Defense Tactics

I do not pray for my enemies.

I besiege their walls & wait for their downfall.

I will not love those, who do not love me.

I remember and will not forgive the lies until you’ve returned my wasted time.

Even still,

I bear no ill will,

But I won’t forgive,

I’ll just pretend.. the way you did.

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27

Today is my 27th birthday…

27 is the perfect cube.

At 27 though, still, I am not the perfect dude.

I have flaws and at times, I feel lost.

My eyes glossed

All those joints that I’ve rolled

Cause reflection of tolls

of last breaths from some artists I know.

Morrison, Hendrix are VIP members

I’ll stay out if I make it past this next December

Intoxication

Winehouse celebrations, threaten life as I know

The rains of nirvana, Cobain, they fall slow

We’ll sip slow

27,

recklessness

be no more

for this is one age I can’t wait to see go.

 

Beyond the Midnight Hour

In search of a treasure, oddities lumber through the boulevard

Then onto the avenues

Vanishing into shadowy alleys

Luminous beacons summon vessels of transport

For all who remain must continue to search

The warm will be taken, tonight, zombies will feed

Spoils become scarce as nightfall creeps to daybreak

Beyond the devil’s hour, cemented a fortune

Scour the streets, you won’t find what you seek

Since the only things open are legs.

 

Pinkies in the Air Drinkin Hennessy

I should’ve plotted out my major points, before writing this. But the fact that I didn’t, is essentially what this entire piece is about…

I find it difficult to relate to most of the writers/bloggers that get mainstream shine or even popular independent support online, on an educational level. Yet, in the same space, I aim to one day create content as influential as theirs. I don’t believe that my lack of a degree constitutes me being any less creative than them, it’s just a general perception thing. See, I went to a major university but only for a semester before I left. When I got there I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about what the future held. I was going to be involved in campus activities, I’d pledge Alpha after my freshman year and be involved with the young, black future leaders I was sure to be surrounded by. I wanted to be apart of something established and to have my voice heard…

But as I attempted to integrate my  former life & habits, into the jumbled, mix of events and occurrences that is college… the square peg never fit into the round hole. I wasn’t cut from the same cloth as those people who surely once had the same dreams and aspirations I did. College is probably the first place I saw major division within the community. Classmates, whose parents live on the same street and have been good friends for years, grow apart. The artistic kids go to open mics, the smart ones live in the library, the social ones join frats and sororities and the leftovers sort of drift. I was a drifter. I saw how the organizations and groups divided those who were once close, into splintered factions of special interests. The place I always dreamed of coming started to become less appealing and once the shine wore off, I left.

While everyone else was finishing up at university, I was out fucking up. Bullshitting at community college, selling mid grade for kush prices and smashing all the chicks that never even went to college. All the while unhappy, because I knew this wasn’t me or at least who I wanted to be… But I also wasn’t the pretentious, degree waving asshole my former classmates were growing into. I was in a tough spot. Was I being resentful and a hater? Or just marching to the beat of my own drum? What would I have become if I stayed in college?…

That question is irrelevant. Until H.G. Wells lists that time machine on Amazon, I’ll never know. But, what I’ve realized on my life journey, is that there is an untapped demographic. One that content rarely reflects the life of. The young black male, lacking a college education but works hard. He’s intelligent and aware as anyone else, but is constantly overlooked. He absorbs media, yet there is none reflective of his situation. All he sees is the cookie cutter image of what a “successful”, black male must have accomplished or look like. I hope to create content for the intelligent, black men (and women) who didn’t go to college. The ones that don’t own any tailored suits or polished Cole Haans, yet have interests and concerns no different from the Summa Cum Laude brothers. The true silent majority.

The thought within the “established” of the black community that says if you didn’t graduate college, your voice, thoughts and ideas are somehow inadequate, needs to die. And it will. God willing, I’ll deliver the fatal blow to those ideals myself.

Stop drinking Hennessy with your pinky in the air.

Thank you all for helping me realize my worth and find my voice. What you read is but a skeleton outline of what I hope to become & produce.

The Visit

Phone started ringing at like 12AM, we met at the Shell earlier, she just got in… And was wondering, if I was still with my friends and if I wasn’t if I wanted to come see her a minute…

Well.. I guess it depends, on what she’s got in mind and if she’s got any kids (yeah)… Nah, nevermind, I’ll probably just chill at the crib. A couple of minutes later, it started ringing again…

The number looked familiar but ain’t saved in my phone. I’m drunk, so I said fuck it, I’m gonna answer, hello?…

The voice said, I know that you can’t stand me, but you remember me? It’s Brandi?

I said the one I used to wax like a candle? The one that it was never nothing that she couldn’t handle? The one that said I used to fuck her better than her man do?

She replied like, yeah so? But what you doing now though? Henny talking on both shoulders, dog this chick like Alpo…

Told her nothing, bout to roll up. Ima come over there hold up, now this Operation’s covert… “no man” is the code word.

Learned from my mistakes, so it’s no way I’m gon slip, I only pistol whip with Magnums on some Goldeneye shit. Only visiting for now, but always packing for a trip. With him she been wishing it was me inside them hips.

Neighbors probably hear the knocking. And it’ll stay like this as long as she keep calling. Fuck it if he don’t like it, true story, I ain’t even have to write this.

Visions

No man has seen the things I’ve seen, both for myself and regularly

If there can be such thing as regularity living someone else’s fantasy

Where a blessing for one man, leads to a curse for another

Is this how it was intended? I didn’t see it quite like this

To imagine great successes on the backs of someone else

Still a portion of them think that this is justice at its best

To continue in this manner, should I really be this shocked?

When I probe into the future, I see shit we thought had stopped…

visions_by_kuldarleement-d6ux62dImage by Kuldar Leement

 

Resurrection & Fire

Somewhere surrounded only by the smoldering remnants of a fractured psyche, a man makes use of the smoldering embers. All formerly valuable possessions, long devoid of any meaningful value, are relegated to makeshift piles of timber. Yet, they were adaptable as is the man whom chooses he should be, and transform into something more designed for survival. Reborn amidst fault and smoke, the ladder that is chaos demands a sacrifice be made to forge atonement. A piece or pieces of the man must die or the whole will be devoured instead, as only death can pay for life.

The flicker of a lighter here is a bit ironic, given the circumstances. A man could use what was already provided to ignite a flame, but instead he chooses to create his own fire. And still let everything burn. All around him everything burns, yet he doesn’t use the blaze as a catalyst nor try to stop it. He is complicit with both stagnation and adaptation. When he inhales puffs of his smoke and theirs, a moment of clarity consumes him… Burn them all.

Burn the ideals of cultural excellence. Incinerate the societal norms. Torch the bourgeoisie. A man has no economic security, no financial freedom, and no social mobility, yet the man is rich. In visions & daydreams, all those who cling to antiquated ideas perished. Just as the man chooses his smoke, he has chosen his path. He knows he can ill afford to let the past dictate the future he now dreams, lest the same mistakes transpire. There are those he’d wish to save and those he could help along the way. But a man is much more wary now and focused on his own. The future seemed so bright yet still, though, it could just be the flames scorching everything remaining in sight-line.