Train of Thought

TITM Note: This entry was written on Saturday November 21 on a train ride back from Indiana.  Well maybe the last half hour stretch of the trip. I thought about maybe revising as I translate my chicken scratch, but doing that hindsight would get in the way.  A moment in time, snared in forever's net.

I put myself out there quite a bit in these entries.  I wear my heart on my sleeve even on the interwebs.  I may look silly or even simpish sometimes, but you get ME nonetheless.  With that said, here we go:

Hurt is disappointing.  It is like losing your virginity. You are never the same once someone has taken your all, your essence  and treated it as nothing.  Spending the days compensating for the void.  Not only that, the walls come soon after. Starting off frail as a tree house, soon they become brick & mortar wonders.  Ramparts that keep you in, and everyone else out.

I looked at my pen as a pick axe.  So much sweat...so much effort...just to get a peek at daylight.  Trapped is the word that comes to mind.  Prayers for an ear to listen go unanswered.  I am a patient/prisoner in an asylum built by my own hands.  A piece of me feels safe, stable.  The other misses the sun.

No one will ever hurt you here

But no one can ever love you here either Jason....

You know good and damn well, your heart has never been of stone ground.  The weeds that come in to choke your life away wished they could be as fruitful.

Cultivate and emancipate.  Free yourself and be yourself (I know it sounds cliche, but whatever works.)  This place has no doors, but the key is within.  Take that step...you will not fall.

I've written from the brink many a days...it's horizon twisted & grotesque.  Most days feeling devoid of anything that made me unique.  A work of art sand blasted into nothing.

I believe in you.  I believe in us.

I know you would say the same.

Leggo My Ego 2:

Okay...Halloween's over.  You can tell your ego to drop the concern bit.  Maybe that's a bit harsh.  Calling your regard faker than Nicky Minaj buttcheeks.  It's insulting to you and our friendship.  I'll call it inflated....like Nicky Minaj buttcheeks (twice in one blog...SCORE!)

Now this is the part where I hit the hornet's nest with a stick

....of dynamite.

Where was all this apprehension months ago?  Oh right there wasn't any because I was still pretty available.  Looking back, I was too available.  Picked up and put down just a quickly.  Heartstrings become puppet strings without you noticing.  The pull...the tug....the control...then back into the box until I'm needed.

IF I'm needed.

It sucks at the bottom of the toy box.  Dank, dark and dusty.  Gives you time to ponder.  Too much time to wonder why they left you here.  In what feels like a slow march towards death.  "For old times sake" is an illusion.  Nostalgia is not a DeLorean, and at the end of the day I'm back at the bottom.  Face down...forgotten.

Until It is desired by someone else.

Then it's "Be careful" "Don't do it this way you'll break it"

Right.

Like you did already.

Now it is renewed...restored...and string free.

This entry does seem a bit harsh.  I've read it quite a few times and I cringe a bit each time.  A stand has to be made.  I will not tolerate the disrespect and the character assassination of someone you barely know.   If I'm willing to step into the crosshairs, isn't that enough?

I'm in love. There's nothing else to it.

This Isn't About Me

My enthusiasm was curbed. There it waited unused, unwanted.  Brutalized and oxidized by the cruel urban air.  Windows smashed...Panic grips me in an uncomfortable embrace.  I rummage through my glove compartment with a panhandler's effciency to find desire missing as well.

Shit.

Who do I call?  Who would help me?  We all know 911 is  joke, my hope to regain what I lost, what I neglected buoys and will soon sink, and form the shattered dreams barrier reef.

Shit.

Calling friends.  Most of them are going through the same thing.  Trapped in mediocrity.  Our own personal Gitmos, made of clothed half walls, draped in memos & memories.  Nine to fives. Working so hard for so much but for so little at once.  Forgetting the sun even exists.   Sky high, but the elevator might as well let out at the 7th level of hell.  Who says hell is below?  I exist there at this moment... and fire and brimstone it is not.

The desperate man pages God urgent when he needs a quick hook-up.  Scratch my back, and I'll follow you for the rest of my living days.  Holy and acceptable.  Best believe I am in need, but I refuse to look towards the heavens.

Cloudy with a chance of blasphemy.

I can't shake my fist at an invisible (and possibly non-existing) deity.  This is my cross to bear (see what I did there.)  My Golgotha awaits to be conquered.  I will regain what I allowed to be taken. Arisen and prepared to fill my true lane in life.  Not to build a corporation's portfolio, but mine alone.

Fuck your couch.

Do animals know fear?  Does a young bird, even for a split second, think about death as it's mother pushes it from the nest?  As it plummets to earth will it's life flash before it's eyes?  Or does it just act?

Fly or die....sink or swim...which one shall I choose?

I'm ready.  I am replinished.  I am a phoenix unafraid of the fire.  Since when have you seen one scorch it's own wings?

Randomizing

Destiny does not care that it has veered you off the road.  It could care less that you moan & bitch that life isn't fair.  You can yell to the heavens, sky write or carve a message into our moon with a James Bond villain's laser.  Declaring how your current plight holds you back.  Holds you down.  Keeps you awake at night.  It will tell you and the billion something other people on Earth the exact same thing....

"I'm just doing my job."

We control nothing. As much as our nature wants us to believe we're behind the wheel of Optimus Prime.  Kicking metal-ass and taking names.  It's so beyond you or I.   It's not checkers OR chess.  Planning ahead feels useless.  Unless you have some a cauldron of glowing radiant liquid showing the rewards or consequences.   Life's ill, sometimes it's just the sniffles; other times it's typhoid.  Bundle up and put some Tussin on it.  Get well soon.

I thought about hummingbirds this morning.  Surprisingly I found  similarities between them & I.  Hummingbirds can flap their wings at anywhere between 12 and 90 times per second, this allows them to get to the nectar in flowers needed to sustain.  In motion the beating of wings looks effortless, graceful even.  The avian does not hover and dart to impress, it does it to live.  The hummingbird sees the beautiful spectrum, smells the aromas but it's only food to them.  Stopping to smell the flowers is a necessity for survival.

We all hover, darting in between sustenance & true happiness.  Sacrificing the latter for the former more times than not.  We miss out, concentrate on the finger if you will instead of all the heavenly glory (thanks Bruce.)  Let's stop to smell the flowers as if we need them to survive.  Replenish our aspirations,  work towards greatness and try not to be eaten by a spider crab.

I write about myself quite a bit.  No I'm not vain, it's just the easiest way for me to open up to you.  I've heard friends use the words shy, quiet & somewhat cryptic to describe me.  Do I have a wall up?  Sure, who doesn't?  Mine for a long time just had a moat with sharks, gun turrets, a trap door hidden under the "Welcome" mat, a company of ninjas and a trained attack dog named "Maurice."  I just found it hard to trust and/or depend on people.  Alone and a loner for quite some time, and that mentality kept me that way.  Fear is a saboteur, a mole for the enemy.  I've decided to demolish the wall, and fight it sword to sword.  I want to look it dead in the eye while I conquer it.

Life Is Viral

I'm convinced our lives are a viral video waiting to happen.  From the simple cute baby dancing to "The Stanky Leg" or an individual proving Darwin's theory correct channeling the ghost of Super Dave Osbourn (wait, he's not dead...) someone is watching.

We are in the lens daily, so much so we barely notice most times.  Cameras on the light poles, on stop lights, cell phones.  Seems like there are cameras to watch the cameras.  I just hope when I'm being snooped upon, they get my good side (that's the left side by the way.)

Seems as 2009 the internet has captured the worst of humanity. From dumb ass rappers who spend more time boasting and bragging instead of rapping, to teabaggers showing their true racist colors, it's been a face palm type of year.  Seeking to be immortalized in a Google search with "dumbass" or "bigot" as a keyword isn't a legacy I want to leave behind.

Then there is Derrion Albert

This incident, as all other tragedies in our communities, is heartbreaking in itself.  When I heard there was footage of the actual brawl, I refused to watch it.  To me it was a snuff film.  I would be watching a young black male DIE.  I would also be witness to the worst my people have to offer.  Just all of this anger, striking someone down and extinguishing their spark.  No love, no remorse...now five families will be scarred forever.

We have to be careful with how much time we spend on watching other people's lives.  We may find ourselves lacking our own memories and milestones.  Life & experience passing by. While we LOL  time runs out then you're SOL.

Live & breath.  Get connected.  Show love.

I don't think putting a poetical flair on what I feel right now will help matters.

I'm in pain.  Point blank, it's that simple.  You never get used to it.  It's an expected constant in life (you know along with the death and taxes.) Waking up the morning after, the world has a different tinge to it.  Washed over is probably what I mean.  World has gone through a thousand spin cycles, now the vibrant hues have started to fade.

You're supposed to cope.  Go on through life as nothing bothers you.  Like "see heartache, you can't stop me."

It's Nonsense.  I just want to find a place to lie down.  Embrace the chill until I can no longer shake another shiver, or chatter another tooth. You want nothing more than to become numb, that means not only pain becomes foreign, but every other ebb and flow of emotion.

That is not living.  I refuse, but it seems heartache likes those extended leases.  Won't mow the lawn, lets the dog shit everywhere won't clean it up, parties on weeknights....It's an ordeal.

Life is an ordeal.

I'm already off the radar enough, maybe I should go even lower.  Who's going to notice?

*Logging off*

These Blogs Don't Come Together Sometimes

I would probably call this blog the incredible clusterfuck.

All these thoughts and ideas just float around.  Intangible, but I wonder if those worthy ideas believe in me enough to bring them life?

I've felt a lot of anxiety lately, so much so, that it's manifested itself physically.  Dealt with it quite a bit last year, but I feel it's for different reasons now.  I'm frustrated with the average turns my life has taken.  I'm just not built for it.

I'm just going to keep writing.  It's an exercise, when my thought changes I hit that enter key and keep rolling.  This is going to be the worst blog entry ever in life.

Part of me is a man trying to understand how to be a master.  No one but me can tell me I can't be that.  I will carry no one's blame or failure, not even my own.  My world is slowly spinning off kilter.  Instead of bitching about it, I'll invent gravity boots.

I talk about myself quite a bit in these entries.  Thinking back I had issues even telling people who I was.  Shy and sheltered I built a wall up quickly, and started renovations and improvements even faster lol.  I didn't trust or depend on people.  I did plenty alone, and it carried into adulthood.

My place of employment bores me.  I am not built for this desk jockey shit, and I'm making the moves to change it.

This entry sucks.

Title? Who Needs It?

Talk about a funk.  It seems that your boy has taken a quick vacation to the Doldrums.  I'm just worn down and tired of the grind.  I guess I can point blame directly at myself for feeling the way I do. It's not quite sadness, or full on anger.  I am definitely in a valley. Either I can set camp up and settle in the low, possibly for the rest of my life; or I journey through until I find that foothold.  I've already convinced myself it will be the latter.

I knew something was wrong when my lady seriously told me: "I haven't heard you laugh in days."  Life lacking in laughter is not living at all.  I've tried to pinpoint exactly when I took this turn down this dark road.  Shortcuts turn into the scenic route, and I am not having that at all.

It all started with a dream, early Tuesday (or Weds.) morning.  Let me explain something firstly.  More times than not, whatever I may vision in slumber fades quite quickly from my memory.  I've never been able to figure out why.  Does my conscious deem these  insignificant?  I used to dream vividly.  Things became too real, so I guess my mind just sort of started recycle binning my dreams. (Found an article here that explains things.)

This dream I was in a city, maybe it was Chicago but I don't know.  I was familiar with it that's for sure.  Going about normal grown folk business.  In my travels I run into my best friend.  I don't have many people I'd consider friends, but Thief as he came to be called (long story) is a best friend.  I haven't seen him in years, but we spoke maybe a few months ago.  In the dream we are hanging out like we never missed a beat.  I recall us waiting on a bus, destination unknown, when he said something to me.  He says "Live life, because you never know what's going to happen."  Then I look in his direction and see a gunman running behind him.  I attempt to yell, but the louder I scream, the more nothing comes out.  I try to move, but I'm totally disabled.  The only thing that seems to work properly were my ears.  I could hear the shots, and I could hear his body slump to the concrete.  Then and only then was I able to mobilize against this masked assassin.  I awoke before my fate was decided, and minutes before my alarm went off to start my day.

And here we are now.  Any other time, this grisly scene would have been forgotten by me days ago.  Yet it's still lingering, and I feel this is affecting my mood.  The problem is I don't know what this dream means.  I've done some googling (giggity) on dream interpretation, and I found this:

To dream about the death of a loved one, suggests that you are lacking a certain aspect or quality that the loved one embodies. Ask yourself what makes this person special or what do you like about him. It is that very quality that you are lacking in your own relationship or circumstances. Alternatively, it indicates that whatever that person represents has no part in your own life.

Of course I'm lacking in areas, but I guess my sub-conscious needed me to realize it again.  That nightmare punched me right in the fucking gut.  Yes, I'm not content with where my adult life is.  Yes, I'd rather write or be creative seven days out of the week than a cubicle monkey for the next 20 plus years.  Yes, I miss being in love with someone who truly deserves it.

So, what the fuck are you going to do about it Jason?  Stop rolling with the punches, and throw some hooks out there.  Sharpen that edge, refine your mind.  You love your art, now start loving yourself just as much.  Maybe ten times more, it will show in your work.  A setback is only defeat if you hang your hat on it.  You aren't living this existence alone...you have the illest support group on the face of EARTH.

A leap of faith should not be made while thinking "what's going to happen to me when I hit the ground."  I'll admit, I lack faith in lots of things, myself especially.  But the leap has been made, and you're reading it...I hope.  If not, you will be when it's greater later.  I'm not worried or afraid of the ground anymore.  Let it be the ground, while I become great.

Peace.

Purpose

Most of the time, I have no idea what goes here.  It's a roulette wheel most times, games of chance.  Thoughts being wagered, because all thoughts are valued AND valuable.  The wheel stops it's rotation, and hopefully where rotation stops revelation begins.

I've been walking this globe for 30 years and change (well 29, we all crawled lol) and at least once a week I would ask myself, "What the fuck am I doing here?"  A question that would more than likely use up every empty space on a Scantron, is presenting itself to me regularly.  I felt like something was wrong with me because I didn't have a clear cut answer.  But honestly, who does?  We are fleeting, we are fickle, we are multi-faceted and evolving (I think lol.)  All a part of being human.

The fire, the trials, the hurts, the tears we spill when we think no one is looking...are all a part of your (and my) refinement.  They feed inspiration, I guess it's emotional recycling.  Taking the bad and making good, the strong become stronger.  If the world were a utopia, would there be personal growth? Besides, the world would be dull if it were perfect.

Taking in the drabness that is my cubicle.  I pondered what I have become up to this point.  The mulligans I wish I had for some decisions, what's coming in the days ahead, my purpose.  The answer will be different later, hell it may change tomorrow, but today my purpose is to write.  It's the only time I truly feel like I'm in control.  I didn't always feel this way, didn't believe I had a gift.  Just thought my rambling was therapeutic.  Jason isn't crazy, so life is good...and I thought nothing of it.  I wrote because the notepad would listen and not say a word, it didn't judge me, didn't laugh at my pain.  The only difference is, now I share and some of you share back.  I guess for now, that's why I'm here...

At least until tomorrow.

Compelled

2 in one day, my stamina is on point lol.

I don't know what I want (or need) to write, I just felt like I needed to write something.  Blame it on the green, blame it on the rain...blame it on my ever rambling mind.

There was a time I didn't love life.  I was in a shitty relationship, jobless, overweight and just wholly unhappy.  I was low, bowing to earthworms giving the weeds that grew in sidewalk cracks pounds.  My low self esteem became a tool of manipulation, my confidence spoke to me in a whisper "She's the best you can do."  It was a sad scene, the world's longest & lonliest pity party.  Wearing the happiness mask, and the visibility sucked.  Helpless? P'shaw, I felt like I hung myself up on the hook to be slaugthered.  Then shit started to change.  I started to change.

A dear friend and I had a somewhat drunken talk about my situation.  I don't remember everything that was said, but I came away with one thing...she told me to, and I quote to "put your dick out there."  I know that sounds crude, but here's what she meant.  P.Y.D.O.T. (yes I made it an acronym if you don't like it K.I.M. and F.A.Y.B.A.N) is basically a call for confidence.  I believed in all of the wrong things, just because I was a victim of some bullshit doesn't mean I should act like one.  Walk like you got the biggest dick in the room, but do it quietly....

I did a lot of thinking in the days after that party.  Lot of inside looking and mirror staring I guess.  Whatever other cliches they use for self evaluations...I noticed one thing.

I talked a lot about what I needed to do, but I would rarely follow through.  It's sobering when you discover you are a part of why your life is the way it is.  Was rather.  In short, I got reacquainted with my own skin and realized how perfect it fit.  The ingredients were there, I just had to execute the recipe.

Some would consider me a late bloomer.  Sure, that's alright with me.  I'd rather be growing than wilted any day.

I Thought I Posted This Yesterday?

My sleepiness is totally distracting me right now.  I'm trying to focus to knock this entry out, but I'm struggling.  Ideas, ideas and more ideas floating around in my mind.  In orbit, hoping to be chosen.  Playing god bringing that idea to life, and maybe praying to God that this idea bears forth what you'd like it to.

I guess that's why I'm pushing through.  This may seem like a jumble of random blurbs to me.  This could be a spark to whoever may read this and get inspired.  Not necessarily to write, but to share a gift with the world.  It's intimidating, standing up to the school bully at 2:59, at the jungle gym intimidating.  Even right now I get nervous clicking that "publish" button after I type one of these entries.  It may be loved and/or loathed, but I didn't leave an idea caged.  That's inhumane :)

I had a totally different idea for today's entry, it's just not coming together right now...Dunkin Donuts iced coffee, you have failed me.

God? Complex?

I've been wanting to write an entry like this for quite some time.  Fear wasn't factored in.  I guess I wasn't totally sure about letting others read my story.  Most of my entries are personal of course.  They are my creations (mostly) but few of them actually address my progression as a man.  The man who won't accept anything just because it's there and it's what everyone else is doing.  Let's rewind things a bit shall we?

I think a majority of people's stories start similarly to mine.  Bible stories as a youth, church sometimes, barely once a month.  Bad people = hell good people = heaven was my understanding for a very, very long time.   I would pray, I really didn't know who I was praying to.  Even though in the bibles my parents would buy my brother and I would have a bearded man in the sky pointing a celestial finger at us mortals.

One year my uncle Marty gave me a globe.  My uncle was always giving me gifts that educated me (I still have the insect encyclopedia he gave me.)  I appreciated them, but I was a kid and would have preferred a Transformer.  Anyway, in one of many curious urges I go to look for Jerusalem on the globe finding it and being quite confused. ...

If Jerusalem is HERE then why does Jesus look like this?



Even in my young mind that did not add up.  Hair like lambs wool? Yea if you hit that lamb with some Just for Me relaxer.  I saw all these mighty people, they did great things, the foundation of many families.  So how come they don't look like any of the people who worship/adore them?

This disturbed me for years, but I figured something was wrong with me.  I didn't believe fully in what I was being told by the preachers & the teachers.  Sure it was uplifting, but none of it ever helped my family.  Fast forward to my teen years, my mother has started going to a smaller full gospel church.  Of course I was drug along, getting "saved" (from what I didn't know) and baptized by the order of my Mother.  Like many things I did as a teen, I didn't like rocking the boat.  If moms wanted me to be washed in the blood, so be it.  Long as I didn't get any static.  In those years I acted (and starred) in a few gospel plays, sang in the choir and taught Sunday school.

Don't get it twisted, I learned a lot, but I didn't appreciate being told what I should think about world matters.  Or criticizing others beliefs because they did not line up with mine....it just rubbed me the wrong way.  Oh, and the heated discussion me & her had about my music could take up a whole nother entry.

I did what I always did when I needed answers.  I read...a LOT.  Knowledge is contagious.  (ed. note I'm FF to 2003, after a nasty breakup and having to move back in with my parents.   I have already had my porn collection found AND destroyed.  This was dial up porn...so you can imagine how long it took me to amass...) I wanted...no NEEDED to see everything.  I can't remember what books I brought home that day, but they caused an argument....a colossal one at that.  This was the first time I can remember truly having a debate with her and holding my ground.  I told her I needed answers, she told me to read my Bible, and the books I was reading were disrespecting her and God.  So out of respect for her I took the books back, and out of respect for myself I stopped following a religion.  At least until I found a path that isn't preset.

Finding God should always be a personal thing.  Not tethered to tradition or family.  "We were raised..." should not be a part of your answer.  Finding God for me has been an experience in finding myself, and when that's is completed maybe he (or she) will truly manifest themselves to (and in) Me.

Whirlwinds...

Here I am, going through life's paces.  Business as usual.  The sun shines as it always does, passing light down to all who take it for granted (myself included.)  Suddenly, greys take dominion over the carolina hue of the sky.  Alarms ring loud and true.  Take cover, unless you're looking to be caught in a torrential downpour and swirling winds.  Sometimes, there is an aftermath of salvaging what's broken, or it can be nothing but a few broken tree branches.

Oh, if life's whirlwinds were that easy.  With technology today, weather can be tracked and an educated guess can be made.  High and low pressures, slipstreams etc. etc. Too bad those sciences can't be applied to warn you that a decision you are about to make will throw you for a loop.

You know that first move, declaration, emo outburst starts the rotation.  Then another and another.  God's eternal giant swing...twirls, twirls and twirls some more.  All you can do is hold on, and hope when you do land with a thud that you have some idea of what you want to do next....You're dizzy, disoriented and confused...welcome to life.

Do these whirlwinds ever stop?  Sure, if you decide to live the rest of your existence under a rock.  It's life, life's not fair, life will throw you curve balls, life will give you lemons and you'll have to make lemonade out them motherfuckers....

And I wouldn't have it any other way....

Peace.

How?

http://www.cltv.com/news/wgntv-gary-baby-shot-aug27,0,5791472.story

A Gary man fatally shot his 19-month-old daughter Thursday evening and then turned the gun on himself before he was supposed to hand the child over to relatives following visitation, police said. He survived.

Dead was Eboni Richardson, of the 500 block of South Vermillion Street in Gary, according to the Lake County coroner's office.

She was declared dead at 5:34 p.m. at Methodist Northlake Hospital in Gary following the shooting in a parking lot of a Bennigan's with an address of 500 E 5th Avenue in Gary.

The 20-year-old father survived the 5:20 p.m. shootings, which happened also near the U.S. Steel Yard ballpark in downtown Gary, and was being treated at a local hospital, said Gary police spokeswoman Gabrielle King.

Investigators expected to present evidence against the father to prosecutors Friday morning, King said.

The shootings had nothing to do with the ballpark, where a baseball game was played Thursday night, or with the Bennigan's nearby, King said.

"Just like, sometimes parents will pick a McDonald's or a police station to hand off their children, they chose this location," King said.

The father, who the Tribune is not naming because he has not been charged, had had the girl in his custody Thursday and was supposed to meet her mother at a designated drop-off point, King said.

When the father failed to show up, the mother called the father's brother, and the brother arranged to meet the father at the edge of the Bennigan's parking lot located near 4th Street and Virginia Avenue in Gary, King said.

The mother was on the Far West Side of Gary during the shooting, King said. Relatives told WGN-TV that the mother was finishing up school at the time the father agreed to meet.

When the brother and other family members arrived at the parking lot, instead of the father handing the girl over, he shot the girl and then himself in his black SUV, which was parked in the father northeast corner of the restaurant parking lot, King said.

It is unclear whether the family immediately realized the girl had been shot, but some family members took her in a purple Pontiac, and began to drive toward Methodist Northlake Campus, 600 Grant Street, while other family members drove the father to the hospital, King said.

The Pontiac broke down a few blocks away, at 4th Street and Monroe Avenue, and those in the SUV then stopped, put the baby in the SUV also and drove to Methodist Northlake, King said. The baby was pronounced dead there, she said.

The father is being treated at Methodist Northlake, and detectives expect to work through the night, interviewing witnesses, before presenting information to prosecutors in the morning, King said.

Copyright © 2009, WGN-TV, Chicago

I am angry.  No, angry is an understatement.  Livid isn't quite enough either.  Has the value of life depreciated that much?!  Most of all I am deeply saddened that another young black life and a black light has been extinguished.  Black man, you just murdered a piece of yourself!

Then I thought this cat must have had problems.  Deep unsettled problems.  I instantly thought of Jo Nubian's recent blog entry.... I'm going to link to it, but I'll quote it here for the lazy.

http://justjonubian.wordpress.com/2009/08/25/brothers-remove-your-masks

I am at a very interesting point in my adult life, where after some difficult relationships, I find myself becoming a bit embittered.  My bitterness is not directed towards the specific Black men that I have been involved with, or Black men as a collective actually, but more so at the conditions that are sabotaging Black men’s potential to lead healthy, normal, lives.

I mean we all watch them fall apart; the Stephen Marbury’s, the Michael Beasley’s. They appear to us broken, fragmented, and reaching for our hands. Our brothers, our beloved brothers, are dying; both figuratively and literally, physically and emotionally, from mental illnesses that we as a community, out of the fear of stigmatization, will not allow them to diagnose and treat.

Statistically speaking, Black and White men are believed to suffer from depression at a similar rate of 12%.  Of course this represented percentage includes diagnosed cases only, and as we acknowledge our community’s lagging acceptance of mental health issues, we recognize that the percentage is probably much higher.

Actually, I don’t know very many brothers who would not benefit immensely from psychological evaluations and subsequent therapy sessions (or sisters for that matter, but that is another blog for another day) .  I am a proponent of mental health screenings and counseling, and through all of my efforts, I have yet to convince any of the brothers I have tried to assist to admit their needs or seek the appropriate help.  So our men continue to mask, which according to Dubois we are exceptionally gifted at, trading their pain for fake gansterisms and unnecessary hardships or submerging themselves in drugs, alcohol and women to sedate or escape the pain.  Sitting by, idly watching them self destruct in our faces, must be akin to Africans watching their kinsmen being loaded onto slave ships. Somehow we know that we are witnessing tragedy, but in that moment we know not how to stop it.

I say this to you brothers… your pain does not escape my heart. I understand the complexity of trying to compete in a world that proclaims you should not even be allowed in the game.  I sympathize with your frustrations in being looked upon as some type of perfect example of masculinity, yet being emasculated every day of your life by your oppressor, and sometimes the woman that claims to love you.  I acknowledge your humanity and all of the bitter-sweetness that accompanies it.  You do not have to be “the man” for us; you can simply be “a man” for us- with flaws and heartaches and disappointments like everyone else.  And as I free you to be beautifully human, I only ask that you put your machismo aside to also acknowledge my need for tenderness and kindness, and free me in return.  Our captors say that we don’t know how to love ourselves or each other. Let us work to prove them wrong.

And as always I leave you with a beautiful quote from a beautiful Black man who also fought to have his humanity acknowledged…

Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. ~ James Baldwin

---

Take care everyone.

Leggo My Ego

The entry you are seeing now has preempted the previously private blog that I wrote a couple of days ago.  If you wanted to see it, chances are you'll see a Cubs World Series win before you set eyes on it.

Usually I write an entry, and I'm alright with it.  No matter how poorly written or how mundane the subject may be.  It's my blog and I'm not even over a thousand hits...it's a heaping helping of who really gives a fuck? (self depreciation for the win!)

Well friends, I'm going to talk about ego.  No not the Yonce song, calling that song thinly veiled is like calling Kobe an okay basketball player.  Quite the understatement.  Fired shots aside, the meat of this whole entry is about the ego.  The ego of the female.

I have no clue how you all's minds operate, and after what I have experienced in the past month or so I'm confused even more.

I'm convinced Pandora's Box has the secrets of male/female relations.  It's not rocket science, if it were there would be less rockets.

Now I haven't done a lot of research, my lab coat that makes me a scientist is in the cleaners.  My credibility is shot, so what write your own blog and fill it with your facts!  Facts have no place on the internet!

Sudden emotions that were unknown before, jealousy and hurt feelings.  Ego makes you somewhat irrational.  You had it didn't want it, someone else does now you're surprised and shocked that you don't have that #1 spot.  So close, but so far.  The game of life goes on only the pieces change positions.  The earth still rotates, even though we don't feel it.

I'm reading this and it's all over the place....I'll allow it (c) Mills Lane.

Release and Rebirth

Yes it's been a while I KNOW! I'm not going to even explain why when what let's just get into it.

I know I like to keep my entries lighthearted, laid-back and filled with nerdy goodness, today I'm going to change lanes.  I just have to put this out there and make peace with Jason.

It's been said "If you love someone, you should be able to let them go..." you know the rest.  Sure they tell you all that, but what they don't tell you afterwards is how to deal with yourself.  Emo is an understatement.  All those songs you hear about heartbreak and the like.  Their words became mine,  somedays felt more like I was just existing rather than living.

My friends, that shit is dead.  Not love, not going for yours, but the sinking feelings of inadequacy.  I'm burying it right now, there will be no repass afterwards so you are going to have to buy your own chicken (sorry.)

This year I celebrated my 30th birthday.  My goal was to truly take the reins on my life.  Suggestions are just suggestions and not a blueprint to your dreamlife for Me.  I will eat/drink/worship/pray/fuck/smoke/talk however I feel like.  I'll stop when I feel like it, or when I'm gone.

This entry is a peptalk more than anything.  When that negative bullshit tries to creep in, I'll hit it with this.  I'm a boss and that's the end of it.

Am I A Cougar Magnet?

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="512" caption="Cougrrrrrrr"]

I'm Going to Interrupt the Silliness

For just a moment.  I needed to put this in the books before moving on to anything else.  I'll keep it brief.

Don't Be A Girly Mouthed Ass Nigga

What is the definition of girly mouthed you ask?  This defintion comes from the Unabridged dictionary from the House of Exposed Brick:

girl mouthed - whenever an adult man engages in activities suitable and acceptable by teenage girls or young women

the list includes but not limited to

gossip

playing on telephones

sending hit dog letter, emails and inboxes

This entry was warranted by a message I received on Facebook yesterday.  No I will not repost the message, the message is not important.  The message of not being a girly mouthed nigga is.

First off, you really have no inkling of what kind of relationship we have.  On some "I used to date her shit, and this is what she did to me...words words words words...." Nigga I don't know you, and I guess you and your testicles haven't gotten acquainted either.

I hate that it has the "I'm just trying to help you out" tone to it.  Nigga, your intentions were to back up the Lawry's truck the minute you clicked on 'send Jason a message.'

Lawry's!

On the real, I find it quite hilarious that this dude thinks I think like him.  That I'm insecure, lame and girly mouthed.  That I'm going to flip out on her and be on some "who is this?!" type steez.

NOPE!

So to Mr. Bitchassness I dedicate these to you.

Sorray!

I'm Stuck

I must warn you right now, if you are looking for my usual ramblings.  May want to hit that back arrow or that "x" because it's going to get quite emo and fast.

Been fighting with myself on whether or not to even write this entry.  It was necessary, because keeping it to myself was affecting me in the worst way.  Sure I functioned, but I wasn't living.

I once again have felt the suck side of love, and I fucking hate it.  It was all good just a week (or two) ago. I have no clue of what I should do next.  Compass is off, no moss on the trees A brother is lost.  I don't want to wander into bitter territory.  Once there it's pretty damn tough to come out...maybe I'll just stay where I am rebuild my comfort zone and never come out....but that doesn't sound like any fun.

What do I do...dammit!

Well for starters you can stop wearing that heart of yours on that sleeve.  Seems to get damaged pretty often up there.

Why is this shit so confusing?!  I want to throw my hands up and say fuck it to all of it.

I won't though.

This is My Shell....

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="435" caption="*Knock Knock*"][/caption]

Nice isn't it? Now I really don't have a problem with the shell itself. Keeps some of the silly shit out of my life. My gripe is not with the shell but with myself and how much time I've spent in the shell.

Right now I'm having deja vu I wrote a blog entry about something similar over a year ago (for the record I talked about comfort zones same shit different toilet.) Does that mean a nigga has yet to learn his lesson...not quite son. It's really a process to totally get loose especially when you've been taught for years to be completely and totally reserved. I am nowhere near the same dude I was this time last year, but fuck it I'm impatient.

I want to learn how to Salsa dance. No reason really to it except I just want it to be some shit I say I can do. I try to keep people guessing on purpose. Like, everyone seems to think they know me and they have no fucking clue...NONE. Since I come to work and leave pretty much and interact with a small number of people on that personal level, I must be dull. I don't go to parties, I don't drink I don't dance i don't smoke....8 pound 6 ounce baby Jesus forbid if I'm having sex. I just don't put my biz out there like that...those times I am very thankful for the shell.

Shit, I think I'm starting to ramble *horizontal screen wipe*

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="500" caption="If You Don't Have This Album, You Have Problems"][/caption]

If you know me well enough I have talked about this album to death. It's been in constant rotation since it released. I am uber geeked that Phonte and Nicolay are performing at The Double Door Friday night. I'll be there.



Lastly I wanted to wish my girl Chok a happy birthday, I love you gurl...shrimp for everybody!

Random Bus Stop Thoughts...

Maybe this will become a regular thing I do, maybe not. I don't know yet. Everything I do is random....but here we go.

Check This Out.

You may be getting a few entries from me today. I wanted to post this piece I wrote quite a long time ago....let me know what you think.