being home

desarrollar...a grown man image

lately, i have been in deep thought and contemplation about being a grown man. it has been a staple in my mind since i have moved to puerto rico. i moved here with no job, no housing, no friends, no prospects. i prayed and had faith that God was going to look out for me, since it was His will i figured i was following. and true to that will, I have been taken care of. car, job, apartment, friends, and getting used to the budget. I thank God for it. and whether it was the will of God or not (probably was) a lot has happened with me since my move here. a lot of growth has taken place. this isn't where i go in depth as to what those changes are. some are too lengthy, some are too personal. some i'm still hesitant to fully comprehend. but one thing is for sure, i have come to a point where i have a secure image of what a grown man is. the "grown man image", if you will. this is what i have so far:

1) Centered Belief System - whether christian, buddist, muslim, or other, a grown man needs to believe in a higher power than himself - even if that higher power is simply the force of science and logic to that of which he admittedly does not understand. without this understanding, he can come to confuse his success and victories as being solely the products of his own endeavor, inevitably leading to vanity, self-centeredness, and a God-like mentality. this is childish. not grown man.

2) Definition - we are not defined by our job. or are we defined by our social affiliations, sexual preferences, financial status, or degree completions. a grown man should not be referred to as "Roben - the doctor" or "Brian - the Q" or "Kenan - CEO of said company". the problem is that, it not up to the people who refer to a grown man to rectify this labeling, but up to us to be multi-faceted enough to eliminate the labels. a grown man has to be flexible enough to have his hand in several projects, putting on more lables than can be applied to him. we cannot be so close-minded that we cling to one arena of our lives. being active in one endeavor does not eliminate the chance to excel in another. a grown man is define himself not by that which he does, but by the passion which motivates him to do what he does. defining a person should not be so easy. as a grown man, i would rather my definition be more inexpressible.

3) Money - i'm not saying rich, but a man should know how to spend/not to spend his money. like, i'm not trying to be deep here. let's get real tangible with these next few. though they don't have to be mountains of cash, a grown man should have a savings account, a checking account, and an investment or too. that investment one might be a bit more difficult in today's economic climate, but a grown man should at least be able to be fully aware of what that climate is, and his plan to maneuver within it. even if that plan fails, it should be present.

4) Relationships - monogamy. say what you want, but dating multiple women is difficult. even leaving the moral aspect out of it, as a grown man, there's just not enough time. it's just not. all of that frustration and juggling, and keeping up with the dates, and what you said to this one, and what you said to that one, and who you took here and there, and the money spent. just logistically, it's easier, and more satisfying, to just be with one woman. i'm not saying be a saint. let's also be mature. if i'm not digging a woman, i should tell her. make it work or leave. i'm not saying that as a grown man one has to be married; i'm just saying that simultaneous dating situations unnecessary at this point.

5) Organization - i would like to have a clean place. not super clean. but clean. i should be able to go out, have a great night with a woman, and feel confident in the appearance of my home if she so feel the need to come inside. if she is thirsty, cool, i got that. and i have it because i bought more before i ran out! if she is sleepy, i got a tshirt for her, and it smells nice, because i washed my clothes. it's even comfortable because i used fabric softener. it softens the fucking fabric! when i have a problem with my bills and need to reference something, i should be able to pull out that folder or portfolio. i should be able to open the desk drawer and put my hands on it. my ties are with the other ties! my socks all have pairs! and where this may never be true, if i aim for it, just aim for it, half of this category i would consider to be "grown man".

6) Job - gotta have one. and whatever it is, be damn gotta try my best at it. if i'm looking for something else, i have to look for it while i have a job. if laid off, or fired, that new job is looking for a new job. income is necessary.

7) Calm Down - unless one is a promoter (per #6) everyone on the club scene should not know a grown man. period. don't get me wrong, some people are popular, and as such, going out to the club, they may just know everybody. that's fine. but if everyone knows a particular individual because they are always in the club, that's a problem. calm down. if a grown man is always at the club, then they can't be doing #1 - 6 right. and every woman remembers that old ass dude that was hitting on them while they were college girls enjoying the night out. yeah, a grown ass man, always in the club, he is that old ass dude hitting on the college girls now! 5 - 10 years ago, he'd be the guy that the college girls would cling to, saying, "dance with me, that creepy guy over there keeps looking at me, i feel more comfortable here with you..." yeah, then it was "thanks old ass dude". but that's not the case anymore. grown men cannot be at all the undergrad parties, should not show up at a multitude of frat bashes, and should not be going to probate shows, market fridays, high school/college pep rallies to enjoy themselves!

8) Bills - pay them.

9) Fun - after looking back at this list, i see that i have said a lot of things i think a grown man cannot do anymore. this is just to say that "fun"a the grown man point has changed. a friend of mine told me last night that, as a 25-year-old, i am officially in the grown-and-sexy bracket. this means that the party doesn't start until "Before I Let You Go" comes over the speakers. and i agree. this means that one drinks, but does not get drunk. i agree. this means that fighting in the club is an anomaly, especially considering the fact that the club itself is no longer the norm. house parties, poker nights, tailgates, football games, casinos, camping, rafting, hunting, pool, theatre, concerts, plays, growing drugs, stand-up comedy, speed dating, pottery, museums...all the things we couldn't do until we were 18 to 21, but couldn't afford until now, are actually fun things to do. grown man things to do.

10) Relax - i didn't think there would be 10 things here actually. i got all the way up to 6 and felt odd leaving it there. so i had to think more. so lastly, i think the image of a grown man is always one that gives the impression that things are in control. whether they are, or aren't. a man should have a plan. and though things don't always go according to that plan, there should be one. but even as such, a grown man can't flip out when the plan goes disarray. he should relax, things are what they are, and will be what they will be.

i didn't have a plan when i came to puerto rico. and though God looked out for me, I now know that there were many aspects of my life that i went without planning. many more aspects that were not grown man. i'm not there yet though, i'm working on it. trying to mold myself into this image of what being a mature, responsible, grown man is. some of this list may even change, or be added upon. but it's a start right? yeah, it's a start.

thanks.

i saved edward norton's life this morning

"the alchemist" changed my life. to that degree, that and other books, have been listed by this guy that i randomly came across today. the blog site itself is now placed on the list with my other favorite blogs, but one entry in particular lists a number of life changing books that i strongly agree with. for you readers out there, i suggest you check it out, http://bookreviewsandmore.ca/2005/10/books-that-will-change-your-life.html

actually, the way i found this site, was that i had a very vivid dream of getting in a gang fight on the lot of my old church in Atlanta. analytically, it was probably my sub-conscious going to war over the ongoing confusion (and internal difference of opinion) as to God's calling on my life. that neatly explains the majority of the dream. but then, as i was carrying my gun out of church (cmon, it was a gang war, what did you think i was going to bring? church or no church!) i saw edward norton with his back on the ground, face turned up looking into the barrel of a pistol held by the rival gang's leader. in hindsight, i think that was also me. hence, to save edward norton, i shot myself. myself shot me back. and for a full clip, myself and i continued to shoot each other, only hitting each other to create hollywood flesh wounds in the shoulders, thighs, and whatnot. edward norton also caught a random shot in the stomach, which oddly didn't seem to affect him at all. probably because i admire his work so (at least all of which was before 2005, check imdb.com). i don't know if i actually killed my other self or not. i suppose we'll find out when i become a either a preacher or a DJ. but either way, i got to a point where edward norton pulled me up, and we limped to safety, where he turned into a gorgeous woman of sanaa lathan appearance and started to unbutton her bra. of course, that's when the alarm went off, and i left my apartment to go teach over-croweded classes of puerto rico's upper class, private-school enrolled pre-teenagers.

upon wanted to write all of that, i went searching for a picture of edward norton (all the pictures of half-naked sanaa lathan were hard to come by). even more difficult were pictures of edward norton lying on the ground, looking into the barrel of a pistol. and i know he has done scenes like that (fight club, red dragon, death to smoochy, i'm a fan, really). ultimately though, the pic led me to this guy's site (listed above) as he was reviewing the book Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk, whom also wrote Fight Club, both of which i have read and enjoyed. i went on to surf this guy's site and, there you have it, a new found love for reading books again. i suppose this guy and i just have similar tastes.

which brings me to wonder what the hell i am doing with my life to the point where i don't have time to read anymore. i miss reading, but it is time-consuming. when i get in a book, i am sucked in for real. i was doing good a month or two ago, and then i got electricity, internet, and a car, and all of a sudden, reading a home became the last thing to do on my list, despite the fact that i enjoyed it so. maybe i just need a good chair.

so, let's see. we have 1) random book reviewing website, 2) crazy-ass dream in which i might have killed myself, 3) self-reflection as to whether or not God wants me to be a minister, 4) simultaneous web surfing for pictures of edward norton and naked sanaa lathan, 5) puzzlement over my lapse in consistent reading, and 6) recent firefox tab opening to craigslist for reclining chairs for sale.

i think this entry wrapped up nicely. thank you. have a nice day.

ps. all of that, and still no damn picture.

cultural marketing

there is much to say on this topic. but i'm not going to now. it's 2:30 in the morning and i have a ton of work to do tonight. all i know is that, i saw this commercial for mcdonalds, and i get it, i really do. yet, at the same time, i don't. i comprehend the satire placed on the formulaic r&b songs, and even apprehend the silliness about singing so passionately about chicken nuggets. i get it, i do. and if this were a case of just being silly; had it just been a spoof on SNL or some other sketch comedy show; had it just been a youtube video by people with too much time on their hands; i would be able to appreciate the creativity and wit of this commercial. however, it is not a simple spoof. nor is it a satire created for the purposes of entertainment and comedy. this commercial is just that, a commercial. no message. no meaning or selling points. it's decent, but infuses a level of culture that makes me consider how this was even arrived to in the boardroom. in the ad department of mcdonalds, how did this concept get from someone's brain, out of their mouth, onto paper, into print, and then filmed without someone saying, "hey, this is a stupid idea".

for all intents and purposes, i have included, below this stupid commercial, a actual funny commercial. in my opinion, sprite had the best infusion of black culture mixed with commercial marketing to date, with their "image is nothing, thirst is everything" ride about 8 years ago. the bottom commercial here is, by far, one of the best commercials i have ever seen. enough for it to have stuck in my head for nearly a decade. indeed mcdonalds, "what, what is your motivation?"

thank you.

less naps (part 2)

i'm spending money like i got it,
doing things like i don't need sleep,
not giving a damn what i eat,
relationships lasting all but a week,
and i brag,
like the nerve of this shit doesn't make me look bad,
i'm not mad, i'm just pensive,
so i talk like i'm deep and stuff,
using four syllable words and such,
like the fundamental quality of my brain's as much,
and then contract my lexicon to say "fuck",
i mean,
i front like image isn't important,
while knowing all the while that image is really the only thing that we've got,
if reality is relative, then perception is real,
even if the image that's perceived is not,
and then i'm caught in my rants again,
writing blogs when i should be looking for jobs,
or sketching my plans,
acting like my life is not in my hands,
it's at my fingertips, it's on her pretty lips, it's just a grasp away,
sigh,
inhale,
hold it,
exhale,
through the mouth,
think,
i heard a man say once that you have to make your next move your best move ya'dig,
he added the ya'dig, not me,
i just added the audience,
i try to pay attention even though it may seem i'm not listenin',
my distractions are sincere though, random, but true,
and though i'm in no way obligated to explain my way through,
it's just pleasant to know i have that chance to tell you,
i may never be the man that i wish to be,
i may always have these faults that i fight every day,
but if i ever get the chance to die for what i believe,
i'll go down, tell the world i lived not in vain,
tell the world that we tried it, every way we could see,
tell them not to be afraid to get hurt, or to bleed,
tell them...ha, there i go on my rants again,
if you need me, i'll grinding,
get at me then.

(this is dedicated to the 90min sleep i was about to take, but decided not to for the sake of productivity. r.i.p. dreams, you won't be forgotten)

less naps (part 1)

i have come to some theories since i have been here in puerto rico.

1. assimilation is a skill. adaptation and transformation is a craft. just like any other. just like playing the trumpet. just like riding a bike. it's something that is learned, and afterwards, must be practiced. i have noticed, i went through a lot when i moved to new york. i had to go broke several times in order to get used to my budget. i had to get lost several times in order to learn my way. i had to lose several friends before i learned how to keep in touch. i had to lose my mind, lose my way, lose my faith, lose my motivation and lose myself...all in order to find them again, broken, and fix them to what they had to be in order to survive in my new environment. i had to build upon myself in order to live. it was a part of the process, i know that now. i had to change in order to adapt. it's the very essence of the word, it's the very definition. i was foolish to assume that i could adapt without changing. that's like one saying they're going swimming, but not getting in the water. like, they don't want to get wet. you can't adapt without change. you can't assimilate without having become something, someone new. something different. and as such, puerto rico is my second round with this assimilation thing. and i have found, that just as anything you practice, i have gotten better at it. the very things that it took me a year to do in new york, i have done in 2 months here. the changes i had to endure the first round are but preliminaries now. in the last 2 months, i have lost what was necessary in order to rebuild, and i am conscious of the changes that need to be made. that's something that took much longer while in the ny area.

what concerns me is what comes after that.

once i have expedited the assimilation process as i know it to be, what comes after? all i know is that there is more. i only know that this is just the beginning. i am grasping the notion of how grand the task before me is. that everything that i have exprienced up to this point in my life was simply training camp. just practice.

very soon, the refs are going to tell me to take my mark. i will get in my stance, ready or not, mentally going through every skill i have and know, analyzing what i will have to use, and when, in order to finish the race. let alone win. and what's more, what's most important, is that when that gun goes off, all of my analyzing, strategy, planning, preparing and thinking will go straight out of the window. life at that point will be 98% instinct, as the speed of my existence will dominate the force of my drive. leave 2% for sleep. all within the framework of God's will and the forces of those that seek to destroy that which is good and righteous. for we all operate within that framework, whether we are conscious of it or not. it is this practice, the tools that i have gained in my time away from home that will craft and mold my instinct, that will be the base and foundation of my decisions. even the replies to my prayers are telling me to make my own choices, based off the tools and resources that have been granted to me. "racing to the starting line" (thanks G).

but again, that's the 1st running theory since i've been here.

2. the second theory is that between all the assimilating and adjusting, i'm not really spending my time here well. i stay in a lot. and though i know that that's somewhat due to the "being broke"/"being lost" aspect of the assimilation process, AND somewhat due to my opinion that there's not much to do here beyond beach and clubs, i also acknowledge that it's really just me. hesistant to really go out and adventure. not taking advantage of the xperience in it's fullness because, honestly, i think that i've done well just making it this far.


just yesterday, happy thanksgiving, i traveled with a friend to celebrate thanksgiving with they're family. it was cool. the turkey was good, the stuffing was the truth, and they kept serving me wine for some reason. i had one glass and said it was good wine, and after that they just kept up filling it up. it became "the American's bottle of wine". it was odd, but neiter here nor there i suppose. the point is that i had to drive to an entirely different part of the island. and it was beautiful. and remote. for fun, the teenagers were riding skateboards and horses down the street. yes, same time, same street. it was a little paved hill. at one point, one would lay on his back on the skateboard, and speed down the hill. and just after him, another would jump on the horse and gallop after him as if it were a race. but it wasn't a race, it was just something to do. just as the neighbors next door built a huge skateboard ramp. the kinds you see on ESPN and G4 stations. just built in the backyard. and everyone was on it. some people were just chilling in the middle, the others were dodging the people in the middle as they skateboarded around them.

but you don't get this type of stuff on my block. i live in the city part of the island. i'm here. i made it, but i have become content with my accomplishment. after praying, planning and preparing, i have survived to this juncture, and have forgotten that one simple thing: that there's more. and i don't know exactly when that more is enough, but i know it's not now. i know it's not yet. just as i knew that it was the right time to venture from brooklyn to here, i have to hope that i realize the same of this place. but i can't do that staying on isle verde ave. i have to go out to where the horse race the skateboards. to where chickens cross the roads and it isn't a riddle. to where random pizza/fruit stands are on the street corners like beef patty stands are on the blocks in Queens.

and that's just all i saw yesterday.

3. there is a three, but one and two were dense. i'll save #3 for another time, another post. i need to get out and reflect, walk on the beach or something. go strike up a random conversation in spanish and try to learn something from it. or at the very least open up a window, play some music, and not take another nap.

enjoy the day. live it up. and don't eat any morcilla.

these nights don't drop from the sky

it would have been of those instances that my Aunt Essie B. would have used an adage to explain. she would have told me that good women didn't grow on trees, drop down from the sky, don't pop out of thin air. she would have told me that if things seem too good to be true, it's because they are. she would have told me to count my blessings, stop being so naive, and to eat a tablespoon of honey to make me wiser.

to make everything clear.

you see, it wasn't that i didn't know the game, i just didn't know the rules. it's like those friends you have that don't know how to play the card favorite at the party. the ones that say, "i know, i know, i should know how to play Spades, i just...don't."

the way it happened was typical of our current generation and time. it was simple. sincere. genuine. but also technological, which made it hard to explain to the elders. even hard to explain to the traditional facet of my own psyche to be honest. she approached me on the internet, facebook to be exact, with the very general premise of "you look familiar". being familiar indeed, a lost face from her childhood, she a lost face from mine, i replied, "hmm...i'm not sure, you look familiar too." hell, when fate and irony dance all they need is the beat of the raindrops and the melody of the wind. it doesn't take much. it's easy yknow. the actual messages literally might have varied but one or two sentences more than that, but instantly, they became paragraphs of back-and-forth conversation about past, present, future, hypothetical situations, family members, friendly arguments, the ideal, the tragic, the intimate and the unknown.

we were friends before she hit SEND. we were entwined before i hit REPLY.

needless to say, this carried on for several weeks before phone numbers were even exchanged. and even after they were, they weren't used. not until the opportunity arose to finally meet. and even then, it all felt orchestrated. but in a nice way. pleasantly scripted. the off-chance i was in town, the off-chance she was free that night, the off-chance that she her plans fell through for her birthday. it was like reading a book. the conversation was a string of questions, all of them answered with "yes". the talk led to a schedule. the schedule led to a meet. the meet led to an embrace. a hug. a drink. a conversation. all a part of the plan. all a part of the script.

then i found out she was my cousin.

"what do you mean? we're cousins?"
"yeah, as i was walking out the house, my mom called. i told her i was going out with one "hayes". she replied that we might be kin."

i'm not sure what to do. i had just bought this girl a drink! i was in the process of vetting her, to get her to the dancefloor, to put my arms around her waist! what will my friends think?! who can i even talk to?! how did i succumb to being this country overnight?! what if we fall in love and can't help it?! what if we have some weird, extra-martial, incestuous relationship behind the backs of our spouses?!!? people are looking at me! someone has heard our conversation!! i need to find a way to split the tab!!! maybe it's not too late to try to make this a friendly, family, platonic outing of the night!!!! what do i do?!?!

"damn, you're mom said that?"
"yeah, she had me worried for a second too! but then she told me that it was through marriage, a generation back or so. i think my second cousin married your grandpa's sister, something like that. then she told me to have a nice time."

oh.

i was still not so easily moved. i wasn't sure what the rules were for dating in-laws were. i had never come across it before. and at that point, i had had enough Jack Daniels to question my own logic. eventually, we took to the dance floor, where i was still in platonic mode for the first few songs, keeping the distance and making "small dance" with the people around me. i guess she caught on to this, and proceeded to make me feel more comfortable by moving in on me. i followed her lead. one song led to the next and by time i looked up, we had broken a sweat, our things we over in a nearby corner, our empty drink glasses were gone, and a slow song had come on.

these nights don't happen often.

but when they do, they're great. when everything just goes right. the right songs. the right drinks. the right mood and people and atmosphere. when you find that that the girl you're diggin is your cousin, but then find out it's ok, because it's not by blood through some random cousin's marriage. it's nice when it happens like that yknow. everyone gets home safe. call each other the next day, like, "i had a really nice time" "yeah, i did to, we have to do it again sometime" "yeah, definitely".

speaking of the next day, i thought about it some more. i called a few friends (thanks pam) and talked to a few people and indeed the whole dating in-laws thing is legit. maybe not smart. but legit. it would be like dating my brother's wife's sister, or my dad's brother's wife's sister's daughter, or my mom's brother's sister's neighbor's granddaughter's niece's classmate. either way it goes, she's not related to my Aunt Essie B. and at the end of the day, that's all that matters. no spoonful of honey needed or anything.

maybe they do grow on trees and pop out of thin air. how else can it be explained?
maybe they do drop from the sky.

dead jellyfish

my health level is currently at: low.

for that matter, so is my wallet level, sleep level, romance level, and career level. if i were a Sim, i'd be dead. funny enough though, I have consider myself blessed as none of the aforementioned things affect my comfort level really. it would be nice if all of those were on "medium", but "low" for those particular levels i seem to be content with. things are have been shaping up quite well since the last several posts. truth be told, things were good at the last post, i just wrote it when i was disappointed and was too much in a funk to publish it at the time. but things are good now. i've got food, a little gold, a friend or two, and a bed. hell, i've even got electricity, and internet to match. i cannot complain at all. life is good. just the other day even, i managed to jog over to the drugstore just before it closed, and made it just in time to pick up some badly need toilet paper.

and that's when it happened.

getting to the doors, i stopped my jog, and sweat instantly ensued. it wasn't that far of a run for me to be in such bad shape. but alas, i was there, sweating as if i had run clear across Puerto Rico, when it had only been a matter of blocks. over the next few days, i paid closer attention to my health. noticing i was gaining weight, sleeping harder, easier to frustrate, and poorly motivated to do anything. in hindsight, i suppose the only reason i have remained remotely in shape has to be credited to my 3-year tenure in New York, walking everywhere and hanging with people that worked out, hence making me work out (thanks Charlie).

so today i ran. on the beach. in the afternoon. in a t-shirt, gym shorts, and Puma's. and needless to say, it kicked my ass royally. ROYALLY! it was a mixture of my lack of working out, running on sand (which is just as difficult as everyone says), and the heat. it sucked then, but now, an hour later, i feel great. i even saw a dead jellyfish in the sand. i look forward to doing it again, but know now that running in the water is not a part of running on the beach. that was a stupid, stupid thing i did. rinsing sand and sand water out of your socks and shoes in the bathtub is not how you want to spend your Tuesday night.

so, what will happen is that I will feel vindicated by my 25 minute death jog and go eat at KFC in abotu 30 minutes. then, i'll catch the Itis, and take a nap for 2 hours. waking up at 10oclock to eat some Frosted Flakes and watch cartoons before going to bed at 1am. tomorrow, I'll go to work, tired and looking forward to the end of the day so I can go home to take a nap. Then, after said nap, I'll wake up and eat dinner. I'll look out at the dimly lit 8oclock sky and claim it's too dark to jog. I'll watch TV for an hour, surf the web for an hour, talk to somebody on the phone for an hour, then go to bed to do the whole cycle over again. i'll make it out to jog again once i start wheezing on the way to the refrigerator in three months.

...or, i'll jog again tomorrow, and not be a lazy sack of shit.

time's a snitch.

dealing with disappointment

when my brother was a young guy, he used to be a crybaby. he would cry about anything. most times, it was actually stuff worth crying about - getting in trouble, hurting himself, getting in trouble again, hurting himself again. just stuff. one day though, my dad turned to him, apparently in a time that he had hurt himself, and proceeded to tell this little boy of 5 or 6 years old, to say "fuck it". my brother, confused, and somewhat entertained, stopped crying immediately at the surprise of hearing our father even say a cursing word. the part about him saying it hadn't even sunk in yet. so dad told him again, "frank, say, 'fuck it'".

this being one of the words/phrases that was in my brothers' "do not say" section of his lexicon, frank still looked perplexed, trying to figure out if this was a trick, or some weird gesture to get him into trouble after being hurt. kinda like an "injury to insult" thing. acknowledging this confusion, my dad stopped down to look him in the face. whatever it was frank had been crying about was addressed when dad said, "hey, is crying going to fix it?" frank replied, still of tears in his throat, "noo..." dad continued, "is crying going to make it better? or solve the problem in any way?" frank, now catching on, and replying with a slight inflection in tone to imply as much, says, "no..." dad continues, "is there anything you can do to change what just happened? or to do anything about it now?" frank, not able to do much at 6 anyway, but catching the gist at this point, looks dad in the eyes and says firmly, "no."

so, say, "fuck it" and leave it alone, dad says.

frank, eager and excited now with both his new understanding of the way of the world, and realizing the authority and permission to curse in front of dad, says enthusiastically, "yeah! fuck it!"

"say it again!" dad says with a sly grin on his face.

"FUCK IT!" frank exclaims, and with all the energy and exuberance you would expect a 6 year old to say such in front of his dad with permission. he even held his head in a way of authority, cocked ever so slightly to the side to really give him the gusto in owning the phrase.

present day, ain't too much that can get to my brother. and "fuck it" is in the daily vocabulary as, apparently, things often come up that need to have themselves fucked. milk spills, batteries die, stained shirt, out of gas, burned toast, girlfriend pissed, dropped food. all of it is easily remedied with the simple, eloquent phrase of "fuck it".

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i bring this up because i've had to say "fuck it" quite a but lately. disappointment is real. it's a part of life. it's a necessary facet in the equation of growth and endurance. it is inevitable, but never is it permanent. it's strong, but we can be stronger. and where "fuck it" might easily take care of getting hurt, and getting in trouble, it is but one step in the path of dealing with disappointment.

what's more, living in puerto rico now, it has been a constant chore to remind people that i do still have negative experiences. this was something i had to grow to accept though. it's hard to gripe about things when you just moved to a tropical island full of beautiful women and cheap liquor. it was hard for me to even admit to myself that negative experiences were even a part of the equation here. how could i be down when i live on the beach? how can i be running into hard times when people are walking around in bikini's at the end of October. it didn't even make sense to me, so I dared not share it with others, for the risk of sounding obnoxious or selfish. but fuck it. shit does happen, even on a tropical island full of bikini-clad island models. it does! i promise you it does!

so, when disappointment strikes, you gotta deal with it. so, this is what i do. the Reggie strategy for dealing with disappointment:
1) take 10-15 minutes to feel bad about it. cry, pout, hit something, yell, curse, whatever. vent.

2) drop it, and do something that makes you feel good. and i mean, makes you feel great. not anything like masturbation or scratching your back on a tree. no, those are too physical and too temporary. this has to be an act of significance. something that makes you feel good every single time you do it. like, cooking, or painting, or exercising, or watching your favorite tv show, or tripping up joggers in the park, or shooting pigeons, anything. (mine is frying chicken, while drinking beer and listening to great music).

3) plan. after you've vented, and after you've felt better, now it's time to plot your revenge. how can you make up for your losses? how can you take your result in a new direction? what is your ext course of action?

4) pray. meditate. moment of silence. i know many might think this should be first, but nah. doing this step before the others just relocates the venting step, and then nothing gets accomplished. this moment is to guide the productivity of your future, not to console the misfortune of your past. that's what the fried chicken is for.

and there you have it. the 4-step plan to getting over disappointment. doesn't work all the time, but definitely does the job most of the time. and if it doesn't get the job done right, fuck it. you'll be alright, one way or the other right.

have a nice day.

toast to oscar

life sucks right now.

a friend called and told me that. and i agreed with her. life does suck right now. life is relative though, so i suppose it's a good thing for it to suck sometimes. if it never sucked, we would never be able to fully comprehend what a good day is. there would be no such thing as an awesome day, if no days ever sucked. so, it's inevitable. in order for life to ever be pleasantly experienced, it must suck at certain moments.

but alas, knowing that doesn't make it suck any less.

i'm tired now. and have just enough borrowed internet to put up this one little blog about how life sucks right now.

maybe this week won't suck. or at least not suck so much. good luck week. good luck.

Streets of PR (as requested)

Carolina, PR

Isla Verde, Carolina - my current neighborhood

West Isla Verde, Carolina, PR

Mom said this is God looking out for me.
I think it's either that or light ray reflections off the ocean.
It would be nice if it were both.

Backyard

Front Yard (though, I'll upload a better pic of this later)

Fort in Old San Juan

Streets in East San Juan

This is a big tree.

I'm pretty sure this is the Pacific Ocean. Stays pretty warm.

Streets of Old San Juan again.

or maybe 45%...

i've been drunk for a while now. not "exceedingly" or "dangerously drunk". but i've had quite a few beers and am in a stuper enough to be deemed as intoxicated. it's ok though. my driving, though not good, was not any worse than any other driver in puerto rico, drunk or sober. ask around. anyone will tell you. i'm probably a better driver right now than half the drivers on this island at 5:15 in the afternoon.

but that's neither here nor there. i just came home, and finished a book i finally committed to. and i've still got this tipsy headache thing going on. in my right mind, but not quite in total control of my balance and motor functions, i made my way to the kitchen for some water.

it was good.

after that, just now, i went on my dear friend facebook. on this social network, i saw some pictures of a young woman i used to date. she's having a baby. due very soon. she's beautiful. her relationship with the father is beautiful. he seems like a really, really nice guy. and everything seems to be in place for this child to be born in a world of love and nurturing. and if you're reading this young lady, i wish you and the family the best of luck.

but as of right now though, seeing these pictures, and realizing how soon ago she and i had been seeing each other last - it has hit me very seriously just now that, man, this shit is real. like, i could be a father, right, now. and where one could argue destiny, or responsibility, or fault, or personal habit, or whatever, the fact remains that at any given encounter, me, us, any of us, our lives can instantaneously and significantly change. i mean, for real, our generation is popping out some young'ns! YOUNGNS!! at this point, i think i have more friend with kids than without them. and being a young man that has been sexually active, i'm not even sure how the hell i've missed being a part of this onset of data. sure, i've been safe. sure, i've been selective. sure, i've been careful. but hell, for that matter, 30% - 40% of my very friends were just as safe and selective and careful as i.

funny how someone can just throw data out there and people take it at face value.

ok, maybe 15%, how the hell should i know. my point is that, seeing these pictures...it's so easy for me to see me in them yknow. because i was RIGHT THERE. like, i was there! it's like someone buying the winning lottery ticket right after you bought a losing one, or someone in battle taking a bullet right where you were standing just moments ago. shit's real. shit...is...real...damn, i should be in bed right now. but i'm not. i'm up looking at this baby pictures that could just as easily have been my seed. and it's fucking with me, in my conscious, inebriated, hangover state of mind. it's getting under my skin. soon, the baby will just pop out, lubricated and full of fresh life. fresh.

i dunno. i'm just rambling i suppose. i'm going for more water. i'll check this entry for spelling errors in the morning.

goodnight.

good morning procrastinator

this morning, a mosquito came in whispered in my ear. that resulted in me instinctually slapping the shit out of myself. so, i woke up eariler than i usually do. might i also add that being hairy doesn't help like i thought it would. i figured that because of my hair, the small rodent insects would have to work to actually get to my skin. but alas, the hair is more of a distraction to me, as any small movement with air circulation in the room (fan, vent, AC) makes me think that a bug is attacking, when it's really just my hair moving. this makes me slap myself more often than i need to.

either way, fine, i get it, cosmos. i understand, mother nature. i gotcha, oh sweet karma. get up and be about the day, you say. get my voter registration absentee information printed and sent out. ok. call and follow up on possible job opportunities. ok. jog and exercise before you wonder how you developed man-boobs overnight. alright. sheesh. you could've given me a dream or something. having these damn mosquitoes sending messages like this is not what's up. it's just rude. effective, but rude.

thanks.

mind your business! the game has now changed!

i thought it was self-proclaimed. i thought she had donned the crown upon herself because she was bored. and i didn't even mind it. i thought it was cute. like the little girl that makes herself princess of her bedroom, makes a wand, and proceeds to knight all the stuff animals on her bed.

but no, Queen Pammy is the truth.

i just read/listened to her the routine, and i have to say that i was more than impressed. and where this may not be the first time that she has used her tape recorder on here, or has integrated it with accompanied messages and visuals, or has spoken so well about topics so true - it's the first time i've heard it from the queen in this venue. and that's not to say that other's haven't done it on here either, it's just that i don't know them, and they probably suck anyway.

what's more, is that her blog entry comes the day after i remove a lot of myself from facebook (for the third time). i've come to realize that it is now a social medium for our generation and i can probably never fully remove myself, for it has placed me back in touch with people i believed i'd never see or meet again. in some cases, this has even led to job, relationship, and travel opportunities that would have been much more difficult without the online catalyst and social network conglomeration that facebook and myspace has become. but yet in still, networking is one thing, sacrificing your private life for the benefit of other's entertainment and time-consuming folly is beyond extreme. these entities should be glorified phonebooks, nothing more. or at least that's what they have become for me. for, as to paraphrase Queen Pammy, one may find themselves spending way too much of their time invested in other people's business.

it's too much. we know too many people. too many pictures, too many status updates, to many wall quotes, too many tags, too many applications, too many events, too many birthdays. too many sockets, and i'm but one plug.

yo, she's changed the game with the audio/visual. my respect for you miss, has gone very far up, not to say that it was low before, but it has gone very far up. if you ever need help on a colabo at anytime, i'd love to work with you. in the meantime, keep doing what you do!

how spoiled happens

today i got tired of waiting on the bus. so i rented a car. it actually only cost 20 bucks. but then i had to pay the 20 insurance fee. then i had to put down $250 as a deposit. it sucked to have to pay almost $300 to rent a car for the day, even knowing that i'd get $250 of it back by tomorrow night. nevertheless, it was cool to drive around the island for a while. getting things done knowing i can come and go as i please.

in new york, the opposite is true. having a car there is much more of a hassle. driving sucks. parking sucks. traffic sucks. it all sucks in new york. the freedom of going where you needed to go, when you needed to go is all fixed with great subways and decent, plentiful taxis (be it yellow, or ghost).

in puerto rico, this is not the case at all. almost everyone i met told me i should get a car. i shrugged it off, thinking, "hell, i just did NY, i can do the buses just fine. moreover, i was living in BK, so i can even do the crappy buses just fine." no, these buses are really bad. really, really bad. in the time it takes to get somewhere on the bus, in all honesty, you could probably make it just by walking. definitely riding a bike. but with the weather here, you'd drown in your own sweat. so, by default and love of your own life, you are subject to have to wait for buses. they may come in 5 minutes (as posted), or they may come in 80 minutes (as expected). and when they do come, it's not a guarantee that you're gonna get on. if you're not paying attention and don't wave them down (which is protocal), they'll pass you. if there are already too many people on the bus, they'll pass you. if you're not standing exactly at the bus stop and aren't a sexy woman, they'll pass you.

i saw people waiting at the bus stop for an hour and a half. one person took a nap, and woke up, and was surprised to see the same people standing next to them. but only marginally surprised. it was the type of surprise you might have if you came home and saw you left the light on by mistake, or found your pen in the pants you had on the night before. that type of surprise.

to the island's credit - due to the gas crisis, the bus is free until december. so, it's kinda like a "get what you pay for kinda thing".

in either case, tomorrow i must return the rent-a-car. and by then, i will be utterly and totally spoiled. as if my subconscious needed another reason to want to go home, now we will have the bittersweet taste of reliable transportation left on our breath that no half-ass commute system will be able to neutralize. no matter how free it is, it still costs too damn much.

she just doesn't even know

have you ever met a person that made you think to yourself, "damn, i would love them so good." like, "if they ever just gave me the chance, if they were to just hold my hand for a moment, i'd show them. they'll see."

that's all i have to say about that.

sex and power - the lack thereof

this place exudes sex. like a wet sponge sitting at the edge of the sink, slowly yet consistently dripping excess water from it's corner. the smell of that moistness, the aroma of soapy discard lingering in it's pores. this place is soaked. drenched in eroticism, every corner and every beat is caught unto the rhythm of a pubescent deity, eager to demonstrate it's artistic design in the exotic flavor of human intrigue. and so it is obliged. and so it is catered. it is commercialized and sold for the experience that it is, and isn't.

my first week stay here in isle verde, puerto rico has been one of self discovery, fortitude, regret, solitude, hope, patience, and weakness. maybe i should put hope first in that list though. for i have learned the most about hope. of all, i have learned that hope is as fragile as it is powerful. i liken it to glass, often used to shelter us from nature itself, but yet easily breakable given the right amount of force. i suppose the same could be said about many of Earth's resources (i.e. wood, stone, copper, etc.) yet, i have come to liken hope to glass because of perception. you see, unlike the other resources mentioned, reflections can be seen in glass, and as such, the image shown all depends on the angle in which it is viewed. hope is no different. hope alone, the presence or absence of it, the perception and illusion of it, or the frame in which it is set and depended upon, can easily be the source of one's determined triumph, or of their accepted defeat. but in either case, rest assured, where hope lives, it will be tried. it will be tested.

for the last week, i have lived without electricity. some mixup where the landlord was to take it out of her name and put it in mine, but in the transfer, it got caught in the web of paperwork . who the hell knows. but i do know this, living without such a staple that we, as Americans, take as a given, will tell you something about yourself. a few things I've learned are that:
1) cold showers are not that bad.
2) though cold showers aren't that bad, you never get used to starting them. never.
3) candlelight is remarkably effective.
4) books and flashlights go together.
5) mosquitoes like their food nicely basted in sweat

and so it was. living with no electricity, surrounded by exotic women and atmosphere, knowing no one, and having little to do but walk around looking for jobs. that easily brings one home horny, frustrated, sweaty and lonely. useless, and with no purpose. finding entertainment from simply sitting and staring out the window.

and to be honest, this is exactly what i was looking for.

all in all, i found that i could live one week without it. 6 days and 14 hours in that state of mind. though, in honesty, i did start to lose it around day 3. it gives one a matter of perspective when you hear of people having to live like that on a dialy basis yknow. and i don't exclusively mean overseas, but also here at home. people that don't have the money to pay these electric bills, so nights have to be spent with a flashlight, a decent book, taco bell, and the hope that they will fall asleep soon to meet the welcoming light of day.

in a land filled with sex and power, i spent a week surrounded by both, but having neither. and though adaptation is an inevitable process, it's also a very difficult one.

creep slow, move on

things have a way of creeping up on you. anything. everything. the best laid plans and the most subtle of surprises. even when you expect it the most, it still creeps up from behind and takes you by storm. i'm saying "you", but in truth, it may not be the case for "you". maybe it's just me. the entire concept of bracing yourself seems to be a facade to me, some illusion to help me cope with the thought of never being fully prepared for the inevitable. the only thing i can ever truly do, is begin. after that, things go. until it stops.

think of it like a roller coaster. the only thing you can ever really do it get on. after that, you're a victim to the machine until the ride is done. even if you did manage to stop the coaster, mid-drop, you're still not where you started. you're still mid-drop. and as much as you might prepare for said drop, it never really takes away the exhilarating feeling of your stomach jumping to your throat.

but alas, that's me doing the "you" thing again. i know i'm talking about me here.

let's take sleep, or driving, or eating, or taking a dump, or reading a book, or drinking a glass of fucking water. it's all the same. none of these actions ever exist until they are started. and once they are started, everything after that is subject to the relative will and instantaneous moment in which they then exist. this is not to say that control isn't present, no, remember in the previous analogy where you/me stopped the roller coaster mid-drop. yeah, control is present. yet, to the extent in which control is present in a given situation or scenario is another conversation and topic altogether. no, my point here is that regardless of what happens, once your start something, no matter how prepared you are, the inevitable still has a way of getting the best of you.

sorry, i meant, best of me.

truth is, i'm over-exaggerating and over-analyzing the sensation that i'm getting right now in my recent move to Carolina, Puerto Rico. and though I have tried my best to be prepared for this move (and I like to believe I did a good job for my give intentions), the sensation has just now crept up on me, and I am feeling the weight of the situation. this was the plan though. this was the point. to close my eyes and jump out of the airplane, not cognizant of the free-fall until i was free-falling. and now i am, and i feel it indeed.

but it's not a bad thing. it's just a thing. it is what it is. and it ain't what it isn't.

so either way it goes, and whether this applies to the general public, just a few, or but that one; i do believe that bracing oneself is a gimmick that fools our minds into believing that we can handle that which we truly cannot. but in the end, we do stand it, we do endure. our souls are never unhindged and our spirits are never forgotten. we press on. in our own ways and in our own time, we press on. when we face the impossible and stand against all odds, we press on. using the tools we're given, the strength we've gained, the wisdom we've acquired and the faith that has been bestowed upon us, we press on into the exhilarating experiences that will inevitably define our being.

we. you and me. because we started it.

...and so it begins

as i sit here, at my desk, i procrastinate having to clean out my closet, having to pack my clothes, having to go through my files. i do not wish to mop the floors, or roll up the rugs, or organize the electronics.

i sold my tv.

by the end of this week, the majority of my life will be in route to atlanta, in various boxes of various sizes. the rest of my life will be with me, nicely compacted in the very trunk i brought up here with me. to new york. and now i'm leaving.

there's a lot i wanted to do here that i will not have done. and in exchange, there is much here that i did not plan to do, that i did.

one thing is for sure, in reference to the previous post "bread and circuses", and that's that fear is not real. it is manufactured. it is artificial. it is plastered over the news and throughout our media to keep us living in a state of emergency, to keep us clinging to that which we find security in. to keep us at our jobs, our homes, our investments, our mutual funds, our social security, our insurance programs. they keep is plugged into a state of anxiety and concern, concern that our lives and our well-being is always in the balance. that it is always in jeopardy of being taken away.

and if fear is real, it is not this. it is not this which is so easily cured with an address from the president, or so conveniently comforted by promises of change and hope. this is not fear, whatever it is. it is not real.

no, and after having written "bread and circuses" a post geared towards the fear i felt after an evening of watching a particularly intense session of news coverage, it was brought to my attention, it was reminded of me, that our world is so much better than we are deeming it. our society is so much more advanced than we are giving it credit for. there is no need to fear anything. there is no need to fear the unknown, or to be anxious about the future. situations arise, and we have to deal with it accordingly.

some days will be harder than others.

and as such, i approach this believe, leaving new york and the security of my own home, my own job, my degrees, my retirement fund, my investments, my relationships. leaving all for that which i cannot truly explain other than a whim of purpose and destiny. following the path laid out before me with only the faith that has been instilled in me by my parents and my parents' parents. and where this path isn't for everyone, it is the path for me, and requires me to leave everything i find comfort in, to pursue a foreign road.

and though i am aware of this, it doesn't make it any less difficult. hence, the clothes are still in my dresser, the dishes are still in the sink, and the closets are still full. my procrastination is a manifestation of human doubt and hesitation to let go. but as hesitant as i might be, each second keeps on moving, as if my doubt doesn't even exist.

therefore, i must emulate time, and press on irregardless of self-sustained bias or will. i must press on as if my waver doesn't exist. as if it's clockwork.

...and so it begins...

bread and circuses

"'Bread and circuses' (panem et circenses) is an ancient Roman metaphor for people choosing food and fun over freedom. It often appears in commentary that accuses people of giving up their civic duty and following whichever political leader offers to satisfy their decadent desires."

thanks wikipedia.

author Dean Kootz elaborates on this idea a little further in his novel, "The Face", in which case he explores the notion that despite economic hardships, national suffering, and even widespread epidemic, the entertainment industry always thrives. he even goes as far to allude to the notion that the industry might even benefit from mass hardships as people seek refuge from their own pain and suffering. "food and illusions," he says, is all people have needed to survive.

i believe him.

yet, lately, i've found it difficult to be so easily distracted. and i'm getting the impression that the rest of the country is as well. in the midst of war, our headlines were streaming with news of celebrity weddings, splits, antics, arrests, successes, failures, quotes, and affairs. as of 5 years ago, our televisions have been flooded with "reality tv", primetime sagas, and cultural phenomenons to which our generation has never seen.

don't believe me? when was it ever necessary outside of daytime soap operas that cliff-hangers were needed at the end of EVERY episode of a series. now look at the likes of Lost, Grey's Anatomy, Heroes, Battlestar Galatica, House, and Friday Night Lights. let's also explore the media frenzy behind the likes of Spears, Hilton, Kutcher, Pitt, Jolie, Aniston, Jackson, and Cruise. lets look at box office sales, as speculative fiction is on the rise with superhero movies, pirate epics, space sagas, and hobbits. consider that 13 of the top 20 movies in the united states ever, were released from 2002 - 2007. ever. none of which grossed less than $315K. and all of those, with the exception of Passion of the Christ were of the aforementioned genre of speculative fiction. none based in reality. none non-fiction. none war-related. and even of those, 4 were released before 2007-2008.

but how long can this go on? reading the headlines has become so depressing that no form of entertainment quite eradicates the taste from my mouth. the distractions that used to put me at ease are now only serving as tools of procrastination, a flash in the dark that simply reminds me that our world is becoming void of light. our headlines are even giving up, giving much less attention to the movie stars of today, and more to the worldwide plights of disaster and epidemic. politics has taken center stage, and with it, paper bag remedies to problems that we ourselves have created as a species. things could be so simple. the answers to our issues are not complicated. but our society is rash, and unforgiving, and our decisions have been made on false and self-indulging pretenses. what can distract us now? what form of splendor can take our minds off of the hurt and pain of our family, friends, neighbors, and associates? how much longer can we ignore the growing sense of suffering in our communities? how much longer can we be oblivious to the unbearable pain taking place overseas?

i don't think it's much longer at all. as dismal as it may be, a time is approaching were we will no longer be satisfied with "food and illusions", with "bread and circuses". no, we are approaching an age where our greatest hopes will be vanquished by disappointment and rage. we have become over-eager to hand our problems off to a savior, and over-zealous to pass off our responsibilities to anyone willing to take the reigns. i pray that i'm wrong. i pray that we heed the reminders and warnings that will surely come. i hope we can get back to the times of bread and circuses.

but ultimately, i believe that time has come and gone.

great new albums to bump

these guys were put on to me by cousins Corey and Wes separately, but simultaneously. They are in the same feel as Clipse, but a tad more gritty. I dig it. The primarily percussion tracks, the sick flows, and the style of the group is enough for me to purchase this first album, but not enough to necessarily see it materialize into a bomb ass sophomore debut.



this guy here is no secret to those that listen to radio. but alas, for those in NY who survive off of ipods and the new stuff they play in the club/lounges, this may be a new thing. so, arguably, this may just be new to me. nevertheless, his albun, JUST dropped, and is not only worth the sample listen on itunes, but the purchase might have to be given to this cat as well.

and all of this coming from a guy that doesn't even BUY cds.

chris cullen - billy jean

this guy is awesome. the CD version is also good, with a slightly longer (and slightly better) guitar solo towards the end. enjoy.

so what am i to believe?

over the years, i have come to believe and trust in a certain script for my life. and that if i only but had faith in the Creator and writer of that script, then that which was best for me would unfold itself and manifest in my life as the path for me to follow. this concept has worked pretty well for me up to this point. and even now, i know i still have that faith. however, as it was 3 years ago, and as it was 4 years before that, i cannot escape a feeling of anxiety about where my path is going. this is not to be confused with fear; no, fear would be my reluctance to make these dynamic moves and changes in my life. that is not, nor has it ever really been the case, because i am confident in the moves that have to be made. there is no going back once the decision to make them has been made. it can be altered, sure. it can even be changed. but there is no going backwards. there is no reversal of a thought process. it notion has been put into the cosmos and as such, the winds have blown and the tides have turn.

is it not that simple?

is it not enough to simply accept the fact that decisions are direct results of our own thought processes, however large or minuscule? and as such, are our actions not direct results of those decisions? therefore, my initial thought process to follow the aforementioned script placed on my heart by the Creator is thereby a decision, and results in action regardless of how instant or gradual that action may be.


which brings me to my conundrum. i have realized that this is as simple of a idea as it isn't. following one's script, or destiny (as some would put it), takes focus, discipline, order, and patience. all of which is very hard to come by when you're surrounded by excitement regarding everything contrary to them. our society doesn't seem to be built for such facets of mentality. our nation doesn't seem to be equipped with the tools necessary for these elements of life to be cultivated and refined. our hype, as a nation, is often geared towards the appraisal of sex, drugs, violence, money, fashion, and any other superficial or materialistic entity that captures the attention of masses. it must always be bigger, stronger, faster, brighter, newer, sexier, and more profitable than the last.

this is not new, nor does it look like it will ever change. my conundrum is not based on this notion, but rather how i play into it. am i to imagine myself above said hype. am i not to subscribe to the energy of our society and its trends for the sake of my own self-discovery and scripted journey? and if i am to indulge, how much is too much? how far do i go before i'm in too deep? before i abandon my quest for self-actualization and focus primarily on the artificial value of the American priority system?? how long do i subscribe until the hollowness becomes that in which i find relative meaning?


am i to believe that balance can be maintained between finding the meaning of my life and subscribing to the mainstream of our culture? am i to believe that there is no separation of the two, but that they are but opposite sides of the same reality? or am i to choose?

am i to believe that i even have a choice?

narrative voice gym

so, i have found that what my professor told me 5 years ago is true. to be a great writer, you have to do three things on a consistent basis. you must a) write, everyday; b) read, everyday; and c) live, everyday. it's a craft that has to be honed and sharpened. it's something that has to be practiced.

saying all that to say that, i haven't been reading. and i notice my narrative voice only when i've been reading heavy. it's like, once i put the book down, i still hear my voice narrating my day in my head. it makes writing all the easier when i can let the words flow from my brain to my fingertips.

so, i picked some stuff up. this is what i'm into right now.

The Watchmen - a graphic novel actually. Many claim it to be one of the best graphic novels ever written, if not the best. It's kinda like the Incredibles, or Heroes, but much darker and more politically conscious with the setting and timeframe within world events and historical references. so far its good stuff.













i dunno. as of now i'm more into The Watchmen. i've only read the first chapter of The Face. but that first chapter is pretty good. it's about a hollywood star that is being stalked and threatened by some lunatic. but supposedly it gets far more bizarre and crazy as the story continues, so we'll see how it plays out.










Ultimately, the goal here is to work out my narrative voice. to really flex the muscles of brain to the point where conveying thoughts is second nature, and where the quality of those thoughts becomes the main priority. let's get it going.

Eroding Night: The Assassin

"I've gotta break outta this poisoned prisoned mentality,
I baffle me, because I know these bitches is after me,
Yet instead of reclusive, I go for anti-afraid,
And get these motha-fuckas back when I come back from my grave..."

Even now, with this government-issued sniper rifle aimed at his neck, I can recall the first time I heard his lyrics. Ralph, my older cousin, let me borrow his mixtape before he even got mainstream. I had to listen to it on the headphones so my parents couldn't hear. But even then, over time, it would be the only thing they'd hear blasting from my bedroom. I tried to rap like him, fall into his shadow in hopes that he'd catch me one day. I dreamed of opening for one of his shows. Don't get me wrong, I had my own style and all, but it was his passion that I aimed to mimic. He believed every word he said. Every line he spit on the mic came directly from the depths of his soul and particle of his being. My dream of following him was short-lived though, as the government started putting tighter wraps on public expression.

"...Fuck a W-2, I gotta pay for this food,
I gotta pay for this heat, and gotta pay when its due,
I gotta a baby and a lady that depend on me too,
I don't depend on them fools, I only get what I'm due..."

My dad told me that artists used to express themselves all the time in his day. Not only expressing themselves for themselves though, but for the people. They took messages for the masses and broadcast them over the airwaves...even performing them live to the masses themselves. People didn't used to have to sneak around to listen to them, or meet privately to enjoy the sounds. According to my dad, there were countless musicians that vied for just the chance to be heard, to make their mark on history. But now, after the ban, there's only Eroding Night, or rather, what's left of them, their lead rapper, Righteous.

"...And I swear by every hair of my son's firstborn,
I'll never fall off, because God put me on,
kicked the knowledge to me straight and told me 'Righteous, Hold Strong'
Cuz there is someone out there listening that needs to feel this song
And to that one, I hope you get it,
To the two, I hope you share it,
To the three, I pray you feel it, Because on my life I bear it,
To the people that believe it and the mighty that can see it,
Come together as a people, and together we'll defeat it..."

So my options became limited. But I became tough as I grew older and found that I had a talent for fighting. Then I discovered that it was less of a talent, and more of a lack of consideration for human suffering. I quickly fell into the cracks of the Alleyways, becoming one of the most efficient killers money could buy. Not to brag. At first, it was petty, women going after their cheating husbands, corporate jerkoffs getting rid of some asswipe standing in the way of their money. Then I would start getting jobs from from random middle-men sending me cross-country and overseas. They jobs started becoming more tedious, and difficult due to heightened levels of security. All in all though, I never thought it'd bring me here.

With my finger resting on the trigger of this light, superbly crafted rifle, I watch Righteous through the scope of the gun. The underground concerts were gaining ground, and everyone in the streets knew about them. I keel telling myself that it's partly his fault, but, I know that that's not true. And even if I put the gun down now, they'll only find someone else. Someone that will kill this man with much less poise and candor. With no dignity. With no respect for who this man is. My phone rings.

"Hello. Yeah. Here. 1 minute. Less. Lighting problems. Fine."

I should have killed him 15 minutes ago. But I figured I'd let him finish the set.

"...and when my light's out, remember me,
don't cry, remember me,
but still, more than me, keep the message in your memory,
these streets are yours, have been, and will forever be,
keep love in your heart, and your mind..."

"...on the peace." I whisper. Cutting him short in just enough poetic fashion for it to be memorable. The venue is not large, so the crowd hears the shot. But it takes everyone a little under ten seconds to realize what is happening. I've taken the ten seconds to drop the rifle and walk away. No prints. One bullet. Casing in my pocket.

I join the others running outside for safety. Some are crying. Others are furious. I am both. I am paid. I am the tool of destruction and the calamity in the midst of peace. I am a product of my environment and the by-product of my society. This will change everything. This will be what was always necessary. This is what I've told myself to survive.