah." and andrew brought simon to jesus

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john's personal growth in love became tradition, and, into his 90s he still preached, sitting and saying, "Children, love one another." magnificent about john is the change in him brought about by jesus, expressing and controlling the strong forces of his soul - gradually changing them so that all tempestuousness, threats, ambitions and narrowness were consumed in the perfectness of love

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legacy: andrew - raw belief; john - rampant love: the blind student, whose sense in belief & faith, is so keen that he follows without need for his own guidance. glorified in relentless love, genuine out of reform, dedicating his fury of brawn to fury of love

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the diligent student begets eternal life ~ life persists from love ~ love births life, always

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poking around, and stuff: i don't know where to begin. these two are the prototype, together and singular. the eagerness. simple confidence. the sanctification. men, true, still unflawed

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so. let's poke top left. top to illustrate high, intense...left to illustrate departure = intense departing. in which case. the innocence of the legacy of andrew and john. is corrupted. turned exact nemesis. and this is the stuff jonestown is made of, for example. and our time is very different from biblical times. evil isn't as honest as it was in biblical times. deception neither. who can tell the difference between divine instruments. and fanatic psychotics

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andrew and john gave us. the answer. simple. doable. and, not that it is not achieved - somewhere the honesty of the answer was lost

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maybe the answer to this question re: the answer is in andrew. regarded as the first of the 12 apostles. live as a believer in whatever situation assigned to you andrew had much to lose in material possessions; love they enemy andrew had much to lose in reputation. still, he went to jesus. on the mere recommendation. of his teacher. in flesh. this must signify the importance of the legacy of jesus as perpetuated by man. which would have to signify the importance of faith in mortal teachers, leaders. but then, john was specially beloved - because of his love - by his master

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just to be sure: everlasting is the student in a devout living to grow and accept. and, through growth and openness comes love. which, when practiced unconditionally, is the source of continual life beyond 'self'. but beware falsehoods

by a rose named 'nea
i can still feel the brush of her palm against my chin. i think i was slobbing, because she said something about cleaning me up. i remember how she would tug on my ponytail to straighten it. she always pulled me up off the bench with both hands. then she would swing me to her hip and rub away my sleep with her hand. i remember being on the bench. it was the old kind without cushion. but i remember feeling tucked in and safe. i can't remember if church was always our nap time, but i do remember other kids on the bench sleeping with me. all of us on this long wood bench. i remember feeling like the bench was too long for my legs to walk. i think i fell asleep on my mom and she carried me. i can't see faces. not even my mom's. i just remember the warmth of her hands. i remember feeling like no matter what she said or did, i was safe
a portrait
the Testimonial, i am a spiritual magnet. sanity challenged people approach me and carry on intimate, coherent conversation. i look at them and hear their words. i see something trying to escape from inside. why escape to me? i don't ask them to. i don’t want them to. i don’t want them trapped. but what is expected of me? i never respond. just stand, wait, listen. eye contact. always eye contact. even when they don't maintain it, they refer to it. if an incoherent rant tries to get involved, eye contact re-rallies the troop within. they exhaust their sanity. they go off. i go off and feel the weight of their existence. i am a creature of emotion. i remember being upset that i would never ever be able to feel exactly as another does. it is not physically possible. maybe that was the prelude to understanding the spiritual magnet within myself. i guess understanding is enough, because i can’t change it.
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do they remember me? i remember them, their faces, their melanin portion. i remember the consistency of their breath. their eyes' size, color, tendency. their height and width, but not clothing. i don’t remember their clothes besides general category and pattern. what is it about me that sets my face apart in a crowd? is it my face? am i the face of anything to them? i've been crazy. there could be a more intrinsic connection. even though my season of crazy didn't surface until many, many years after my appointment as a spiritual magnet. why do people believe they have to bare their souls to me? and why does my compassion exhibit both patience and restlessness? it's like a spirit takes over and controls me for what these people need.
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but how do i let go? i’m always left apologizing and pining in the happening of it for a long time after. emotion plagues me. and people are called to me by it. what is it? they obsess me, devour me, and i seem to not be able to live the same after we're done. i think i’d feel better if i knew what is it. i don’t hate it. i just want an explanation to go with my acceptance. i don’t mean to get mad in a biblical place like this, but i am only human. or. maybe i am only a vessel for something that has nothing to do with me. but i’m taking it personal.
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but it is personal. i feel things. i have this way of just knowing stuff. like i've been trying to contact a dear friend for months. for no special reason, except that i keep thinking of her. i learned today she's in a mental institution. what was calling me to her? is my spiritual magnet multidimensional - two-directional? why were the middle men unwilling to help me reach her? was it an if, then arrangement? if i could not reach her, then this scenario where our connection is her primary goal. she checked in, and sent a clear request that she wants to talk to me. not just me, but most intimately with me. our connection can’t be stopped now.
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her request: to talk. my intention: to talk. to let her know she is thought about. to send her a modest gesture of inspiration. and to satisfy that something in me demanding i reach her.
there is this part in Inspired By . . . THE BIBLE EXPERIENCE when a young female, known for telling futures, follows the disciples. constantly calling out their identity and purpose. to hear this, it sounds like solid helpful banter. she is cheerful. conveys hope. faith. recruiting, basically

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after awhile one of the disciples tires of her. he turns to her. commands a. or. commands the. spirit to get out of her. it did. she hushed. and the listener is told that she does not tell futures anymore

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i'm puzzled: how did he know a spirit was in her? why did he get rid of it? and why under this circumstance? why didn't he get rid of it when he learned she told futures? he didn't. so. wasn't the spirit a good one? wasn't the spirit, working through her, helping the disciples? if it was a good spirit, wasn't it ok to actualize the spirit within herself? was she. or. the spirit. in control? is control the issue? is there a hierarchy of acceptable spirit use? if it was a bad spirit, how was anyone to know?

2007-01-16T15:27:00.000-05:00

'Born Only To Be Caught & Destroyed'

On this quote, not all pain is the same. scaling the differences is lucid reality. reservations are involved with ascribing status: pain. excuse body for a time. because physical pain is flirty. it's real but compromising. emotional pain doesn't barter

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hip hop

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yes. other forms of music embody the essence of emotional pain. blues is the #1 contender. but hip hop. guaranteed cash in the buckets; aawes in the seats. not only does hip hop not stop. hip hop thrives, invades...waltz's through - welcome and unwelcome, the procession of future charmed in the melody of its flute

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born only to be caught and destroyed
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hip hop is, as is this quote, about emotional pain. jesus was not singing to the folks. jesus was rapping - the poetic parting of raw scripture. raw scripture. the letter 4 letter of life's inhibitors and hardship's descriptors. hip hop in its creation is and remains the ministry of life. with identity the visiting pastor damn near every service

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'born only to be caught and destroyed' is the rasp interpretation of emotional pain. intermission: caught by whom; destroyed by whom - minor details because the journey of it, the journey to raw scripture is what matters. end intermission. but. rasp. that's what hip hop is. hip hop is an experience. after which. one clears the throat. and, . . . let the lyricism begin
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spit. out of the grit, the dirt. soul felt lyrics dripping from caked lungs. singing is pretty. lyricism is devout. never early or delayed. born - living...only to be caught - disclosed...who else, what else can identify, in unconditional devotion, but hip hop XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
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a closer word on hip hop: as pertains to black men: and as pertains to non-gimmick hip hop heads: as pertains to the disadvantaged and their survival: hip hop is the lifeline for endangered species. both 'disadvantaged' & 'endangered' are wide open here. there are levelers in the survival equation. these are in limited arenas. and, while black men revolutionized the meaning of self-made. it is the element of 'self' that poses threat of extinction. and, it is the element of 'self' that proposes survival for the endangered

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so continues a 12-part series on the bible. each thursday, i am exploring a disciple and an apostle in reference to current time. the disciple and apostle are paired as announced in the bible. in doing, it is established that the order in which they are announced has meaning. and that meaning corresponds purpose between those announced seventh, let's just say for example, on the lists
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goal: explore 'The 12' - i don't plan foolery. though i am compelled to poke around
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why. this is inspired. 'Inspired By . . . THE BIBLE EXPERIENCE' was a gift to me. i wanted it. and, i can't say if i asked for it. or. it asked for me. because i found myself moved - shaken. singing. disturbed. amen-ing. questioning

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the fact that 'Inspired By . . .' is a project based on race. an audio production. by an all brown-skin cast. re-enacting the bible. is irrelevant. they are all famous. this, too, is irrelevant. simply because an all brown-skin cast of ordinary folk would have been just as pioneering, and tempting

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overwhelming, hallelujah - but it is only a bible. and it has inspired me

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THE SEVENTH HOUR OF REALITY

IS RAW POETRY

IT IS

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MORTAL PROPHETS

FLOWING ALL TERRAIN

TO BUILD A CONTINENT

A CONTINENT THAT HAS NO END, NO START

BUT BOUNDLESS BOUNDARIES, LIKE THE HEART

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REMEMBER THAT 'HIP HOP DON'T STOP'

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WITH THE PROWESS OF RELIGION

EVERY MINUTE IT IS BORN AGAIN

AND REMAINS 4EVER INDIGENOUS

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IT IS THE ONLY BREATHING GENRE WITH THE FORTE OF LIFE

This is HIP HOP

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finally, a formal introduction
The mission of The Hip Hop Church is to present the Christian gospel in a setting that appeals to both those individuals who are confessed Christians, as well as those who are considered unchurched. The Hip Hop Church is worship and scriptural study. The Hip Hop Church is outreach to the disenfranchised, the brokenhearted, the oppressed and those considered "disposable" by larger society. The worship services follow an order of service consistent with many African-American churches, while always allowing the Holy Spirit to have full reign.
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"Hip Hop is the culture, while Jesus is the Center."
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Services are each Thursday night at Greater Hood Memorial AME Zion Church, at 160 West 146 th Street, NYC. The Hip Hop Church Choir and Several of the Rappers also minister at Friday Night FLAYVA Worship Services in the greater New York area. Please log on to http://www.hiphopchurch.org/index2.html and http://www.luke418.org/ for more info

2007-01-11T14:55:00.000-05:00

'The 12'

part one - Simon called Peter ~ Peter

Can Invincibility Be Bottled?
influence: simon called peter denied knowing jesus. three times. he continued to be a disciple; went on to become the first named apostle

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legacy: anyone can commit a despicable act. despicable acts are tools to relearning of self. relearning of self is necessity to invincibility. invincibility is the power in will to exist as unconquerable

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poking around: invincible, explored : i was once invincible. i've known others to be. the foolish seek it. the wise accept it. no one can ignore it. someone is going to be. someone is. and, some other someone doesn't know they are. yet. knowing is an eventual end. knowing you've come through the fiercest challenge you will ever face. gaining dimensions of character. that settle into some measure of fortitude. necessary. the blood, the hurt of it. to reconstruct the fibers of your flesh. so that fortitude is grafted into your dna. on standby. for split second decisions. decisions that alter lives

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it is not the stuff super heroes are made of. more the stuff super villains are made of. more easily understood as the stuff ordinary people with extraordinary abilities are made of

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invincibility is a peculiar process. it is obsessively deliberate. it don't call on anyone - not stating its name and purpose. it ain't for the weak. even in preying on the weak in you. delayed gratification is its signature. stripping... no, it's more intimate. raping its access as your unconditional companion. acrid kisses. to put it plain. invincibility is a peculiar process. of build and destroy. of building a person, destroying that person, before that person rises new in old shells and understanding s/he can handle anything from anybody at anytime. understanding is your invincibility

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invincibility is a divinely orchestrated course. through which you feel needlessly tortured in suffering. only to later un confuse wants from needs, un confuse who is in charge of your needs

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a POEM: I'm in pain

Can anyone hear me

Am, I - speaking

Help me

What else can life bring

I've been through everything

I feel the call

Of God

But I'm losing

What life means

I'm in love with you hating you

Dear God, forgive me

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just to be sure: simon called peter was sure. sure of himself. sure he wouldn't; sure he couldn't. simon called peter could not conceive of betraying jesus. of betraying his faith. of betraying, on a more basic and integral level, his word. and, in so, simon called peter couldn't conceive of betraying himself. who and what he knew himself to be. he did. he betrayed. he understood it, after. he rose - invincible

by a rose named stace

i wasn't nervous until i got there. the drive felt like church. the parking lot felt like church. the walk in felt like church. but the greeters. the welcome packet. and new visitor registration. the large screen video feed. microphones. professional sound equipment. it didn't feel like church anymore. it was commercial. i felt pulled into a mob mentally. i felt exposed. the congregation was too rehearsed. the women, airbrushed. their men cover story shot perfect. i couldn't even find church. i looked in the songs. i looked in the wails. i looked. and as much as i was a part of it, i wasn't. i didn't speak. i watched and listened. i responded with what i knew they wanted to hear. i feared being exposed. the words were right, but when i needed them they did not come

there’s something about darkness that calms the spirit
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it makes the cowardly brave,
sheepish - bold and swift
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if I had a choice,

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the moon would rise high in the east
the sun?: weep for more attention

I would make birds soar into gutters

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gutters rot with stool from their beaks
beaks would tell of man’s misdeeds

beaks would expose the moon’s role

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replace yellow with navy blue, white with gray
black would represent purity, and,
purity would be our acts - each moon lit step

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I would let rats speak their peace
our eyes cheese sprinkled on their main course
brains spaghetti with souls the gravy over noodles
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no one would walk, but all crawl, and,
claw at each other to be able to kneel
lick and fetish the rich taste of feces

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as only we individuals could produce
I’d plunge a knife into my vital link,
praying it prevailed as a cry for help

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Or,

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I’d plunge into my fists for they had failed me, us
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I’d live like there was no God,

praying to Him that my lifestyle is not in sin
seal my lips, never seeping what it is that helps

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me get by, in the calm of darkness
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a portrait
the Victim... tied up. tiny wrists. immature ankles. bruised against coarse cloth. bruised against coarse care. innocent skin dented and scraped. in the mildew of basement. next to the crawlers of closet. ill handled. in the delusion of love. out of the cycle of batter. the toy was little comfort. that little comfort was welcome. when age knew double digits, this child knew. not only the hurt. not only the confusion, clarity of incoherence. this child knew. survival. through so many years. through so many unexplainable episodes of abuse. abuse that soils in memory. in slow motion flash. through so many pleas. that the pleas stopped. unanswered in action. until, answered in action. the child's action, subsequently. the act of growth. the act of continued breath. the act of living. even in an existence of near death. starved. de-valued. broken. until, answered in action. the act of broken pieces mending. the act of un confusing the act from the acts. the acts of the abuser. the act of the child. now grown. in reflection. seeing weakness in the mirror. knowing strength allows the reflection. knowing strength is an extraordinary beginning. knowing the beginning starts with the reflection. knowing the reflection is a respectable farewell. knowing the cycle has set sail. knowing nothing and nobody will ever be able to cause hurt again; knowing nothing and nobody will ever be able to cause this survivor to hurt others. knowing this survivor wasn't in control then. and isn't in control now. and yet, knowing the course has run. knowing the abuser has served purpose. knowing that purpose has introduced itself to this survivor's next level

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knowing invincibility

2007-01-09T16:39:00.000-05:00

'I Hope You Will Put Up With Me in a Little Foolishness'

On this Quote, paul said it, i think. before entertaining questions and gossip. punctuating conviction with each page ripped from progress in his speech. he had an audience. willing and eager. anxious for his answers to their questions. wanting his reaction to their gossip XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

it made me think

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he, paul, was worthy. am i. are we. yes, by the blood of christ, but . . . well, truthfully, the bible and the faith and the revelations and...this religious business isn't for everyone. what, if any, are the implications, ramifications, bloodline effect

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paul's audience came to him. we go to ours. mostly. willing, ready or not. and i'm not talking about us bloggers. although i could. i speak of society, culture, humans. mainly in money-pumped lands, still . . .
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and, it seems all we do nowadays is entertain. questions and gossip. nothing is ever just as it is. which, paul clarified in the complex simplicity of his message. still, what about us - believing and not. for us, there is always some underlying motive. some covert deviance. some explicit insult. when things just are, we manage to make them other
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we don't have a paul. we not only have thousands of pauls, we've got just as many beliefs. ok, so. this is not a debate of beliefs. which has been the subject of debate in words and war since . . .
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goal: explore 'The 12 as of 2007' i don't plan foolery. though i am compelled to poke around
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so begins a 12-part series on the bible. specifically, each thursday. i am exploring a disciple and an apostle in reference to current time. the disciple and apostle are paired as announced in the bible. in doing, it is established that the order in which they are announced has meaning. and that meaning corresponds purpose between those announced third, let's just say for example, on the lists
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it's hard to know what to expect. i don't even know - it's in me and i got to get it out
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why. this is inspired. 'Inspired By . . . THE BIBLE EXPERIENCE' was a gift to me. i wanted it. and, i can't say if i asked for it or it asked for me. because i found myself truly moved. shaken. singing. disturbed. amen-ing. questioning
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the fact that 'Inspired By . . .' is a project based on race. an audio production. by an all brown-skin cast. re-enacting the bible. is irrelevant. they are all famous. this, too, is irrelevant. simply because an all brown-skin cast of ordinary folk would have been just as pioneering, and tempting
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it is the subject. it is the story. and the stories. you don't think about who's talking or crying or screaming or stoning. hearing it is about the substance. and this project's creators knew this. credit is given. but no more than that. it isn't about the individuals. it is about the project
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and, in a time when hip hop/rap has its own ministry; when smoke parlor has its own ministry; when mega mass has its own ministry, why is this project overwhelming. it was done
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still, in the end, it is only a bible. and it has inspired
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Disciple ~ Apostle

Simon called Peter ~ Peter

Andrew ~ John

James ~ James

John ~ Andrew

Philip ~ Philip

Bartholomew ~ Thomas

Thomas ~ Bartholomew

Matthew the Tax Collector ~ Matthew

James ~ James

Thaddaeus ~ Simon the Zealot

Simon the Zealot ~ Judas son of James

Judas the Scariot ~ Matthias

On Disciples, could we spot a disciple today? not after hoop-lah. not after introductions. not from a list of pre-christened, but little knowns. from everyday people. children. men. women. carrying on as everyday people do. and in every life 'everyday' knows. what is it about disciples that connect them to jesus; to god. not as in them to jesus; god. but as in jesus; god to them to them to connect to jesus; god. during jesus' physical time. disciples lived before he became the 'jesus'. today, many of us live before knowing him as the 'jesus'. *and, please stay with me as i am leaving a lot to unspoken but truths-by-bible here. what are their details. not while functioning as a disciple. their details before disciple-ship became an option AND without disciple-ship being the plan. in other words, minus all disciple references. and, in what degree do their details matter. whatever it is, it isn't visible. it is a collective but overall of the individual. there is this aire about people such as these. an aire that occupies presence. an aire as the sole attribute. speech, walk, stillness, belief, among other attributes. each contributing a definite presence. presence that creates force. no matter how flesh close you get. you don't see it. you feel the intensity of it. it's not the posture of righteousness. nor is it humility. it's not a single descriptor. it's something - definite and able to be witnessed. we can spot a disciple today. by knowing without definitive explanation or force-fed antics that a disciple is among or within us.

On Bible translation, the history of bible translation began with necessity. people needed to read the bible in their own languages as the gospel spread to new lands. as familiarity with hebrew, aramaic, and koine greek declined, biblical translation into new languages occurred. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
early translations: it was in the fourteenth century that the bible was translated into english. latin was dominant in western church. the principal bible used in church was jerome's vulgate (completed in 405). sporadic attempts to translate parts of the bible into old english (before 1100) gave limited access to the bible for those who did not know latin well. venerable bede, a historian and scholar of the early middle ages, had concern that the less-educated clergy be equipped for service through translation of parts of the bible. he worked on a translation of the gospel of john, but death intervened in 735. no copies survived. modern translations: in the middle english period (ca. 1100-1550), john wycliffe, john purvey, and nicholas of hereford collaborated to produce the first complete bible in English. there were two editions of the wycliffe bible. both were translations of the latin text. the first edition was a literal translation from latin into english. the second edition, completed in 1396, circulated more widely. it focused on the meaning of sentences. wycliffe and his followers, "the lollards" suffered persecution as heretics as a result of this translation.
in 1408, the constitutions of oxford included a prohibition against bible translation without approval of church authorities. by the sixteenth century, a number of events profoundly affected later bible translation. the renaissance caused a recovery of classical learning. greek scholars moved westward as constantinople fell to the turks (1453). the invention of the printing press around 1450 was a profound influence on bible translation. by 1488, there were printed editions of the hebrew Bible. the protestant reformation in 1517 emphasized vernacular versions. the break with rome during the tudor dynasty in england influenced the course of the english bible. current translations: william tyndale (1484-1536) was a greek scholar educated at oxford with a desire to provide a readable bible to the average person. he based his english new testament on a greek text established by erasmus in 1516. He printed it in europe in 1526 and revised it in 1534. myles coverdale produced the first complete english bible of the sixteenth century in 1535. subsequently in 1611, king james gave his blessing to a new translation, authorized version or king james bible. the later discoveries of the codex sinaiticus, early greek papyri of new testament documents, and the dead sea scrolls aided new translations we use today (new english bible, new international version, and the jerusalem bible).
information available at http://www.allabouttruth.org/history-of-bible-translation-faq.htm

2007-01-04T11:55:00.000-05:00

new year resolutions

bothering me is the 'new year' part. and, i shouldn't ask: what's the point? but i have, so . . .

we be-atch about ourselves all year. that's enough. isn't it. intrinsic awareness of flaw. why. in the final hour. is there this collective pressure to create a list. tabling our blemished durations. the most challenging continuations of ourselves at that. promising to do them

promising who. respectfully, barring serious life threats; respectfully, barring non-petty quality resolutions; respectfully, because let's just admit not all resolutions are equal, who are we promising. ourselves. the self we are. right handing the self we want to be. in so self pledging to abandon self in result of a new self. is it a surprise new year resolutions aren't kept

why would self allow self to kill it off. besides, its easier to accept who we are. rather than create a failure of self. but, my issue remains in the attachment of 'new year'. seriously, if we are, if we can, we just would. no out loud professions

spoken pursuit of what can and will and should and could and ought . . . and, ink to paper is not the finality of commitment either. paper disintegrates to touch. is easily trashed. but who writes new year resolutions down. they're haunting, let alone memorized

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i wonder. how many of us are too liquored. to remember the resolution. or maybe. self reaches from the mirror. to slap our face. cursing mad. at the premeditated identity murder. that is exactly what it is. identity murder

or maybe. someone hears the resolution. sees us in and for the possibility us. compliments us as we are, although they are viewing the possible us. in which we interpret self affirmation. and forget the resolution. no, better yet, we for-get the resolution. not preoccupied, but self-ly satisfied

what do people say. when they see you after you've, let's say, lost weight, stopped smoking crack, or some other significantly visual change. i didn't recognize you. or, the smart arse i hardly recognized you. or, and this one boy-oh-boy, is that you. who wants to hear this she-at. and, since not striking a significant change isn't worth the effort

because 1) no one notices, and 2) it won't take much to reverse what's been done, why bother. honestly. the results aren't for us. the results are for others. to see. it can be done. for others. to see. you did it, and they didn't. lace up - here come the joneses

resolution. to resolve. the intent to resolve. the desire or appearance of desire to resolve. the perpetual stalkings of unresolved that need or want to be resolved

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it is the knowing that we could that tempts us. has to be. the knowing that we just might that traps us. or, the weakness in us because we could have and didn't but can and are not sure if will. this reasoning is actually very likely. exhibition of weakness as a fellowship tool is a timeless technique. plus, on an individual level, weakness allows us to pace ourselves in success

yes, i don't think resolutions are about us. i'm talking about the outward expression of resolution. true, resolutions signify hope and long-term motive. still, it is only a competition. how bad am i. stay with me: resolutions = a first-person assessment of self using current self as a point of reference. others are the marker

markers in the big picture. i'm in bad shape. but in general, i'm doing pretty good

which is why resolutions often fail. i could be a lot worse. but even without this concession, i'm still doing pretty good for myself. why tamper. why try to fix. is it really broken. so why the mental torture. that's what resolutions are . humanizing reminders that we all fall short. but in this case, falling short isn't necessary

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it is an unnecessary imposition to even attempt a new year's resolution. especially, since. if it was that big a deal we would have resolved it already, and not because the year is ending. besides, who cares. at absolute, resolutions are heat of the moment offerings. that some of us truly need to resolve. and others of us don't

but carry on as we do. to fit in, probably. new year's resolutions sound good, and some are spoken in earnest intent, still there's the bulk of us who just can't do the da*n thing (#3: no more senseless cursing - should be no cursing but 1 must take it slow, you know, ease off the morphine drip. caution: cold turkey can kill)

anyhoot, traditions must persist so maybe i'll just add 'stop complaining' to my list next fawking year

2007-01-02T21:02:00.001-05:00

self help v. inspirationals v. coaching v. self improvement v. meditation-based retreat v. reflective counseling V. introspection technique v. exploratory sabbatical

vacation is molested, and this victim is lost in the violation

it once was something to go off. cumulated wandering of enjoyment. touring, experimenting, yes. but certainly at root of relaxing. oozing self. before the resumption of life, excited in renewal

vacation has become work. it's necessary to leave early, plan for recuperation from the vacation. away time weighted in distraction and self detachment. in the sake of having something to share or say or record or scrapbook or boast upon return. but that's another article. back to self-help...

us americans have vested a worth of $9.6 billion in the self-improvement market, according to Marketdata Enterprises' last year market report. the market anticipates an 11.4% annual increase through 2010, the report said. the report's use of 'self-improvement' references various betterment methods, and at the helm is personal coaching.

first, any modest shop will make clear the distinction between self help, coaching, self improvement, inspiration, management of this and thats, etc cetera. still, each does arguably fall nicely in a category of 'self improvement'. however, this purpose has chosen 'self help'. why - there is no default for positive outcome

second, 'self improvement' designates an outcome. that outcome is improvement. improvement is postive. not to reach the outcome is failure. failure in this context is the result of acts to assign miracle cure to self as a third-party, commercial-voodoo hunted participant. versus. 'self help' is first person. does not require assumptions of outcome. although outcome is implied. and the implication is of positive outcome. this is because we naturally expect positive outcome from 'help'. this is because we want positive outcome from 'help'. still, 'self help' is success in itself

third of 3, the individual's initiative to help self is the goal. buy the book. attend the retreat. the goal is achieved. in the initiative is success. because the initiative unquestionably lays out the problem. and to unquestionably lay out the problem the individual has admitted and exposed; key. what outcomes is not failure. disappointing. not failure. purely outcome: one ending in a breathing novel full of potential for alternate endings

ok so, what happened to vacation at grandma's. a week at the beach, soaking sun and frolicking waves. quiet evenings at home. dinner out. long walks to benches while the kids run around the park. at what point did our life fail us. at what point was it not enough to be happy. with who we are. and at what point did someone else believe they had our answer. barring medical reasons and necessities, of course. and, and, at what point did we start to believe

true. we could track the first betterment book or lecture. undoubtably way back to the garden of eden. but this is not about that. this isn't about the writer, the lecturer, the coach, the externals. this is about that being no exact science. and this is about 'i' having a lesser bell curve. human by nature is flawed. how can one flaw cover another. unless the result is collage. and aren't 'i' complex enough to supply the materials alone

back to the timeless torture of life. and the destruction progress has wrought on the simple cures. laughter to cover wrinkles. vacation worthwhile in bathing clothes and childish fun. as opposed to the current trend of mini, meaning crammed and tiring, expeditions. more basic: what happened to a steamy stream of shower water. losing the day's worries and setbacks in the endless clarifications, resolutions only a hot shower can provide

what happened to i'm going to be a better person. and the speaker going off or staying put to become a better person. no coaching. no self-help aisles. no self-improvement counseling. no inspiration tapes. no public-hailed, paragraph clad jewels. no interactive journals, detailing singular plight and barring others for certainty of breach of confidentiality. no table books - big as the table or small as a quarter-size cookie. all with the purpose of generating or recharging an industry

progress has upped the demands. and in doing so, individuality - no, the simplicity of happiness is cloaked and bribed into submission. as who we are and who we are supposed to be convert to purely material concepts. and in the confusion of our psychologically-mangled bodies, we buy into false promises of help. help not birthed or killed in pages. still, help systematically bulked or dieted with additional purchases

when did life become a culprit. when did we become life's victims. is life clinically diagnosed schizophrenic. timeless torture. life. without conspiracy. minus alliance of i or l,f,e. does life seek infamousy. is life appointed. will life sue for defamation of character. will courts rule the case baseless. citing a history of consensual and inviting relations - until life's convenient but unfounded accussation. why doesn't life pursue a case of fighting words. which is only to ask, why don't 'i'

2006-12-28T10:34:00.000-05:00

it's time to let go. what ever; who ever. it is. let go, and actually leave it. step in the direction of choice - so long as it is not the clearing forged by limitations of it. not for the moment. not for the day. not for the latent cue of anything. just let go

another year has come. fortunate to be in it, start it clean. not house cleaning, unless you too believe your body is a temple. a house can be cleaned any time - in fact, transitioning years with an un clean house promises a non idle and unassuming year. clean your mind. clean your energy. your frustration and motivation, purpose

and since . . . for reasons known and unknown, accepted and un accepted, true and false, honorable and not . . . the person or thing that harmed you can not or will not apologize/forgive; the person or thing that you harmed can not or will not get your apology/forgiveness - apologize; accept/forgive; forget

i am the messenger. i give this to you. not that this is mine to give. that is, not that this is mine to give beyond the power of sincerity and understanding. and, willing, this is enough. sufficiency in this anonymous apology and masked forgiveness - because, truth is, it need only be said out loud, and the permanency of digital ink is a statuesque stand in for the spoken word

besides, we share more experience; we harbor more identical emotion than we know or admit. and so, despite the circumstance, respectfully pardoning the specifications of your hurt - allow this to be his face; to be her voice; to be my act; to be your tear . . . allow this to be the ‘make right’

Sorry for lying Forgive you for taking everything back I apologize for giving it all up I forgive you for taking it out on me Please accept my apology for abusing you Forgiven for stealing my car He apologizes for hitting you She forgives you for not wanting to live without her I apologize for not still loving her I forgive you for spending all the money She apologizes for cursing at you Forgiven for throwing up the middle finger They apologize for partying late I forgive you for getting the last toy off the shelf before me The Team apologizes for not meeting the deadline I forgive you for not making the decision I would have made

I apologize for not spending more time with you I forgive you for calling a professional I forgive you for lying I apologize for sneaking some beer Forgiven for raiding my stash Apologies for being repeatedly late Next time try to remember to set your clock Sorry for turning off my cell I apologize for forgetting your birthday I forgive you for expecting more of me I don't know why I was denying what a true friend is You don't need forgiveness for needing time to yourself There is no excuse for calling you racial slurs It's not ok, but I forgive you I apologize for making you feel bad
Sorry my dog infested your place with fleas I forgive her for not spending more time with me I forgive him for making me feel bad My fault for needing you to read my mind I appreciate you thinking my brilliance allows me to read minds I should have helped you pursue your dreams Forgiven for not realizing my dreams are important to me I'll stop calling you mean names I forgive you for treating me like I don’t have feelings Please forgive me for putting my man before my child I'm happy you took the chance for a new life I won't add that much salt again

I'll help her kick the habit I apologize for not making the bed I forgive you for losing the necklace I apologize for cheating I don't mean to cut people off on the highway I forgive you for cheating I apologize for leaving dirty clothes on the floor You don't embarrass me I'm sorry for using all the hot water, every day I forgive you for overheating the aquarium I don't know why I burn barbecue each barbecue I apologize for leaving the light on all night

I forgive you for forgetting to shut the door I apologize for leaving you in the cage It's ok that he ate all the ice cream I apologize for wasting your time Next time, just say you need my attention immediately I'll wear appropriate clothes from now on I forgive you for not being comfortable around me I want to understand their culture I forgive you for not being exposed to my culture I apologize for talking bad about you I do hope you see how beautiful and talented you are I apologize for not taking the time to read what you wrote I forgive you for not listening to my poem I apologize for not admitting the worth of what you do I think I've believed I was the only important one, too I apologize that we live like our lives are not connected
I'm sure you didn't mean to push me I knew she contributed a lot I apologize for leaving when I said I never would Thanks for loving me when I thought you shouldn’t I apologize for eating the last piece of cake and leaving the tray on the counter It is better that you be yourself and expect me to accept you Sorry for breaking the lamp I forgive you for staying out late I should have remembered your name Forgiven for sharing my private situation to create a support system for me I apologize for not acknowledging you Please forgive me for not offering to babysit when I knew you were too proud to ask Sorry for smoking Thank you for speaking to me honestly - it helped me better know myself

2006-12-26T14:52:00.000-05:00

good fortune in the next year is as plentiful as a plate of collards eaten on new year's day. and, if it's not your tradition, simply discover and rediscover the nutritional value and delectable taste of collard greens

textbook history according to botanists: the collard plant has been mostly the same for 2000 years, and is actually a type of kale. collards and kale are loose-leaf, non-heading, wild cabbages. predecessors of the head of cabbage. major differences = leaf shape, stem length, color, flavor. collards have a medium green color, smooth texture and oval shape; kale is dark grayish green with broad leaves and crinkled texture. and, collards are much milder than kale, which has a strong bitter bite

the origin of wild cabbage is unknown. it is believed to have grown wild in asia minor, now turkey, and greece along the mediterranean before recorded history. confucius mentions cabbages as early as 497 bce, which means the chinese were familiar with greens

ancient greeks cultivated wild cabbages and developed several varieties. initially, only stems of wild cabbages were eaten, a practice that extended to broccoli as well. however, Romans relished collards and cultivated about 400 cabbage varieties including heading cabbages, brussels sprouts, kohlrabi, cauliflower, and kale

throughout history not too many cultures were enamored of the cabbage family. greens provided sustenance during the winter - when other vegetables were unable to grow. but greens were known as unsophisticated and odoriferous in part because they produced two disliked odors: one while cooking and one in flatulence from its consumption

living history greens originated in the eastern mediterranean, but it was with the first africans in jamestown, va that america first tasted this dark green leafy vegetable. greens were one of a few vegetables slaves were allowed to grow and harvest for themselves. through time greens became a traditional food. after slaves were emancipated greens continued as a tradition

greens did not originate in africa. eating greens cooked down into a low gravy, and drinking juices from greens known as pot likker did originate from africans. today, greens are added to various ethnic meals

when african slaves were brought from africa to the south as slaves, they learned to make wholesome meals from the poorest ingredients - discarded scraps . . . collards, and the rest of the greens family, grew generously in the south. collards, and other greens, were seasoned with scraps, such as pigs feet, ham hocks, brains, testicles or mountain oysters, and intestines aka chitterlings and chittlins. travelers through the south introduced more items, such as corn, rice, squash, and tomatoes, that became meal staples for slaves

Try This sprinkle fine diced raw collards over potato salad Maybe lightly dash vinegar on bed of hand-torn collards You Could fresh collard leaf on egg salad between wheat bread Or large collard leafs under centered blanket of large-cut fresh fruit sprinkled with kosher salt and tear leafs as edible utensils Even square collards to 2x2 inches, mix with halved strawberries and drench in choice of fruit syrup . . . the possibilities are always nutritious and delicious when collards are added, which also fosters detoxification and promotes cancer prevention
join the tradition you will need 2 or 3 bundles of collards, 6 to 8 pieces of partially cooked turkey bacon, water, chopped onion, salt, crushed red pepper, seasoned salt, garlic powder or minced fresh garlic . . . choice of meat and spices as a periodic pinch of salt and dashes of pepper are all that is needed

wash collards in 3 to 4 changes of water. can use cleaning agent, washing until all residue gone. can wash by vigorously rinsing in several changes of water. be sure to wash each leaf. wash until no sediment can be felt in bottom of sink or bowl. chop and trash bottom half of stalks. remove and trash unhealthy (yellowing, light green, wilted) parts. roll a few leaves. cross cut in strips or grip roll and tear off top 1/2-inch to inch until all is torn. roll more leaves and repeat. tear modestly if prefer larger pieces. put in large pot. dice turkey bacon. add to pot. cover with water. add pinch of salt. place on medium heat with top on but not closed so steam can escape. bring to boil. add chopped onion, crushed red pepper, seasoned salt, garlic, and/or other seasonings. allow to cook down. this will take about 1 hour. add large cup water if needed. test taste. add seasonings as desired. simmer for another hour or until greens are desired consistency. enjoy. serves 2 to 4

2006-12-21T15:58:00.001-05:00

homeless ness has been part of american culture for - no, more accurate, is to say that homeless ness helped found american culture. and, why it continues to plague lives, streets, statistics, is satisfactorily explained under american culture

so, why isn’t this focus. how

what de-persons someone to homeless existence. in spite of its self, america won. therefore, homeless ness is not a necessary evil. all natural-order arguments aside. for too long others have worked toward a better ‘order’ system. all mental health charts trashed. modern science, not-so modern science already provided one option. all financial burden commentary hushed. money is abundant when public and private pressure are applied conclusively

my story: i was riding with my mom. there was a homeless man by the side of the road. he was two lanes over. in a wheelchair. holding a cardboard sign. homeless . . . vet . . . money . . . wants a beer i wanted to give him a dollar. i only had 3. what difference would it make in his life. in mine. my mom said give him credit for being honest. yes, but. in this instance lie to me

my story explicits my vote on hour-earned money mandated to support others - whether grown and able bodied, but insolent and assuming. or, whether clinically disabled on some overall level, and lesser able but still assuming. there are always options that don’t include my being put out for you to continue to stay out

a woman sits
her back to the crowd, although, they can see her face. she has severed her connection with the world, and gone to a place. she is battered. she is. and, with no reason for such misfortune – no good reason. she is battered but has no marks upon her face. a battered soul. beyond the physical realm of life. and here, two stories, hers & his - both true an old woman,

not old as old is,
but old that her mind has gone ill, ill of decay from a world of bad health and rough living - it is winter, and in the cold she wears a mini skirt, belly hanging from the seams. overtly her shame is non well perceived. she walks with her head high as if nothing. her little out-of-season skirt, and matching out-of-season top. a bus-load of folks. they remark. and laugh. and shriek in disgust. she, this other she, smirks. and falls sullen, embarrassed that she could share the amusement. disgust

how can they laugh

she, the first she, the she of mini skirts in winter time, walked on. not hearing. their words. not seeing their eyes. her head is high. and, the battered woman was left justified. only by the same tongue wronging her. be quiet before I have her ride this bus or something similar is the silencer. silence in laughter. scream. don't want to. scream. do it. mad she is homeless, poor, hungry,

naked
not her, but him. walking. down town. wave to him. he waves back. the gesture of respectability lost in the confusion of attention. in the confusion of identity, un named, but spotted. in the confusion of comic relief. on a blistery day. misread as warmth. from strangers, shaking their heads and pointing. at him, him naked and walking. carrying on with life

life is harsh, turbulent. the battered woman notices. sitting calm, unnerved. like life is a vicious dog. and, any sudden movement will trigger it. the end within her self. kant would be proud. meanwhile com 101 teaches no news is new news. all happened before. still, one more shattered being. how bored is she with the commonality of her, situation... breathing of pain. how many breaths to the heart of common... is the heart of common comfortable, warm

ok, so. resources are available. information is widespread. campaigns are underway, and hopefully the needy will self-select in remarkable numbers. still, i beg. how. how does someone become homeless

and, key in the brew is that the individual is de-personed. not how all homeless people look alike. how homeless people become fixture and debris

and, any study, any news print is only going to produce case study. as much as i’d love an exact answer, an exact fix.

my other story: i was a journalist. i featured an animal clinic. feral cats. captured. undeniably - in the universal language of distress - the creatures were ‘helped’ against their will. doped. spaded. neutered. restored - eye infection, parasites, f.i.v. fed. sheltered, temporarily. placed.
forgotten into a statistical success. were they - escaped or broken. how long until the home no longer can afford the feral presence. is the presence still feral. a flicker of light, an unkind word, mental illness, world disassociation, societal expectation. stubbornness. what triggers. and, how many captures before feral is just feral. can the home sleep comfortably with feral, with former feral, with predisposition, with acquired taste for feral in the home. is the feral chained, locked each night until escape or broke. or worse, abandoned

the news reported a story about a woman who ‘helped’ katrina victims. the family was relocated. given a home. rent was paid for one year. and, the woman met unexpected financial circumstances. it was printed that the family would have to leave their home, new home, in a foreign area, with no family, no friends, except this woman who would fix everything. where was the plan

she fixed their material needs. for a little while. good start. a long, hot shower always does wonders. the plan must be holistic. mental component, because new states can be new countries. occupation/skill component, because the same job in a new place can require new skills. financial component, because relocation alone takes time and time requires money. education component, because progress stalks everyone. support component, because something as simple as a welcoming face can make all the difference. management component, because expectation and demands require frequent reassessment for efficiency. fun component, because no r&r is bad for health on all levels

there was a time when families and towns could and did collectively oust an individual, a family not contributing to society. there was a time when mentally ill disappeared, or worse, sterilized, guinea-pigged. this is a time of opportunity. a time of options

a deep sigh on life

he exists as a poem
inspired

gone to going, and such
when he shouldn't

a verbal portrait
in screaming nakedness
a reflection of feminine pain
no wounds
a flag conquering her battle womb

masterfully
tucked in exposure to the world
self
more dependable than material cover
courting meaninglessness
in his copper-colored defense

see him
witness the birth of pain

the only thing i can concede is the 'conditioned homeless' - those homeless for so long they prefer it. a home is prison to them. and they can’t cope in it. is this the man walking naked. naked in public to provoke arrest. arrests increase during the cold season. the homeless would rather be locked in warmth. than defenseless against winter. and still, i’m not convinced homeless means without a home

many of us are x dollars from poverty. poverty is the stew of homelessness. poverty of skill. poverty of motivation. poverty of money. poverty of trust. poverty of love. poverty of self. temporary job loss, settle time after relocation, loss of deeded structure don’t equate to homelessness. although each is worth its mmhg in stress. to have had a job, and feel loss of it. . .to pursue a new place, and take time to learn you in it. . .to purchase a house, and know the empty of its destruction. . . involve solid sense of self, monetary flow, possibility. this is not homeless ness

these, instead, mean a support system. independence. aspiration. these mean there was, is and will be a plan. homeless ness lacks a plan

homeless ness is being at the bottom. and not knowing that's where you are. because, you just are. not self destructing, but destructed. no longer a time’s future, but forever in time

diagnosis: commercial racism & jobism

case study:

1) radio ad begins with agreeable rap verses, announcer states 'radio may never be clean' before launching sale pitch for vacuum cleaner

2) radio ad begins with woman complaining about thanklessness of job as waitress, stating no songs are written about waitresses before announcer launches sale pitch for stripper/dancer job

issue: 1) racist against black men, and 2) sexist/jobist against women

comment

the vacuum ad could have used any music genre. why use rap? and, at the very least, if it had to use rap, the ad should have used rap lyrics that are blatantly offensive. yes, what is offensive is subjective. still, to hear curse words in the elevator while at work... to hear kill all politicians... to hear bomb the u.s., let's say, would be a universal automatic offense. therefore, what is offensive is not without objectivity. the rap verses used in the ad are agreeable - whether edited or not, as played over the radio in the context of the ad the lyrics are not offensive. it shouldn't be necessary to mention the offense factor of the composition of music behind the lyrics, but... a preference not to hear certain types of music does not make the music offensive. and, as music goes, there's never been a composition of music that in and of its sound-self is offensive. ok, back to the lyrics. based on the lyrics used, the ad states that rap is inherently offensive. especially since black men have revolutionized the concept of self-made millionaire by demanding respect and honesty of 'self' through rap and hip hop . . .

the stripper/dancer ad is perpetuating the myth that waitresses don't make money. they get a check plus tips. true, minimum wage is insulting. but the amount a waitress makes also depends on where the job is, with what company, the market it services and that market's ability and willingness to dish tips. not all people in a given job earn the same amount of money. BUT, worse than this is... the stripper/dancer ad is on the radio. why? and, even if it is legal to aire the ad, the radio show has social responsibility. families listen to the station. young girls hear the ad. the same young girls who are already facing challenges in a community of little options, and in a world of unreasonable pressure, such as supermodel size. young men hear the ad. the same young men who are also already facing challenges in a community of little options, but with the added perceptions of females as eye candy and flesh toys. at the very least, this ad should not be aired until late night. at the very least, this ad can drop the comparison. at the very least, this ad can include specific candidate requirements

final say: restrict these ads. restrict similar ads. 1,000 feet distance, minimum. of schools, of churches, of libraries, of any high minor-trafficked and potentially high minor-trafficked entities. which means no radio presentation. this would not be censorship, i oppose censorship, it will be a civil approach to fighting words

2006-12-14T18:05:00.001-05:00

It is nearly universal for a human to have a name; the rare exceptions occur in cases of mentally disturbed parents, or feral children growing up in isolation. A personal name is usually given at birth or at a young age, and is usually kept throughout life; there might be additional names indicating family relationships, area of residence, ... The Convention on the Rights of the Child endorses personal names as a human right. The details of naming are strongly governed by culture; some are more flexible about naming than others, but for all cultures where historical records are available, the de facto rules are known to change over time.

everything, most noticeably, most remarkably, most meaningfully people, changes over time. with each cancer survivor... with each new child added to a family... with each rape victim... with each death ... with each senseless war, on a people, on a land, on a individual quest in greed... with each life-event, yes, but more accurately, with each epiphany, people change. in this small existence, but grand psychological journey to change, we as self are created anew within our self

...like a delores becoming a deloris. like a tu'wan becoming a sakina. like a trenton becoming a kalil. johnson to bey. browne to brown...

self is a fluid fact. that fact is variably and precisely represented by both letters and pronunciation. for both individual and bloodline. for both immediate and generational bloodline. ok, so, don't worry over bloodline. last names - in some cultures - are for this. and, last names - in this function - are valid, they honor lineage while respecting self's connection to first name

this is about self. and, with each realization or comprehension of the essence or meaning of a specific change, a new self is introduced as the last self quietly exits, unnoticed. in a way it's sad. because with each last self that exits, a bit of innocence is lost. and, in another way it's sad. because it takes a couple last selves to exit before, in general, it is noticed that change has occurred. and, it continues to be sad. because often we say changing when we should be saying changed. because the transition has already taken place, and deserves respect in and of itself. while, in saying changing, it is lumped into a series of equally deserving changes - never to be acknowledge for their singular worth

the point: naming moments

names are strongly governed by culture. naming basically subscribes to the 'they say' category of fact. they say give your child a first, middle and last name it's sad that in our platform of progress to have two middle names is thought exotic. it's another kind of sad that to change your name as a testament of faith, as a letter:pronunciation-bound testament of new self, as a man to his wife's name, as an individual self actualized and conscious enough to seek perfection of that self-actualized self in such a minute aspect as name, is thought an abomination. it continues to be sad that this is based on an insolent, asinine system of paper trail and or - at the most benefit of doubt - system of relatives insecure to interpret your change to their fault or their disownment

names are strongly governed by culture. why not adopt, assume, encourage, respect naming moments. our name makes us. sometimes. we make our name. and, in turn, make others' names, too. names influence our journey. while our journey defines our name. names indicate past, future, present. yes. no. it is all relative

so. why be tied to the same name our entire journey

a name we didn't choose. a name that didn't choose us. a name - whether randomly or calculatedly - selected, selected by someone else. regardless of how it was picked, regardless of when it was picked, regardless of by whom it was picked. it was picked on the perceptions, ambition, bias, forethought, whim... of someone or some others else. it was picked independent of us; separate our exhibition of life

did they pick the right one? could they pick the right one? individuals and families are made proud and dishonored every day. male and female alike. self is self's burden. does it simmer down to accomplishment:non accomplishment? no. this is subjective. it is about journey, life, realizing, accepting, and not just leaving it at that

if you could pick your own name, would it be the right one? maybe. if life, if experience, if journey aka naming moments could pick - no not pick, but reveal your name? well then, it just might be right

naming moments. not life events. life events are subscribers of the they say category. naming moments. moments of precise self awareness. moments of window between self knew and self now. moments of undeniable next step, action, words, thoughts. moments, yes moments because it is the trigger, the pause before execute

execute. execute because a bit of you does have to die, sacrifice for sake of next, future you. execute of self. in the specifications of a period in journey. and since we already redefine our selves. and the definition and personification behind our name. why not seek perfection. perfection in as minute an aspect of self as name. rather than hand-me-down pairings of name with self... marienne managing on as a marian... richard managing on as a dick... letoya managing on as a latoyia... david managing on as a dave... L's, A's managing on as K's and T's...

there is no dispute that symbols are key to communication

self is a breathing symbol. speech, mannerisms, smile, aire, movement to non movement, wit, recovery, instigation. your name is the communication of you. it is the sum utterance of you. it is the expectations, the allowances of you. your key, your name needs to be precise

life is a steady flow of progression and degression of self. your name will and has changed with the progress and degress of self. just as layman is to technical, you are to your name that referenced crudely or more exact... it is just that we have, and may continue to be, content - not to honor self's naming moments with a name, but - to say she or he is or acts different

2006-12-12T14:32:00.001-05:00

hard to believe the merriest time of year is also the cruelest emotional season - depression, a clinical condition that is treatable, is an issue year-round. still, something about the holidays, particularly christmas and new year's, poses grave results for many of us . . . recognize, acknowledge, and care - care enough to help someone get help or get help for yourself

What is depression? Depression is a serious medical condition. Everyone experiences "ups" and "downs," but for some people the "downs" outweigh the "ups." This can cause problems with everyday activities such as eating, sleeping, working, sex, and personal relations. When this happens for more than a few weeks, it is likely depression.

Depression affects a person's physical health, as well as how he or she feels, thinks, and acts toward others. It brings about a mixture of feelings and thoughts that can cause someone to depart from his or her usual behavior.

What causes depression? Although exact causes of depression are unknown, a chemical imbalance in the brain might be the reason. Serotonin and norepinephrine are 2 chemicals used by some nerve cells to communicate. These chemicals, called neurotransmitters, are thought to be linked to depression. So, medications that affect these neurotransmitters play a role in treating depression.

Symptoms of depression can onset suddenly, for no apparent reason, after life-changing events and medical illness...and it is known that some types of depression run in families, making depression and susceptibility to depression inheritable.

Major depressive disorder v. Bipolar disorder Depression is the common name for major depressive disorder, and it is not the same as bipolar disorder - although, both disorders share some symptoms and both disorders require treatment.

In general, major depressive disorder involves overwhelming feelings of sadness, worthlessness and hopelessness; Bipolar disorder involves episodes of depression but also episodes of mania, which has symptoms that can include excessive energy, extreme irritability or "out of control" behavior.

People with depression do not experience manic episodes.

depressive symptoms
Sadness
Excessive Crying
Loss of Pleasure
Sleeping Too Much or Too Little
Low Energy
Restlessness
Difficulty Concentrating
Irritability
Loss of Appetite or Overeating
Feelings of Worthlessness and Hopelessness
Ongoing Physical Problems not caused by Physical Illness Or Injury
Thoughts of Death or Suicide

manic symptoms
Inappropriate Sense of Euphoria
Reckless Behavior
Need for Little Sleep
Excessive Energy
Racing Thoughts

Excessive Talking
Out of Control Spending
Difficulty Concentrating
Irritability
Abnormally Increased Activity
Excessive Sex

Poor Judgment
Aggressive Behavior

everyone will be affected by depression in their life time, whether they suffer from it or know someone suffering from it. depression has many causes and mysterious triggers, learn more http://www.ndmda.org/. because, in addition to affecting about 19 million americans each year, pre-schoolers - yes, our future - are the fastest growing market for antidepressants. and, antidepressants increase the risk of suicidal thinking and behavior in children and teenagers. there's a lot more to know about depression, and the resources for addressing depression are plentiful, please care enough . . .

2006-12-07T13:30:00.000-05:00

Last Thursday was the continuation of this 3 part tribute, which today focuses on 'her Sun.' Every man is a sun - being splendid as the eye of heaven and being the affect of effect. And, while this focus is on black men, every man is luminous in this way.
And, so - 'the religion of beautiful' ...

(listen to La's Poetic Prose: 'Chocolate Dipped' by entering author comment link on sidebar)

Fathers & Sons

destiny set me up, and some days it's lovely, most days it’s humbling. but, respectfully, my pops is a gangsta. he’s a gangsta in his voice, loud and aggitated. he's a gangsta in his clothes, from flawlessly pimped to i jus don't give a shit. my pops is a gangsta in his hair and in his walk. it's not an act - he's gangsta at the crib and on the block. he's a gangsta from his faith it'll never happen to his hope gotta play my numbers. he knows his seeds are the substance of legacies. and, not that it is intentional, but pops will spread his seeds freely. you can look at me and see the power of society because 'they' keep saying my pops can't. but my pops keeps trying not to show i might c'aint. pops spent his life in sacrifice to make sure that before i speak you don't suspect me. and if not that, to make sure i know that before i speak you gone suspect me. and if not that, then maybe, just maybe, this will be the time things play out right. pop, your words come few. but your moves are like whoo, bringing out the survivor in me. teaching me a man can carry the family tree with nothing more than dignity. my appreciation is more than being son of an original solider. it is knowing when the time comes, i’ll be a man, a strong one because you faced the situation - regardless if it meant being here or being gone

NOTE: blue letter(s) = him & pink letter(s) = her

He’s hurt, hurt bad. Who he is I can’t place. I know his face. I know his hurt. I know he’s been here before. I smiled at him, once. I remember he smiled back. It seems so unlikely. I smile at him today, he looks spitted on. No matter how clean my smile, how gentle, soothing my voice. No matter the calm of my words. I can’t understand how I got this from him. He’s hurt, and with his hurt he’s hurt me. Maybe that’s the problem. I put it in him. I know where I am, but where am I going. He knows he has a purpose. But what. Why another man soiled. Am I his strength.

Me and my man never quite agree on our woe. Before we can even agree to be enemies here come this man taking his place. Knocking, hard and long. My man hears him. He’s tried to answer the knock. I watched. He tried to answer the knock last time and couldn’t get the door unlocked. He went to answer it again. This time I begged. ‘Don’t go, no, don’t.’ I want to answer it. Truth is, neither of us is prepared. Not to provide this man with what he’s come for. Peace. Piece for self. Piece for spirit. A living soul at reachable quest. It’s in his hand but his fingers don’t know how to hold on. me thinks my grip is better.

I am wanting, and in my brokenness I want to fix him. He is my tool, not made to specs. On loan. His tool don’t quite fit in my broken spot. Us women. We’ll make a feast from crumbs. Surely I can make a forklift from a hunk of metal on a stick. Indiscretion. Can’t fix myself. Thinks I can fix him. I hated what she wanted to do to herself. she doesn’t understand how much I love her. I don’t want her to. There was a time my body was rotting. Then I got her and my pain was forgotten. Forgotten into her. Cast from my body to her, making the simple act of not breathing to live but breathing in life nothing more than a chore.

He slept, my bed good nurse to his soul's innocence, my soul, watching his from the cradle of a delicious drowsiness, took flight, once again, we embraced for the first of 1 of many 1'sts, Honesty blinding my sight. The light. Follow it? It pulled me. And, so. I realized where my feet 'posed to be

. . . in journey of more than what my heart allows me

I came to her a man and selfishly handled her with the hands of a child. Our battle is our own. ‘cept somebody who looks like me is over, back of him on his battlefield. I’m stranded with friendly fire hailing on me from elevated flank. It is a spectacular battle, a Black man warring with himself. I try to be his sweat cloth and find myself his sweat stain. Never a win or a loss, just suffering. Suffering cutting the flesh out of intention. The outcome is always a triumph. He’s been looking for work . . .

FICA can’t tax his hustle. He talked to the people about getting in school . . . textbooks don’t teach like life do. He’s trying to settle down . . . she want him to change but keep throwing the past in his face. Or. He working overtime and another job, what he got to show for it after child support, taxes . . . He in school, how he gone concentrate with all the bullshit . . . He with one woman now, she worse as the three he had . . . It’s like I see him fighting himself and no matter what I do I am only smearing dirt across my chin from the sleeve of a beautiful gown, unable to run for myself. So, I make him abandon his grief to fuss about getting me out of mine.

He can’t understand how I dirtied such a pretty fabric. He can’t understand why the pattern Is perfect for today. It would be a labored time before I knew the dirt was even there. Too busy making ill use of my skills of internal turmoil. Instead of wielding and forward stepping, I’m looking. Just looking, witnessing, half recording. The inept survivor. Support cast to him and his self-bred devout nemesis. He's addressing me like I paid for the battle. Christened me to philosophize my theory on how the battle will progress. Pacifying me because he’s convinced of how the battle started. I’ll never know the reality, brutality, catastrophe of his battle. I’m not a carnal participant. Uninvolved is anything but me. He and I hate me for allowing this of myself. How convenient to have my body wrapped in the finest linen as he fits and cuss, the dirt soiling my garb, in which I seek solace, only to dirty myself. It is a suffering I can’t end. If I was a member of either fleet, I might.

my size thirteens done stepped good and bad

they done tried to kill folks, including my stepdads

people trying to take my smile, make me sad

yeah, it’s true. my thirteens, they do some good

i help people, and not jus’ from my hood

my hood is over my head,

while running from damn police,

while running from child support,

while running from taxes, mr. bills

my hood is over my head,

while i’m running from responsibilities

- you know, the beast

the beast follows me during and after life

and if not after, it follows the fam, & wife

my wife, my thirteens never gave her a wedding

or her a honeymoon - to make things almost right

when i die make sure my thirteens is on my feet
cause, in heaven you don’t need shoes,

but i’m concerned about the heart

I’m on my way. On my way to a day where I can look at my scars and smile glad that something in me is determined to heal. If he could tell me. Just once. I swear I wouldn’t forget. He doesn’t answer. I feel so filthy. I’m just witnessing, actively. The carnage of angels falls around me. He, the Black man, is an angel – ignorant of seeking sainthood. I watch the living bridge to my biblical roots being destroyed. Yelling the whole time ‘Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go answer the door because the person knocking is hurt. And, you not quite ready to provide yourself what it is you knocking for.’

I begged him not to interact. Not to interact. He is the act, how can he not enter his fate. Destiny. I must remain positive. Positive. How can I remain positive. ‘You so use to being shitted on, you think I’m shitting on you no matter what I do. You are not the victim, not now. You can’t always be the victim because I am standing next to you, and I am your easy prey. Your pain ain’t all yours.’

Both try to tend to each other’s wounds, and can’t help to hate each other, and themselves. I talk to my brother, praying my sister hears. He went anyway. The Black man did. Curious. Part wanting to know, part wanting the peace. The peace that’s promised for knowing. He answered the door just as himself opened it. Him inviting himself in, himself coming in uninvited. Black men – not african, not african american, not colored – black men go through this battle. A sight of wake crushing misery over wake of fresh-churned legacy. Only the Black man can hook horns with the greatest warrior, and that warrior turn out to be he himself. This is about the worship of faltered flight.

No other creature challenges me - not with the sincerity that U do

Working my body like it’s an industry; Instinctively teaching my mind, only 2 blindly tempt my mental weaponry; Begging me 2 never hide why, verbally, U do not ever want it with me

U
a special brew
my own special hush blend
especially since I realize U R my bridge 2 triumph + shame

It is your attention that must've weeped life on the seed of indigenous; Guided the Natives 2 ink the brand of Manitto – An incredible cup 4 cup creation of half God & equal part Devil. So. Must’ve been, because U deliver Righteous as willingly as U do Wickedness; Preaching me, cursing me, Praising me, degrading me - And, all of this is in the same simple act of loving me

a story on . . ., closing:

No other man has been beat enough to anticipate the endurance he’ll need to struggle through the battle. No other man has beaten enough to have the wrath determined enough to make the battle last. Both fleeing and tracking his duality.

And me, my life, is the mirror through which he sees himself for who he is verses who he got to be. The Black man is in war, against self. She wants, tries to fix his problem.

When I look at him, I don’t see him or a reflection of god, don’t even see myself. I see the things I don’t want or need. I see the pain of what might be. I don’t know what a man is, what being a man means. I look at her and see naked motivation. I look at her and see a paycheck earned, half the bills paid and money tucked away. I look at her and see my manhood manifest in another seed planted, another meal satisfying my hunger. I don’t see her. I don’t see me.

I just am, as I am - possibilities for what I want, what I need.

2006-11-30T12:23:00.001-05:00

Last Thursday began this 3 part tribute, which today focuses on 'his Rose.' Every woman is a rose - made of petals and thorns. And, while this focus is on black women, the sincerity is shared by all women.

And, so - 'the religion of beautiful' ...

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(listen to Sun's Song: 'Sunshine'

& to La's Spoken Word: 'What Ingredients Am I?'

via the author comment link on sidebar)

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Mothers & Daughters

destiny set me up lovely and it’s humbling but, respectfully, my moms is a beast. she’s dipped in honey from her faith to her feet & she will kill for her babies easy. straight gospel she knows her belly is sweet home to legacies so she plants her body’s fruit firmly. straight beauty - you can look at me and see the power of pennies because money never came easy my ma spent wisely to make crumbs into a slice. more than money, she spent her life in sacrifice to make sure that before i speak you respect me, simply from watching me i carry my body like the statue of liberty, when she was carved a shapely shade mahogany. mommy your words are like pearls, paying out the best in me. teaching me a woman can carry the family tree with nothing more than dignity. my appreciation is more than being daughter of an original solider. it is more than being re-born when you drop wisdom. it is knowing when the time comes i’ll be a woman, a strong one, and that you had strong vision to face the situation, keeping your head high to make them look you in the eyes. i’m proud of your pride. i want to be a woman just like my mama and see light from cracks in the wall. yes, women are strong - diamonds, none common, each in her own dimensions made in your image, i glisten

THIS LOVE IS ACAPPELLA, LIKE FALLEN GOSPEL
THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS, IS NOTHING ELSE MATTERS

I’m crawling
Wall 2 Wall
Paint is chipping from the impact of my body

The police?, please, needs to see me bloody

They telling me
That’s proof – I can’t keep him off me
That, That is proof – I can’t keep him off me

But I be
Rare meat
– that, seasoned breed. descendant of women
+ men who spent my lifetime intent – 2 teach me

Ends are what I meet

Not what a man brings 2 me

That's
How
I
Knew

I
Had
2
Get
Him
Off
Me

I was afraid to speak.

I justified my lack of backbone by telling myself I was humble. My classmates were having babies, dropping out of school or settling into a modest life. I have always had a quiet nature, and this coupled with constant studying and a book fetish, outcasted me as thinking 'I was better than everyone else.' I was afraid to speak because I wanted to belong.

The Point: Self actualizing is not bragging. I used to think it was. I am not sure why I thought this. Perhaps, a bit of it is that I earned a full scholarship to my undergraduate degree.

My skin color and skill in writing got me this. Only minority students with above-average writing ability are eligible for the course. I like to think my hard work got me the scholarship. It got me The Lecture, why not this, too. Many times, adults have told me that I am representing all people of color. This is The Lecture. This was a burden to me – all that responsibility. Adults, of various ethnicity, told me, I – which meant we – had the potential to be anything, everything. Therefore, some said, there was no doubt I would take the scholarship.

Translation: Not every option is an option, take the scholarship - and make it work. My earning the scholarship represented the strength of mind and potential in people of color. I would take the scholarship because its creation represented society’s dedication toward diversity. It is not an everyday opportunity. My declining the scholarship would not happen, comfortable or not.

My sitting, scared to speak above the whisper in my head, made me see that my skin color is a crutch. Yet, it is priceless. I am much more than a shade of brown. It has been the reason so much is expected of me, expectation I both hated and loved. No longer one I will be silenced over.

I first had to lose my 'self' to realize the 'burden' of my skin color is truly a challenge, which is best dictated - not by others, but by my talent and aspiration.

it started with a night of passion

labor was overcome way back. everything else is rite of passage, elevations of re-birth. so, when I say it started with a night of passion, it was the sequel, more of a revue. maxwell slid, tenderly from the case + placed as softly as he sings into an old, towering stereo. lights out. candles full blown. no mattress, just cushion, on cushion – a mountain of comfort. we embedded our bodies. into each other, we relaid full grown seeds, trekked the tunnel of life, backwards, re-experiencing the simultaneous joy + pain of coming into life. it was intense. it was pure, raw, intentional, it was original

it was carved into me, somewhere. I can’t place it. still, it is there. like jello silly enough 2 rumba with jerked chicken, statuesque in a stream of motion. i can’t place it. still, it is there. that night, we planted the fruit + left our journey defined. embrya. the cd sprinted around us. no. around the room. here + there an eye – my eye, his eye – spread long enough 2 remember our surroundings, + there they were. material beings floating on embrya. we heard many songs. the cd was on repeat. embrya looped all by itself. this song kept rotation in time with my body, riding high + winding down. max, i, he, we were – well, reborn that night. created a new

then, my father found it necessary 4 a lesson

my father, he, played that song the tuesday – noted in the al’ta world as the day of passion – we took a ride. that day embrya graduated from hidden treasure 2 prelude, ovation style. we revisited our journey. my father kept playing the song. my lesson was not achieved – so he lectured on, in his deliberate way. the song plagued radio waves early evening, late afternoon. this man left. my father stayed, but i didn't notice. my shine had gone. maxwell kept playing. why, father, must U persist. haven’t i learned enough

he secured regular rotation 2 first thing - my time. exactly 3 weeks - 21 days - i was set in my way. reading the bible at twilight. reading 'how 2 get 2 heaven' first thing. vowing 2 start each day with a smile, postive thoughts, recognition + acknowledgment of blessings. he played embrya. i listened. i cried. his voice, my father's, in chorus over the thick audio combustion. he said hear me

and i did, finally. he used maxwell as a divine instrument. explaining 2 his precious daughter that i needed our journey - that journey. 2 realize how + why my shine is never lost

2006-11-23T11:02:00.001-05:00

the 'Religion of Beautiful' is something I realized not long ago - the ritual of rawness of self and self's questioning. This is black people. We religiously worship and curse God, Life. Everything about black people is religious, in the devotion, in the diligence, in the faith sense of religious. And, it's the honesty of our actions that make us beautiful. Yes, black as a people is the duality of being the most masterful warrior battling an equally masterful warrior - self. And, yes black as a people is a love-hate relationship with the world. Still, the African-African American-Afro American-Negro-Black contribution to this world is amazing. So, please do not only give thanks, receive thanks. You are due . . .

(listen to La's Spoken Word: 'Black Snow'

by entering author comment link on sidebar)

how beautiful it would be, if black snow fell from the sky
i see myself running through it to catch every drop

To the right, the Ebony Blaze of Black Rose
Swelled with majestic petals, whose mystic equal the moon's
Inhale her until dew moistens your consciousness,
crystallizing each thought into a flake of Black Snow

each flake falls in my heart, an essential drop of my soul
each flake the fate of a brother or sister, who has come or gone

To the left is not what is left at all
But what is more
Shimmering shadows of boundless men, whose eyes
tell more stories than each thread of the finest linen

the men I love,they have soiled their garb, they scorn their crowns
and, my sisters, they don't recognize the true fabric of their gowns

Overwhelmed is all that can come from this Divine Union

we are so strong, yet we don’t know
Nah - I mean, no

outside conscious possibility/in the realm of unknown possibility/energy is infinite. blindness is its kissing cousin. shut your eyes, pawn your mouth + all will be known + achievable

life is hard. every day i wonder why one mo’again. life + i are twins. when i walk, my heel meets the dirth. my frame muzzles through light. my head bows only 2 the natural, unexpected smiles; eyes, pulling; a child passionate 4 quenched curiosity. this is when i bow, relieved. good peppers my path. i need only notice

shift

call upon the earth + she honors presence with one-seventh her lot

call on the wind + he carries with him

call out 2 fire + chaotic poetry of the universe sautees a heated discussion with my pen

energy leisures, waiting 4 a sign. say it, simply. think it, clearly. wish it, in prayer. it hears. i hear. it has sought my request longer than i will ever know. point is, now I know

searching 4 it, i remained chained at the back of the bus. didn’t even walk on – was dragged on, chained + left 2 soak. strangers stop awhile, visually inquiring. water bubbles bounce from my towel. doors held from the moment i noted my intent 2 enter, exit – 2, 3, a couple bodies later. my towel is damp. midgets + munchkins; old folks + pom poms, watching a while, smiling, some sharing her or his view. my towel crawls from water. ticking meters, extra helpings, designed designs. Another towel please. it has always been with me, dipping your view in seven air

spiritual

i use 2 skip. my father would walk straight. he knew i saw him + i would follow, but in my own way. i would skip along, wait awhile, skip some more. cartwheels. hop scotch. the path was little fun without some twist

i was spiritual by conception. my energy a visual cue of everything. orange, yellow, both in shades of mahogony, illuminating from my skin. flesh is no longer my spiritual house. some pass spliffs 2 reach a level of being spiritual. my mind, my body intertwine 2 create me

destiny

one day i couldn’t skip any more. skinned my knee

no more leading by example. role models, alternate. we traded walks 4 talks. mincing words until the spirit of the conversation is less + less pre-meditated, my time. poured from the inside, a large craft of sappy vinegrette. no organs, just over-well done potential

but then, well done is the objective

Sunday? No, I don’t work on Sunday. Hell, I won’t keep company who is too business-inclined on Sunday

‘Come Day
Go Day
God Send Sunday’

Sunday was the only day slaves could look forward to. Otherwise, the field stretched from one end of the earth to the other, day in and day out, season after season with a half-day off saturday – perhaps

A whole day off Sunday

‘Cept fo Sunday, the day never really ended. Twenty-four hours is a whole lot’a time to tangle with keeping ones distance from ‘impudence.’ On the other, it is a whole lot’a time to be taking from the management – more properly pronounced 'surviving'

yes, lord

Hell, I don’t like using a broom. Be down on my hands and knees, fingers plucking up crumbs of this and bits of that. Brooms seem too sacred for sweeping. They more like tools for union than means for separation

I lack answers to a heep of questions – asked and not

But I know not to work on Sunday

2006-11-16T10:20:00.000-05:00

protest the use of black

black friday, thursday, wednesday, tuesday; black july; black market; black spring; black comedy; black list; black sheep; black mail; and, the misnomers - black magic, black propaganda; black death

choose your insult, and trust fact that the use of black is not just about pigment levels. . .zorro should be insulted; philanthropic, power-pin stripe, dark suit wearers should be insulted; better yet, any one who has seen the beauty of black on a stallion, in decor, above dusk, from nature . . . should be insulted

still, it can't be ignored that the strongest buying power enjoys 'bed & breakfast' in the pockets of people of color. specifically, the estranged descendants of slaves. and therefore, the insult is both implicit and explicit

black is an ethnicity; a race; a genealogical historic event; a friend; a lover; a re-defining survival guide

protest the use of black because its users have options - other words, phrases - and they opt to use this direct implication of a people, and indirect result of generations of sub-perior existence and miseducation

ok, so how

~ do not shop on the busiest shopping day of the season

~ call it and ask others to call it 'the busiest shopping day'

~ start a black fund and deposit money for use at HBCUs

~ wear all black and always be polite, helpful and courteous

~ write complaints to news editors, public officials and stores

~ get the black is beautiful era proclaimed a natural resource

~ teach and demonstrate to children about the power of words

2006-11-09T17:42:00.000-05:00

: n. v.t. 1, grant; give; restore 2, regret; reflect; station 3, said; written; cease; replace; accept

the forgiveness ~ apology dichotomy is so involved that it is a simple understanding - to owe is to give. forgive & apology are inverse footway on the path of order. path, as opposed to road, because paths are earthly and universal/order, as opposed to peace or union or. . .because order is objective and yielding

ok, so. what to do, what to say, what to feel, how to live when you are deserving. do nothing. say nothing. feel nothing. nothing that takes away from who, what you are, and how you live is never a direct regurgitation of external influences. at least, this is the goal. don't hijack the pulpit. let the debtor deal with it

it is not excusable, but it is human nature that some of us pretend & ignore, acting like nothing happened, hoping to go on like nothing happened...that some of us wait, wating for the 'right' time, and half of waiters honestly expect to while the other half look for and use any reason not to...that some of us jump, jumping at any opportunity to...that some of us delay, delaying half of the time to honestly do it and the other half of the time delaying to force someone else to...then there are those who wade, wading in the slightest 'over' they believe they have . . .

ignoring the appropriateness - appropriate, as opposed to necessity, because appropriate offers common courtesy - of an apology/of forgiveness . . . waiting to forgive/to apologize . . . jumping . . . delaying . . . wading . . . forgiveness, apology - they are equally misunderstood. still, however the face of forgiveness, the face of apology makes the appearance, that appearance is satisfactory perhaps but likely tolerable . . .

sad, but true, time is an it's anyone's guess ally

and since it is only in humility that participants step center of the path, surpise is absent on floating holiday for the news that resolution of it all is for, is about the giver. never the recipient. giver, as opposed to recipient, because giving forgiveness, because giving an apology is complete in and of the sincerity of itself. the recipient's reaction can not be controlled

however, the intention of the giver remains intact

2006-11-02T00:38:00.000-05:00

hustle as a living

It is hard enough living check to check - at least you can plan on and around a paycheck. But to awake with the precise necessity to find, execute and profit from a job. . . it brings new meaning to this job is killing me. Still, people live like this. Whether sun or rain. Whether willing or unwilling customers, bosses. People make hustle an occupation and spend themselves in the labors of the field

I've seen it. I've done it. We feel it and hear it. Walk away from it. Weep in it. . .We hate it. We trust it. We live and die and get locked up by it. . . It is our miracle manifest and our embarrassment exposed

Hustle is one of the phenomena that transcend. . .

. . . from the guitar plucking man in a weathered suit jacket, his voice strained but entertaining, singing at corners on campus - $1,500/mo at least. . .the family dollar cart pulling, garbage bag clad dread, collecting bottles to build dollars from cents - one hundred dollars in a day or twos time. . .the seller of desktop burnt CDs and basement dyed tees. . .date for dinner. . .coupons. . .check books balanced to let odd dollars compile. . .dollar tree

. . . from bulk bought incense and oils. . .marijuana packaged small and, Him willing, smoked tall. . .the yearly cam-recording of Juneteenth. . .still shots of night life sold for $5 or $10 bills. . .the lottery. . .casinos. . .platonic connections to off-the-books house cleaning gigs. . . Âround the way hair braiders, baby sitters. . .church-sponsored chicken dinners. . .fish fries. . .and sunday morning fishing. . . to skimming and outright criminal profiteering

Yes. We, people, all people, know how to get money. Because we love to spend it. Because we have to spend it. Our society is built on an old, gender biased structure with male head of household, woman at home in Sibleys or Sears or General Store fabric-sewed clothes, perfect course dinners and parental controlled snacks. . .No depression. . . No obesity. . . No right out stupidity-fueled competition

Sad thing is many homes have two partners and only one with a steady - though never 100% reliable - paycheck. Sad thing is if that paycheck is 100% reliable it equates to the non flexibility and minus generosity of the job. Sad thing is the other partner often has no choice other than to hustle because society has put in place incessant andasininee policies and procedures - spoken, inked and otherwise practiced that loop hole them into no opportunity for growth or betterment within the system

And, so we exist - either alone or with partner on virtually one income, while we - alone or with partner struggle with the demands of long days. . .physical and mental and emotional fatigue. . . always pushing forward in a society that is increasingly more expensive to live in. . .in a society that increasingly challenges any sense of union and civility we grip to trying to push forward

Hustling for a living is a fortifier. True. Hustling as a living is a betraying blade. True.

Hustle as a living is necessary, and almost always part of the hustle is we live on a budget of sacrifice, binge discipline and prayer. . .

2006-10-26T11:10:00.000-04:00

call a physician if the erection is 4 hours or longer

it was a male voice-over, it was a serious undertone,

it was the funniest shit to hear

this product is selling sex
specifically, penis erection

this product is selling fidelity
specifically, no need to cheat

this product is selling youth
specifically, hardly ever too old

this product is selling health
specifically, hardly ever too sick

this product is selling passion
specifically, desire it & get it

were they trying to be funny...they must know men claim they can 'go all night'...they can't not know women want men to 'go all night'...they have to understand solid meat is welcome over loose talk...

4 hours or longer isn't an issue unless it's a non functioning beef bar...because who cares if it's hard if it don't work...it makes you wonder if when that famous rocker stated engaging his wife in sexual intercourse for double digit sessions...based on some meditative or ancient higher-conscious technique...did those numbers involved down time or playing around time or water breaks...did those numbers include ejaculation or was it all pleasure in expectation...

4 hours or longer isn't an issue unless men truly prefer to get in and out...unless the lady friend is frigid...unless possibly the longer its hard the greater the chance for petrification or some other hardening-based malfunction that can result in loss of the penis...unless possibly the collective mind of men has decided that to re-introduce and re-establish 4 hours or longer would be the death of generations of elimination of 4 hours or longer...and, in kind the comeback of female gratification as the foundation of a harmonious society...

this product is selling happiness...this goofy voice-over is a happy buzz kill...why limit everyone's happiness to the happiness prescribed to the subjects of controlled-environment stats...case studies have fallen from favor and this shit ain't right...if ever a case study is warranted, it is in 4 hours or longer...so,

if the erection lasts longer than the mutual desire to admire the erection and all parties have been to sleep and up again without further intent to admire the erection - then, call a physician

2006-10-19T16:07:00.000-04:00

lying is the worst of it

and, for both the liar and the lie-ee it negates all bonds and binds as 'cover story'

whether truth or not

this is a sad disservice because it is not all cover story. it is not all a lie. but. the credibility of the butterfly effect is first to the scene, holding the biggest number in the shortest line up of usual suspects

so true. it is hard to tell the lie. so true. it is hard to be lied to. both liar and lie-ee relive the innocence of it, the betrayed innocence of the words, actions, results, after the truth is out. both grapple with questions

questions gurgle untapped emotion trying to determine and place respect and value. respect of self and others. value of self and of others

the liar feels.......

the lie-ee feels.......

.......devalued and disrespected

...because he has not been being hisself...because she has not been being herself. whether willing v. willingly or not. because she didn't have an option or the opportunity to be herself...because he didn't have an option or the opportunity to be hisself. whether willing v. willingly or not

despite the publicly stated 'majority' consensus that it is about the it of you. it's not

it is about you not checking the box when you were required to. it is about you being honest, and not honest as an out of options option. it is about you being honest and allowing the he or she or they to be honest with self and you about how it reacts inside to out. it isn't an it nor anyone's fault. it just is what it is - regardless of reaction

once this - truth and truth's reaction - is accepted as the issue, this article is easily about being gay...being biracial...having a criminal record...being an ex-obese...having an addiction...or any other of countless things we are or have or were or.......

- and not ignoring or pretending or lying, but being yourself

2006-10-12T17:54:00.000-04:00

sour compliment

shock therapy is more vicious than the teens riding wee over a cliff oblivious in pcp video. and. shock therapy is high and on the rise. it does not involve planned attention on behalf of its victims. it starts with a huh, that's not right and is quickly escalated into terrible scarring and disbelief

identity theft is a sour compliment
identity theft is, yes, shock therapy
identity theft is too common, too financially rewarding, too reckless to plan for,
too shawl-wrapped in likeness to discover, too damn binding to get out of,

too old & yet too new to define

who was the first. the first predator. the first victim. the first co or corp caught in the financial-obligation hell of it

did it, . . . like the a-bomb . . . or the internet . . . or the comic industry . . . begin with covert national security/political intent or was it started in malicious prey on the masses - actually, there was nothing different or separate in those statements . . . so

is identity theft the bastard spawn of corner store credit, or 'the joneses' mentality, or basic I need an escape predicament

it's hard to believe someone got up one day and decided to bleed another's good name, another's good credit, another's reputation, another's budding credit, another's death or immobility or naivete . . .

it's just hard to believe this started out all bad

but, then - we are a prey or be preyed existence

2006-10-05T11:30:00.000-04:00

corporate dress codes

these codes were invented after women and people of color joined the work force. they had to be. before women and people of color there were only white men. . .the clothing industry was largely necessity driven. . .jobs were each cut and dry. . .tailors were employed by legacies . . . the rest of the masses weren't working with much money . . .

corporate was on the arrival. . . so, certainly dress codes weren't formalized

still, corporate dress codes are probably the oldest and most endearing characteristic of modern progress. passed down generation through generation by the 'good ole boys' quest for immortality. they got it, and they earned it - although ways and means aren't this article's discussion

this is about the jeckle and hyde of corporate dress codes

corporate dress codes are getting stricter while simultaneously going extinct. domestic business, international business, business-in-a-person business, the opportunities in business are limitless. it manifests in electronic signals, and industries are built on it. it is a marathon of the most 'professional,' and established date does not factor in. because, on cue, life demands balance

balance is what telecommunications does

so now corporate dress codes = corporate text codes. yes, with complementary images, lively personable testimonials, and a catchy logo or phrase sprinkled throughout. but, mostly writing it well will mitigate the need for most anything else. truly. after which, you need only follow through, honor your word, or pack up and destroy all evidence and links fast enough

it's scary and exciting is a loose exchange of words, but it's exciting. corporate text codes allow any shower-want, cereal at the monitor eating body to pull off multi-million dollar presence. no interviewer-biased interviews, glass ceilings or petty office shenanigans

progress is deeeeeelicious

2006-09-28T07:28:00.000-04:00

why

who decided we, we females, need to be responsible for this

specifically, why is there a 'female' condom

condom: a device, usually made of latex, or more recently polyurethane, that is used during sexual intercourse; a device put on the male partner's penis for the purpose of preventing pregnancy and or transmission of sexually transmitted diseases

and, re: 'female condom' wikipedia states:

recently 'female condoms' or 'femidoms' have become available - they are larger and wider, but equivalent in length; they have a flexible ring-shaped opening, and are designed to be inserted into the vagina, containing an inner ring which aids insertion and helps keep the condom in place inside the vagina

...hasn't it been kept in place since egyptian penises 3,000 years ago - or, at very least, since the rubber condom came in 1855...

sales of female condoms have been disappointing in developed countries. probable causes for poor sales are that inserting the female condom is a skill that has to be learned and that female condoms can be significantly more expensive than male condoms - 2 to 3 times the cost

ok, so

we're - meaning females - conditioned to stay home - be it feast or famine - until the mister brings home the bread and bacon;

then, because the country has no other choice, we're allowed to work; and, still the subject of sex, money and power,

we're expected to exist inferior while working superior, and now purchase and insert this 'condom,' which, in doing so, validates their - meaning men - belief that women's lib/equality of the sexes = male insolence

this really isn't about self protection; it isn't about the pregnancy/vulnerability stigma; it is not about the pimping of ignorance or capital'bility

this is about principle

both the 'male' and female' condom are made for the penis, and claims that the 'female' condom is designed for the vagina is hogs'wash (its ONLY bigger, and bigger for a very dimension-definitive cavity, mind you)

a penis in the pants puts your lazy ass in possession of the power to protect it

and, just because i simply can't not say anything about it, the 'female condom' is expensive, the male condom is available at every other corner, for free

enough already: if he can't take moments to get it or to put it on, he doesn't deserve p*ssy - leave him to be his own problem

2006-09-21T19:55:00.000-04:00

red snapper

spot it: pink to red all over, whitish belly, long triangular snout, anal fin sharply pointed

similar catch: vermilion snapper, R. aurorubens

fish it: way out in the continental shelf; bountiful in south and middle Florida

scale it: up to 20 pounds

boat banter: the young ones are often near sandy or mud bottoms, and are often caught in shrimp trawls; the older ones can dodge tight lines for more than 20 years, and get as tastey as 35 pounds

that's nothing like me - though, sadly so
experience life with an avid fisherman; you'll appreciate the shortcoming
. . .someth'n of wide water, weighty line, gentle nibbles and masterful tug . . .

let's just admit it: a woman, no woman is equal to 'that' catch. . .
women are 'a' catch, but lose the intrigue after the pocket knife slices her line from the pole, after she is packed precisely with ice, and most certainly after he gets her home

meanwhile, these creatures - whose voice is and never will be heard; these creatures - whose personality extends no further than the amount of water-less breaths it insists upon; these creatures - who require no expansion of mental skill of conquer to conquer, remain the boasted 'catch' discussion for men-lives

and, so
what can a woman learn from these creatures. not just red snappers, all fish. what can a woman learn from these worm-, shrimp-, cricket-, corn-hooked creatures . . .

be his latest, greatest catch, perhaps . . .but how do you get the new-ness of the catch to last forever . . .doesn't seem likely

ok, well, possibly:
shelve the deep fryer for longer periods of time - you can't be 'that' catch
you can loosen your line in his hand, and allow him to think he reels you in

besides, this cooks down to boat banter - give him something to boast about

2006-09-14T09:31:00.000-04:00

gone wireless

and now, let us pray thank thee lord for the wireless bra. . .i had one good underwire bra. . .and it was a good one, snug fit, great uplift, cute design for wear-to-show flexibility. . .it was good to me until it went bad. . .i remember that day, 7:13 am, the sharp pang in my chest, rushing back to the restroom, lifting my shirt. . .the under wire was no longer under. . .surely i could have died. . .underwire is actually wire, under the fabric. . .thick wire. . .rounded, but sharp nonetheless edges. . .and , well, god, you know all this . . .

so i just need to add that i know you know what's in my heart, and i appreciate your blessings and know your will is being done - thank you for cosmetic technology, amen

i don't own one, but i have tried on a water-filled. it was like new discovered identity. and it felt good. it was soft, flowing, demanding without being conspicuous or frumpy. it conformed to me

the underwire pulled and squished. it was nice. because even though it literally pulled you, it created the image of more. for me, a negative cup, more meant empty boob pockets. that's what you get from an underwire with nothing to under. you create pockets where the boobs should be

the right top keeps it hush, still. water-filleds. strap on, jiggle off. don't pinch skin to get water in; don't pinch bra and keep water in. i must own 1. i hate that the water-filled and i strapped into a kinship, and then i left it. i just can't bring myself to pay $30.00 - again - for the illusion of boobs

yes. boobs. not breasts. i have breasts. they function, well enough, anyways. but boobs. boobs are a lifestyle. i am tired of not needing a bra and wearing one because society says it's proper. i am tired of looking through the window (by flipping through mag pages) seeing the lifestyle

it is hard being reminded every day that your temple side notes a pop store when a super walmart showcase is just $30.00 removed

on the other hand, it is hard to explain he's here on credit, and the credit doesn't exist - or at least, it mostly exists in my top drawer

2006-09-07T10:09:00.000-04:00

animal rights

pasha was a great friend to me - if i was angry, she was angry; if i was sad, she would kiss me, gently stroking her warmth over my state of missing. pasha kept me company for years, rode the coast-tagged states with me to fresh beginnings and helped me learn about myself in seeing my character reflected in hers

pasha died january 23, 2006

i awoke to a thumb from her room, where I found her slumped and grave responsive. tears caked the fur at the meeting of her eye lids. her fur was matted, and I hate to think she didn't get to lick her coat shiny smooth after the last night's bath. but she didn't. i hate to think she suffered through the night. i know she did

i sat with her from 8 something that am until our 7-year companionship ended in her last breath about 8 pm. i dressed her pound, grey, black-tipped bunny body in the new yellow gap pet sweats that awaited her shiny smooth. tommy, her step dad, buried pasha in the back yard. it was cold and wet. i remembered introducing her to snow. she hadn't liked it

when i got pasha she fit a little less than my palm. even at that tiny existence, she was stubborn with spirit. we had a lot in common. and, i miss her still. i wish we could spend another hour, for my apologies. i didn't have the good sense to apologize to her. i was content to hold her, make her comfortable, bless her soul and its safe union with the others i miss

i owe her apologies. in our last 2-3 years, pasha spent too much time in the cage. it was a two-story loft from her step dad. still, it had bars. not all day, but most. our change of residence, my personal and professional obligations and distractions. pasha was no longer allowed free roam of the front room. her nails were clipped less often and her fur trimmed infrequently

i had forgot to scratch behind her ears. i still popped her back side to encourage her to jump and exercise. i didn't realize she was getting old. I thought we had at least another 3 years. i stopped running circles around her, then letting her run circles around me. we had fun. then, we got familiar and changed playmates to seasoned companions. attuned to each other's quirks and predictabilities

pasha wasn't an animal

she was a commitment. she was a personality. she was a friend. she had rights and privileges. and, although i failed to honor them with the vigor of our youth, i knew she had and deserved them. so, while i don't personally know the personalities animal rights advocates voice for - i know they have and deserve rights, too

2006-08-31T20:13:00.000-04:00

retribution

reparations. / minimum wage. the idea as a solution, as an apology, as a leveler, as an and the understanding, as a truce - or worse, as a 'let us let the past be done and gone' is an insult

who has the trust of the numbers. who decides the figures. what are the guidelines for the calculations. what relation do the numbers have to self worth, to sacrifice, to loss and x factors, such as assassination of home structure, estranged family concepts and practices, genocide, insolent tendencies

who can live on the deathening modesty of such short zeroed checks. who would be asked, fairly, to live with the short reconciliation of it. why create a false sense of hope in establishing a minimum wage. why create a false sense of hope in issuing reparations checks. it's too easy to accommodate an experience as null and void within the limits of these checks

besides, money spends quick

free wage. / life wage. / well living monetary scholarship. / well living grant. / citizen stipend. / surefoot bill. the name the photo opps coin to it doesn't matter, as long as it - it being a step or two better than reparations and minimum wage - does the following:
-provide weekly check to all members of the population from birth to death,
-free education of choice thru successful completion of undergrad school,
-free health care for all needs & some cosmetics through burial or cremation
and, -continuous citizen discounts on unessential but 'yes, you've earned it' items
along with, -complimentary packages for life events, such as birth or other addition of a child, marriage, first home, bevearement, first vehicle, etc cetera

not just blacks, holocaust survivors, bosnian refugees - every one

although. not to be born or premature death would not entitle citizens and would be citizens to 'trievable monetary and material compensation. therefore, most certainly. america would not be entitled to reimbursements of monetary and material compensation en route or obtained without fraud. / new citizens would not be entitled to back-monetary and -material compensation

so, once born or get date-stamped citizenship papers, or system notes the divorce or the addition to the family, blah blah blah . . . the check is in the mail. the material goods are on the way

the start of very measurable, tangible and reliable support and encouragement begins

there are no economic guidelines. there are no menial-based penalties. get a job, work, learn, explore yourself, the world and life, and never will the very measurable, tangible, reliable support and encouragement be taken away. let it accumulate or splurge it

america still provides you the right to choice

2006-08-24T20:24:00.000-04:00

resumed fat

. . . has also the alias 'scraps, un-scrapped.' describes as fallen but swallowed. brags as escape - into re plate . . .

resumed fat = food descends from mouth back to plate, shuffles in the flow of nourishment and re-presents for consumption, successfully

there's nothing wrong with this. it was in your mouth. it got out of your mouth. returned to the fork race. and, you, waste conscious, eat it - not intruding the pettiness of its failed flight

resumed fat = the fullest perpetuation of self actualization, self expressed and self serenaded and self thumbing anyone cringing and shrieking on a public statement of self alienation

there's something about eating ones own droppings, about recycling re-edibles out of oral crevices, about finishing what you started with intent only to be thorough, that is charming. not charming how an air-freshening toast is. certainly charming how the sincerity behind it is. certainly charming how the courage to entertain freshening the air is. certainly charming how braving the checklist of cons to freshen the air is. certainly charming how becoming the poster child is

and, still

the special thing about resumed fat is that it has nothing to do with self, every thing to do with the intricacies of inhibition's tease. and, somehow. in this precise instance, self and inhibition are iconic twins. both are the bridge. the bridge to the well's opening. the bridge to the road sign directing to the well's opening. the bridge on which is the first step toward the road sign directing to the well's opening. and the well's opening, not the well, is the prize. the prize is the prayer . . .

the prayer is resumed fat, founded on sighted faith, begging lord bless this to be enough

2006-08-17T13:54:00.000-04:00

headache dreams

. . . are the dreams that test

you wake up and your head feels like its been water logging. your body is stiff and slow to cooperate. there's an eeriness to this wakefulness. and, you know it is the lingering dark tone of your dream. but, you can't remember its craziness

headache dreams

. . . are not the subconscious stuff dream translation guides are made of. you could formulate logical correlations and symbolisms from the wacky pillow filler details you manage to pluck from the fuzziness. you could concentrate and think the whole course of confusing r.e.m. events into your wakeful state. you could give weight to the blanked out images that rendered your body near petrified. only, its best not. the lingering eeriness tells you all you need to know

headache dreams

. . . are you, subconsciously, taking all the stress and pressures, and dumping. they are the reflexive, defense-mechanized attempt to purge your system. you don't need this. you don't want this. your body hides within itself and welds into the sheet prints to avoid this. your subconscious throws the stress and pressure and confusion and disappointment and 'i fucking wish you woulds' in an open fist slam hoping the fall is breaks of un-mendable pieces. you, awake, are curious

that's far more than you should be

that curiosity will have you ponder and rationalize and puzzle work the very things every other part of you knows needed to be shredded. every other part of you got rid of it. and, here you are - trying to get it back

2006-08-10T11:19:00.000-04:00

dirty socks

this is not funny. the way you treat your socks is a direct reflection of how you live and the best indication of where your life is going. and, your dirty socks say nothing about where you have been. true your past is their identity. still, what's telling is that you choose to keep wearing them

dirty socks

some feet wear their socks until all color is battered in catatonic cloth, until messy little unthinkables are welded by pressure of disregard, and, until it is embarrassing only to witnesses. the feet wearing them are conditioned to this madness, naturally, nothing is amiss

dirty socks

when you step into someone's home and are asked to remove your shoes, there's an understanding. the understanding: shoes carry more filth of unknowns and unsuspecteds than socks; in removing shoes you are entering with a clean to cleaner footing. basic understanding

it is never understood that inside your shoes, that attached to your feet is indescribable repugnance. and, heaven help us if you are asked to remove your socks. the necessity of this request is embarrassing - for everyone tuned in. and, it's scary- can your feet possibly be clean

dirty socks

your feet are not clean means your path is not clean. you knowingly soil your blessing of movement to anything better means you knowingly sabotage the movement to your future. footing on heels enveloped in filth means approaching life and future on disheveled ground

dirty socks = schools or wedding chapels or birthing centers built on unsettled burial ground

very bad foundation

2006-08-03T08:55:00.000-04:00

notice; appreciate

so much goes on around us, it is hard to consume it all. still, how hard can it be to notice some one smiling. and, appreciating it is as simple as a smile response. this is the most basic example

no words have to be exchanged. no hidden agendas have to be unearthed. no compelling season flings or soul mate connections or long run friendships are necessary. just notice. just appreciate

how about free. free used to be a welcome gem. free has become a victim to the 'tricky introduction' impression. context seldom matters. we just don't believe some thing costs us zip

then there's consideration. holding doors. picking up dropped pieces. asking 'are you ok' or 'do you need help' or 'need a hug' and lots of other strings of words that mean nothing more than that one person is sympathetic, compassionate, un-vestedly concerned enough to ask and listen. so much goes on around us, it is hard to consume it all. still, how hard can it be to notice some one is noticing, to notice that some one is trying to appreciate your feelings and circumstance, how hard is it to notice that some one - possibly a stranger - is willing to listen, willing to care

a theory: weather - either too cold or too hot, but theoretically equally effective in distancing

a theory: crime - either physically or non physically damaging, but just the same victimizing

a theory: competition - either external or internal, none the less pressuring and keeping score

my theory: we mostly notice and mostly don't appreciate - we 1) deserve and those who don't deserve 2) believe we are due more, better. why bother with small stuff when we expect grander. grander is not the same as more. by grander, we literally anticipate big values, we figuratively step over hundreds, thousands of coins expecting bills to be waiting elsewhere

maybe the cashier got the form of payment wrong

maybe the bills are only administered in coins

it isn't exactly safe walking around with big bills

2006-07-27T13:40:00.000-04:00

why is it necessary to have this discussion

the elderly and driving tests

this discussion is ridiculous; the solution is simple, and, as usual, simple is too much to trust in

solution:
1) create a series of uniform tests
six is good to start, establish a committee to update these tests as demanded by time and experience, make each test distinctive, make each test half written and half road test, require a 100 percent score on the road half of the test or at the very least make certain motor vehicle violations automatic 'fail' score triggers. in addition to obvious positives, this minimizes complaints about taking the same test and 'pass' scores per memorization issues

2a) make it mandatory for every valid driver to be re-tested every 10 years for the first 30 years driving. this equates to just 3 re-tests for the first 30 years driving. most drivers will be in the late 40s or early 50s in age when the next phase of tests is effective. for the next phase, make it mandatory that every valid driver be re-tested every 3 years for the rest of their life.

2b) impress upon the medical communities and all pertinent collaborators the importance to report drivers who pose threats. no doctor-patient privilege issue, reports can be made without revealing patients' files. impress upon these collaborators the grave license, financial and et cetera consequences for not reporting threats. have, and, without hesitation, impose appropriate consequences.

in addition to obvious positives, this minimizes complaints of age-ism and shares the burden of identifying, monitoring and handling hazardous drivers

3) no questions; no leniency; let people whine and bitch and say what they feel - as long as they take the mandatory test at the mandatory time

one culture requires drivers to re-test every 50 years, which typically equates to just one visit to the lemonade-stand size dmv after the initial driver's license test. this is too much, a lot can happen in months - forget about 50 years. this culture provides a license plate with purchased vehicles. yes, do this. if people want a personalized plate, let'em put it on the front of the car, as long as the back has the authority-issued plate. if not feasible, have plate drop offs and automated machines can scan the plates and remit a receipt, with the refunds et cetera to follow via confirmation blah blah blah from some far off office. or, have self-serve spots where people can do everything, including get their refund and be done with it

this issue isn't necessarily about the elderly and driving

honestly, there are the epileptics, the emotionally distraught, the joy-riding kids, the hormonally compromised, and others who are just as threatening behind the wheel as the age-induced, faculties compromised drivers. in general, the elderly are together mentally and physically thanks to better quality of life while some younger folk are not together no thanks to impoverished quality of life

there are valid arguments on each side, and there are more than two sides in the argument

this discussion is about antiquated systems handling progressive society, let the system go

2006-07-20T12:41:00.000-04:00

my bleeding pen

doesn't bleed all the time. sometimes the blood rushes through hot and thick. bleeding is more convenient/bleeding is more sympathetic/bleeding is more humane/hot and thick is just mean

mean gets realizations
mean gets limited options
mean gets things done

mean is a certain culture conducting a study that found 30 percent of its female population is willingly childless and then a study representative publicly labeling those females as not normal

mean isn't convenient/mean isn't sympathetic/mean isn't humane/but it is effective

similar statements have been made before/and, since then females have increased and solidified their independence and right to choice/females have since fondly caressed the convenience, the sympathy, the humanity of modern science/ironic/perhaps if (some) males state publicly the opposite of what they think, females would eventually digress to Mrs. Cleaver/freedom of speech is nice/still, males should be banned from commenting on issues that fundamentally concern females/tempted to share a thought about postpartum depression, males should experience a jolt of electricity/tempted to drop a joke about her monthly, males should experience a nail piercing through the palm/tempted to say out loud anything for which they have not and will not ever experience as a law of nature, males should be physically punished in an immediate thought altering manner/they can think about these things, but never in such a way that anyone can determine their thoughts/they can think about these things, but never as a discussion group/they can think about them, but be required by law to never act on these thoughts

it is the equivalent of discussing the meaning of life or the formula for happiness/you can think about them and discuss them, but why/there are no real answers/you only end up offending or hurting or omitting someone/maybe males romanticize their role in the existence of females when entertaining these kind of thoughts/maybe/but ultimately it is a waste/females have come into their own/and/well/males should get over it

2006-07-13T08:50:00.000-04:00

(dig ni-te) n.
is the earning or the expectation of personal respect or of esteem

(nu dig ni-te) n.
involves maintaining the expectation of personal respect or

of esteem during and after non personal forces have and

expect external and superficial qualities of you

new dignity wears an old coat - not ratty or anything, just worn

New Dignity

understands its position is contingent on the past. it's a little like how pleasant pretty girls, who weren't always viewed as pretty, continue to be pleasant after they are viewed as pretty because the prettiness is a current position, while pleasant is a coat. and the coat has been worn so long it fits great

New Dignity

is thankfully simpler than this. it only requires being good friends with your positive qualities. it only requires staying in touch with those good friends - through giggly teas, lengthy emails, spa dates, phone diaries, any communication smothered in your warmth and genuineness. it only requires complementing and complimenting yourself

New Dignity

when you have it, see it or hear about it, appreciate what you are witnessing

2006-07-06T12:06:00.001-04:00

crinkled pages are the juiciest

these sheets have slabs of meat and sploches of gravy and chunks of potatoes and the un cooked down ingredients of crisp pages. the deduction of filler for substance, trampled sensibility and vent poured in the heat of initial cravings that is juicy. crinkled pages do not care about appearances. these sheets don't care about results. these sheets wad into the trashing of honesty

crinkled pages

they say honesty has no place in court. they say opinion has no seat on the bench. they say rulings are a matter of law, law jargonized and meticulously spelled out and law adopted per past judgments. they say the bible has no place on the step-up. they say a lot of things

court, law, rulings and judgments - this is human rationing of likelihoods and settling, eventually

crinkled pages

what meals would surface from the crinkled pages of court chambers, what nourishing compositions would scrape together from the crinkled pages of your honor's notepad. yes, these sheets are more apt to be shredded, and shredding them only enhances their succulence. in fact, I bet the drafts are chained in judges heads and their notepads are scrawled in third-round drafts that indicate nothing of the honesty and opinion and fallible ness ringing through them

crinkled pages

no, my draft wouldn't accuse judges of lying and conspiring and deciding world issues on individual biases. it does wonder if their crinkled pages, their first drafts give better insight on these socially sweeping decisions we are faced with as an existence and they decide as a small huddle. of course, we have some say in their position and the weight that position gives them. still, it is all just a popularity or just a loyalty or just an ignorance or just a spite contest

crinkled pages

somewhere it imparts that the disciplines interpreted differently jesus' messages from his father. that the disciplines had different communication styles for passing on the messages. already the messages are twice altered given this understanding. does it matter. should it matter. can it. no. if the message is the same, who cares that this one says it this way and that one passes it on that way. the results are the same. but, this is not the case. it wasn't then and it is not now. it is just a contest and the most riled and the most pushy and the most reputable win

2006-06-29T09:50:00.000-04:00

not with the flock

that's how creature's of emotion travel this world, in a cloud of clearing condensation that never seems to clear, not completely. there are pockets of clearings and we are so anxious for improvement that we mistake it for more than it's worth. condensation gingerly fades back in sight and we remember the plight of our conscious, we remember we have chosen to make something better, and we pray better comes, eventually. is the flock darwin's model specimen?

not with the flock

will get you killed, will leave you financially erupt, will make you bleed so that another doesn't have to, will do a lot that isn't very nice to go through or think about going through. so, where is the glory of being not with the flock. why bother if it only leaves you an outcast, persecuted and forgotten, isn't it ironic people remember the names and home towns and age and look and deeds of bad people, but vaguely refer to people of noble deeds, people who should be the subject of bedtime stories, the same people who are the crowds and unsigned letters in texts

not with the flock

that's what my bleeding pen is about, it is about caring, it is about saying the obscene and absurd so that maybe a light clicks for someone else somewhere who either does or doesn't have the means to make something better but who does, regardless, have the potential. maybe that potential will fight to get out some day. everything is in due time. it is hard to believe how emptiness, how tears, how sighs, how disappointment and pure sadness, makes a person grow on so many levels, makes a person more attuned and cautious, empowers a person to betterness

not with the flock

knows that every second of every day some one some where suffers, and knows that for each suffering there is at least one suffering that can and could be avoided. but, it can't be helped wondering if those who are in the flock eliminate and minimize suffering by automatizing consumption of suffering.

so, in other words,

some one some where suffers. that suffering can be avoided by sending money, sponsoring a visa, etc etc. instead, some one in the flock avoids more suffering by not indulging the suffering his or her self. not very direct for the source of the suffering. very direct for the ripple effect of suffering. very direct in ending the vicious cycle - well, ending the vicious cycle that would be adopting the compassion of suffering and sharing it

not with the flock may be a bit much, maybe being with the flock is sympathetic enough

2006-06-22T14:17:00.000-04:00

killing a person can't be a half-cooked notion. there is no nice or neat or thoughtful way to kill a person - regardless if the killing has the blessing of law. it is about the end, killing the person

medium red

execution is the proper phrase. this phrase is not accurately substituted by capital punishment. capital punishment sounds too removed, too polite. execution was not invented to be polite. the very nature of an execution is that it be brutal and it be painful. execution was invented primarily to deter crime and primarily for public retribution. society lacks the sense of cohesion of former times. still, society as a civil occurrence should not suffer because of it. yes, execution is civil. torture is not. this is where things are being confused. in bible times, the guilty were stoned, swift and thoroughly. torture would have been to stone them, limb by limb, cackling and dancing in the mist of the guilty's pain. taking pleasure in delivering each heavy, solid compound of judgment. execution is swift and thorough. mistakes do happen, royalty has endured several wacks before the executioner's blade got it right. this is an honest mistake, and the executioner did not stop but instead hastened his blows to end the pain. that's all execution is - ending the pain of the victim and of the victims' loved ones, and in rare cases, expediting the death of the guilty to achieve the decided retribution. the only 'issue' regarding execution is making sure it is as quick, cheap and easy as possible. clean needles, revolutionary tools, finances, mercy, born-again-ism - these have no weight. if they must have weight, abolish death as a penalty of law

medium red

society has evolved into a silly fantasy of politeness. and, society now thinks too much. honestly, society thinks too much. the only time an execution involves thought is when there are doubts about the guilty verdict. develop a truth serum. or. this is where honesty comes in. all judges, district attorneys, witnesses, victims, every body tell the truth. this will eliminate the need to second trials and stays and pardons postpartum. if resources are going to be tied up in making execution as painless and as sterile and as pretty as possible, then don't execute any one. in fact, don't tie up resources in taking care of the incarcerated. those who are no physical threat to society - send them to mind alteration. re-condition them and their thought processes and return them to society - monitored, of course. for the rest, find a drop off. drop all sexual offenders in one spot, let them learn of their error by victimizing each other. drop all drug dealers in another spot, let them learn of their error by making them witness the withdrawal experience of their victims. drop all murderers in their own spot, and let them kill each other. now, naturally, there are differences in murder status, so society must take care not to confuse murderers with self-defenders. drop necessities for growing food and leave them all to survive. maybe send audio recordings over air waves with constant broadcasts on how-to projects. they can listen and learn to make their clothes, build living spaces, master trades. drop them off respectively, and forget about them. have a fool-proof merit system in place for those who are candidates for rehabilitation. forget about the rest of them. every now and then check in from a distance, forward their mail, but assume and perpetuate absolutely no responsibility for them

immediately transfer the monies and other resources that were used for them to the public. give the public free healthcare and education, set up a reward system and award a car, a home, a job opportunity based on a myriad of accomplishments individuals achieve

medium red

execution is as crucial to social order as is adequate food and shelter. yes, every one has rights, but at some point, individuals' forfeit their rights. who cares if they are executed believing they are a martyr. that is the beauty of freedom of religion. finality is effect. and, honestly, the current system of execution is fine. it does not need refining. use the machines and ensure regular maintenance only, recycle the needles to get more for the money, use neckties and sheets from the lost and found to create hanging devices, throw common but toxic household fluids into their sealed room to suffocate them, do they really need or deserve a burial? do whatever will save money and time. it is, after all, about the end, killing them. otherwise, the law-abiding are being victimized while society tries to accommodate the criminals

2006-06-15T18:07:00.000-04:00

small black letters

these whisper wet combinations aren't used properly - why whisper about things that are issues in essence because they are not talked about. small-black-letter things that deserve whispering

gos·sip (go' sep)
n.

rumor or talk of a personal, sensational, or
intimate nature; a person who habitually spreads
intimate or private rumors or facts; trivial, chatty
talk or writing; a close friend or companion

intr.v. gos·siped, gos·sip·ing, gos·sips
to engage in or spread gossip

what deserves whispering. things like gossip. actually, gossip is the only thing. and, true. gossip is whispered, usually. small-black-lettering gossip strips the false power, the dirty dessert element. gossip is the semantic equivalent of pastry and pudding; if the gossip is true, others' keeping the experience alive in distant words is unnecessary. we are full, and still, we eat dessert - it is there, and we can. gluttony of I know something about you and can't wait to tell

arguing gossip builds community is creative. how can something that destroys an individual build a group of individuals. how can anyone engage in gossip without destroying a bit of self

probably the only valid argument for gossip is the honing of oral communication skills. this involves intricate multi-tasking of thinking and motor abilities. it involves persuasive non verbal cues and charisma. it involves enhanced interpretation and regurgitation skills. it involves improvisation and paraphrase, and predictions based on the assumed facts. it involves - masters possess and exercise this quality - catharsism and a logical, eager flow of historical tidbits

arguing gossip promotes a pursuit for truth in public debate is creative. gossip does not fact check, and something fundamentally hostile can not be classified a respectable position of debate

probably the only valid argument for gossip is it feels good. you have a thought. you let it drop. someone catches it mid fall. they run with it. the wind is blowing both of yours hair. the butterflies are clearing a path as your bodies twirl in the heart of the storm. and, it all feels lovely. you don't feel you, you feel the gossip. the gossip sends a surge of false power through you. you ride the surge until satisfaction or an empty tank leaves you huffy in spilled power

will power is what creates saints, angel like beings concerned and willing to fight for strangers' good names. but who wants to be a saint. none of us. sad point - we grow in the feast of gossip

in the feast. we know who has and wants and needs what. we know what we have, what we don't, what we need, what we want. in the feast. we grow. we grow because the world isn't the narrow corridor of our existence, there is something greater than us. despite the necessity of speaking on another's misfortune or jealous-drenched fortune, gossip serves a greater purpose of giving us something to discipline our time, effort and money toward, and - at the very least, it gives us a warning of things to discipline our time, effort and money to avoid

2006-06-08T07:54:00.000-04:00

Dust isn't always the culprit. Rust insists on appearances. Just enough appearances to keep up its legend. X amount of sightings, setting power in absence. Rust isn't always the method. Dust will trick rust into accomplice. Dust rolling away in collective recklessness. Flesh wasting away

Under cloak of invisible ongoings. Rust flaking away into unaware flesh. Both realizing itself. Each confusing itself in the mess of their meeting. Each pulling itself away, the one tweaking the other's descriptors, the two in realization one can no longer exist without the other

This is when rust settles in, somewhere. Finding itself in the spongy ambiance. Changing the genetics. Unintentionally, and undeniably, becoming apart of the degeneration. Neither is identifiable any longer. A new beast waking in the messy combination

Rusted readings
Ingredient labels don't tell much more than flesh, bone, and somewhat thinking being included - guaranteed. There is no conspiracy. The reading is just off. There is no genocide. The eyes just desire appropriate adjustment time. There is no homicidal influences. The others aren't involved

If this was about tobacco, inherent supremacy, mental illness, cultural tolerance, addiction, alcohol, social neglect, or any of a myriad of other conspiracy-, genocide- and homicide- based realities, the others would be involved. In involving the others, readings could only be accurate

Rusted readings

You rust your readings. Requiring the networking, the shallow discussions on classic topics disguised as novel pursuits. Settling ice your only reminder of where you are, of who you are, this time. The sound of a familiar voice decomposing structural soundness from the flesh out

You rust your readings. Networking with possibility selves, and about things you don't care about. Things you rather not be associated with, the same things you only have an association with. Dreaming of dreams come true, living scared to trash what you know for what you want

Rusted readings stomp on the grid, squeezing into the tiny crossed lines. Enter doors uninvited but uncontested, heads of households slapping themselves into crying fits for it to stop

Expecting dust to bring a new you created separate, not expecting mutant hybrid

You rust your readings

2006-06-01T19:46:00.000-04:00

Seducing coincidence . . .

Coincidence has footprints

Tracking them isn't likely

Stumbling on them happens

And, of course, then what . . .

Seducing coincidence is bedding foresight; Bedding anything means making intimacy; Making intimacy is walking fragile flooring; Fragile flooring compromises houses, homes; Houses, homes are built, torn down daily; Built, torn down daily, we deserve advantage - coincidence, seduced

a Story: Color is content
end Story: Content makes Color go on

Chipping and fading, Color goes on
Stripped and forgotten, Color goes on
Color maintains sense of self, always

Content is having the advantage of accepting now is good enough. And, so, where is this going

Aging - there is no treatment. It is not a disease. We all die. In dying, some live forever. In life, many die often and harshly. We can stumble on the footprints of coincidence, turn hapsy-chance into hog-tied pawn. We can whore humanity, pursuing false specifications for what humanity is. Yes, given the extent to which suffering has cornered the human experience market, we deserve advantage. Deserving it makes us more saintly, adds an aire of dignity to our portfolio

Seducing coincidence limits us in the domineering dimensions of greed, self is raped, dazed, we hoard delusions of body-bound immortality. Seducing coincidence can happen, but shouldn't

2006-05-25T14:15:00.000-04:00

He fell, or jumped, satisfied either way

She saw, or heard, both estranged in eccentric wreckage

Fixation on each other forcing fixation's definition to be several removed from respectability - its kissing cousin. Fixation, being the eldest, wiser to new traditions. Respectability fluid in versatility, making them equals

Eccentric wreckage

He probably fell, likely jumped - satisfied either way

She heard, premonitioned, both debris worn and willing

Both of them willing, in pursuit of a clear place. A place where debris is present, but in neat stacks off to the side or presentably piling near sheds, possibly tucked and decked into the decor

He went over - whether he fell or jumped; she, she leapt after him

Literally, no. In support, absolutely. In faith, that too. In hope, in prayer, yes and yes. In the belief that the leap is worth it, yup. In not knowing what she was doing, naturally. In if I don't some other Jane Doe will, most reasonably. In reciprocity, of course. Because to leap is human nature and to leap after another's leap is human tendency, ok

So, for whatever why, he leapt, she leapt, and now what

Eccentric wreckage

Stumble through the photogenic debris and find themselves

2006-05-18T11:58:00.000-04:00

Eventually, we get tired of my - we tire of our lives ruling us

Eventually, we get tired of bleeding - we tire of hurting, wondering

Eventually, we get tired of the pen - hushed strokes leaking reckless rambling

We tire of venting; wanting the final complaint, wanting exhausted slumber onto new days to weld doors shut. Needing it to stop, and actually stopping it, at least from exiting our mouths

Complaining does not satisfy us, anymore. Trying and not trying is with and without fulfillment. We straddle. Straddle blind stallions to salvation, hoping our aimless wandering ends us saved

People live like this. Safe in it because breathing is effortless

It is, until it matters

Hushed strokes don't stay hushed

They are seasonal, and conditional, and sometimes hushed strokes are best. Sometimes we need to go out in the world not caring, not knowing, just breathing and having breathing be effortless

Sometimes

Not always

2006-05-11T09:31:00.000-04:00

Sometimes we just need to burp

Get the gas out

Escape the suffocation of ourselves. Employ caricatures of embodiment to better rolodex self portraits. We know this. Well concealed, sometimes - out, nonetheless

Figuratively, it's the ravage of common and sensibility. Figuratively, out obliges the rise of common and the courtesy of sensibility. Literally, from false humanity. Literally, in defiance. Literally, in collusion, in masterful unison

Get the gas out

Children are. In their own space. In their own literary genres. Free from monitor and image consultants. Free from free in pressure to out out peers in defining a powerful whiff. Pubescent minds in misleading bodies. Usual suspects in soft shells. Deducing selves in out to mold identity

It is a war of pens

Both at advantage

Experience of time v. experience of time. Insight of age v. insight of age. Backing of cohorts v. backing of cohorts. Cover of society v. cover of society. Erasable ink v. erasable ink. Children are, after all, newer derivations of adults

Adults fib, the world impotent accessory to fairytales

Children pen a larger world. All dimensions. Score is not 1-children, 0-adults. Still. Children have a cohesive attack. Striking penetrable blows directly to adults, through themselves. Score is 0, 0. Each side wins forward movement in a losing battle

Pen wars - debris scarred pages drifting harmlessly, until read

Pen wars - debris scarred thoughts, harmful when left not spoken

Pen wars - debris scarred living, if adults can't admit gas, and get it out

Pen wars, until adults stop sugar dipping humanity, start treating children as adults in training, and realize, those things adults once did, children do, those things adults deny, children do, those things adults hide, children do

Sometimes we just need to burp

Get the gas out

2006-05-04T11:24:00.000-04:00

Clips are sorry confidantes – regurgitating reports in sludged interest

Relating life in inadequate shorts

Bits of life primed and tightened in poor demonstration of thorough tales. Life show cased each bit in turn, each in depth – as much as biased inches can or will be deep

whispered anecdotes

Life scores a spot for itself. Not caring its format is begging the wrong medium. Life claws for existence, trusting superficial listeners to coin its sin and apologies in see spot run structure. Posing, anxious honoree off page until any indication of introduction

A day’s attention

We, the skeleton of life, sympathetic to prolonged dying, encouraging postponed burial. Clapping and offering hold your head up gestures. Life smiling back, wanting to believe

whispered anecdotes

Skeletons live forever, in death. We hunt every bit of flesh. Slow scrapping the meat to the bone. Extorting skeletons to forget ragged, dripping flesh once encasing them. We encourage life, believing the introduction is coming – not wanting it to. Not needing it to

Few things are worse than looking death in the face. Especially, only to later find out you locked eyes. To later see death’s reflection over shadow your own. To later see we share worries and trials and in the end – no matter how much helping each other is important to our survival – we fight for some time on earth beyond another’s, any other’s, departure

Seeing death in each other, and not calling it so. Death enslaved in us with I’m all rights

whispered anecdotes

Whispers are seductive. We are lured. Ignorant that whispering does not promise tomorrow. Ignorant that whispering only enhances the sordid hue. Ignorant that we are not lined up. Rather, are standing in the same position, equally victim to the next blow

Anecdotes are seductive. We are drawn. Foolish in the cluster of well placed verbs. Foolish in the manipulative fall of syllables. Foolishly intent to carry on as if there’s nothing more. Rather than weigh it in worth and extend a bit of ourselves

2006-04-27T10:35:00.000-04:00

Smoke spilling has a peculiar flow

something like the flow of tears and time

something like the flow of snoring and breath

some, like the flow of markered white spaces

spilling smoke is open to flow, nothing like the wet and wait of tears and time, nor the definitive and lively of snoring and breath, not even like the false pretentiousness of selling, on papers. Open to flow how tears, time, snoring, breath, markered white spaces are open.

Open.

Flowing, from the fear of judgment. Open. Flowing, from the secrets of experience. Open. Flowing, from the seclusion of warning. Open. Flowing, from the vanity of generation. Open. Flowing, from the bridged letters of story telling - in good faith or bad. Open. Flowing.

Sexy.

Spilling smoke is open how legs, unfolding, is sexy. Spilling smoke flows how quarter eyes, of any color, are sexy. Smoke spills in a sexiness that only morning-chilled bodies exhausted under floating sequences of intimacy can imitate. Spilling smoke is sexy how sexy doesn't know it's sexy, sensual doesn't know it's sexy. How sexy and sensual don't realize they're open. Open. Flowing. Sexy.

Delicious.

Smoke spills in a delicious open flow of sexiness. Un-ashamed of its requirement. Mandated as thought candy for open, flowing minds. Minds enticed in the quiver of flocked strands. Minds that amuse in wide woven rayon, tight weaved silk. Minds happy about discovery. Minds happy about re-discovery, exploration. Not in or with others. It's jus', sometimes we see clearer seeing ourselves through others. Minds happy about the possibilities.

Possibilities.

Spilling smoke is the sexy flow of openness - to identity, individuality. A romantic sail toward one's own name. An unconditional commitment to the features of one's own face. A kiss with one's own inner voice. A hug with one's own heat. A dance with one's own body. A discussion with one's self. An embrace of one's self. An indulgence with one's own juices. Juices fit for the stream of any cleansing.

Cleansing.

Spilling smoke has a peculiar flow . . . self acceptance.

2006-04-20T19:23:00.000-04:00

Some things never need saying.

Those things crawl in our emptiness. Daring us to cry. We've met face to face with these things. Stared them down, and awoke tear caked. Admitting. Little in this world is worth writing in ink.

Pencil whipped.

Ink enters the forest, emerging from the sliver of light a chased interloper. Spilling and smudging. Strategic, but futile. Martyr, attempting finality on modest recyclables.

Pencil whipped.

Begging the eruption to tide us far off. Begging the eruption to erode entrails, that rage may stream easily. Ink spews, dodging erasers.

Pencil whipped.

Some things never need saying. These are the things ink is manufactured for. Made and stocked, immortal on the scrolls of never-says.

When some things are said, they manifest. Spoken language wields more power than brainwashing generations. Spoken language, when triggered precise, ignites forces. Forces consume facts and speculation, then spit out corrections.

What can become, becomes what is meant to be.

The path we are on is diminished into cracks. Paved is the road we are fated for. Cracks spot flavor along the paving - homage to our efforts to half-truth fate. We continue the path, stepping on or over, but always in a glimpse of what could have been.

Fate does not want us to forget. Not forgetting forges appreciation.

Eventually, fate is crowned destiny.