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.

brain tattoo

i was daydreaming.

i was...on a bed, with a woman. i was laying down half-asleep. she was awake, sitting up in the bed. i was naked, but covered by the white bedsheets. she was loosely holding them over her bare breast. she leaned over a bit to inspect a tattoo on my back. and then she let her finger glide over another tattoo on my arm. she climbed closer to my body and removed the cover. she brought her head close to my my shoulder-blade as she attempted to read what i had inked across my neck. softly, but not in a whisper, she said, "what does this one mean?" i wasn't sure whether or not she was speaking to herself, or if she knew i was awake, though, i suppose it doesn't really matter. i didn't answer. and as she continued to examine my bare body, and analyze my inked flesh, my daydream started to end. the scene of us on that bed, in the covers, started to move further from my minds eye. myself still laying there, her still going over the images that intrigued her so.

coming out of the daydream however, i realized that i had tattoos. i had no art etched into my torso, no quotes or figures inked into back, stomach, or chest. i have nothing so much as a piercing, or a crazy birthmark. so, what is there to pick apart? when lying there in bed, and she leans over to learn me in my sleep, or to analyze what is significant in my life, or to grasp what it is i give a damn about...what is there? what do i have to show her?

so...i tatted my brain. and if she wants to learn me in the middle of the night, she's gonna have to pick that. because in truth, that's all i have. no one will be able to tell what i'm about, or where i'm from, or what i would die for, or what it is i live for, without picking apart my brain. analyze what is etched there. inspect the ink in the middle of my cerebellum. evaluate my thoughts as they are portrayed through my actions.

is all i'm saying.

adam smith was wrong

this is an awesome scene for those that remember it. and as basic as we think it might be, or as common of a notion as one might believe it to be, the fact is that many men play by the "adam smith" concept - every man for himself. this simply does not work, as demonstrated in the video below. teamwork i necessary and sacrifices must be made. thoughts?

entry #1

why do i keep trying this over and over? i do like to write, however, i cannot find the time or energy to consistently publish the way i would like to for the sake of those that would consistently read. i've only had one blog that i would consider a success (fourbladesofgrass) and the rest, were just not so.

"untitled" flopped, but was supposed to be my self-published blog via iWeb after i got Janice, my black macbook. it last two entries.

"my monogamy" flopped, but was supposed to be a self-reflective look at life and relationships, or at least an ironic turn of conscious blogging aimed at a significant relationship with an invisibilbe, intangible audience.

"shortonfish" flopped, but was supposed to be my return to the iWeb format, but with a content focused spin, as i was to center the blog on religious thought and society.

and finally, "deep fried cognizance", which hasn't really flopped as much as i just let it go. it was to focus on a collection of short stories. people were feeling the stories, but they were harder to produce than my own freewriting style. plus, i figured if a short-story blog got popular, it would be a matter of time before they were stolen for some random use somewhere else. so i'd rather bring them to this one and have them dilute among the other topics in this particular blog.

hence, i suppose this, "the stalemate", would be my response to just that, a stalemated situation where every other option has been tried and has failed. a resolve that has brought me back to my original position out of sheer default. this is to be a summation of all of the failed attempts to focus on a particular topic or style. yet, in hindsight, i see now that 4blades had that same outfit all along.

could i apply "stalemate" to the current events in my life? probably, but it would be a tricky equation. as i am currently leaving my job of 3 years during an economical storm, only to venture out into nothingness and hope to come back with an even stronger sense of myself and my purpose, no, i can't in all honesty say my life is truly stalemated. my state of mind, on the other hand, is a different story. it seems as though, after 3 years in nyc, learning about myself and my purpose, learning about my strengths and weaknesses, and surviving, my mindset is right back where it started at the beginning - lost.

so, here i am again. pouring myself out to strangers and friends like a bucket of oil on a hardwood floor. and yes, i still fancy random similes.

lets hope this accomplishes it's goal and last longer than two entries. if it doesn't i'll humbly accept the checkmate, and knock the king down.