...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.