Skeletons in my closet

The silent running dialogue that I often have with myself.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

A speech and a message that needs to be heard!

"I am a New Orleanian."
LRA Chair Norman Francis' Address at the Mass Commemorating the First Anniversary of Hurricane KatrinaAugust 29, 2006St. Louis Cathedral

Archbishop Hughes and Leaders of the Diocese, President Bush, Governor Blanco, Members of Congress, my Colleagues from the Louisiana Recovery Authority, federal, state and local officials and other Distinguished Guests,
I think you will all's been a long year.
Three hundred sixty-five days of disbelief ...and anguish ...and determination ...and faith...and hard work ...and hope. It's still hard to comprehend the scope of it all.
So many days, we-the victims of hurricanes Katrina and Rita-have felt like Job of the Old Testament. We've questioned our faith, our neighbors, our leaders, and our levees.
We witnessed this great city's vibrancy and energy being replaced overnight with devastation.
Our losses are incomprehensible.
Fifty-seven days under water. 200,000 homes destroyed. Our economy ground to a halt. Our families dispersed across America.
It's tried our patience and our faith.
It's sometimes difficult to remember that with so much at hand, we have to focus our efforts one step at a time and pull as one-all of us together.
This is the test of our lifetimes.
My colleagues on the Louisiana Recovery Authority were honored and privileged to accept Governor Blanco's invitation to serve our state in this unprecedented recovery task. These dedicated volunteers have spent hours, days, nights and weekends addressing our fiduciary responsibilities. With the Governor, Legislature and all Louisianians, we have pledged to make this region a better place than it was-with safer homes and businesses, stronger levees and restored wetlands, and smarter approaches to rebuilding our neighborhoods, our public schools and health care systems.
We will do this, and we have begun this difficult journey.
The signs of progress are not always easy to see, but they are here. Schools are in session, people are rebuilding, businesses are reopening and the music of life has begun to return.
So much of the hard recovery work rooted in the first year will take off in the second.
Reforms in education, in governance and in health care hold great promise.
The generosity of the American people and their elected representatives has given us substantial resources for rebuilding.
But there are many challenges ahead.
In the case of New Orleans, our charge is to rebuild in a short amount of time what our forbears took 300 years to create-with our culture intact and our doors of opportunity open to all who want to join us in this City's rebirth.
I was not born a New Orleanian.
I moved here in 1948 as a young man, an entering freshman at Xavier University, eager to learn, ready to see what I could bring to the world and what the world could bring to me.
There was no better place to be.
This city was a beacon of opportunity-just as it has been for so many others since its founding. And though I did not grow up here, this is my city.
I am proud to be a New Orleanian.
New Orleans has become a part of me, as our jazz and art and architecture and cuisine and families have become a part of the soul of everyone who has ever lived here or visited.
New Orleans has now become a part of the soul of every person who was touched by Katrina.
Every person who has ever felt grief, helplessness, or vulnerability knows what we suffered in New Orleans.
Katrina has made New Orleans a symbol of the devastation that wreaked the Gulf Coast, a symbol of man's vulnerability to Nature, a symbol of our society's weaknesses, a symbol of human resilience.
Katrina also made New Orleans a symbol for heroism, compassion, human decency and generosity of spirit.
That's why I'm honored to be able to express our gratitude and thanks to all of God's angels in Louisiana and elsewhere who gave unselfishly on our behalf.
When the first responders and other volunteers pulled our families off roof tops, out of attics and out of trees, their actions said for each of them: "I am a New Orleanian."
When families in towns and cities in every state of this nation opened their hearts and homes to our evacuees, the sound of their doors opening spoke for each of them: "I am a New Orleanian."
When nurses and doctors and orderlies carried their patients to rooftop evacuations and hand-ventilated those who needed it, their actions to honor their profession called out: "I am a New Orleanian."
When college students, church groups, and retirees chose to spend their vacations gutting houses and rescuing family treasures, the sound of crow bars and hammers hard at work rang out: "I am a New Orleanian."
When gentle hearts and warm souls lent shoulders to cry on, their compassion spoke quietly: "I am a New Orleanian."
When President Bush stood in Jackson Square in September and pledged to help us rebuild this great city, he joined our founders by symbolically staking his future to ours, telling the nation and the world: "I am a New Orleanian."
When Governor Blanco comforted victims at the Superdome and across the region, when she shared their grief of the loss of loved ones as only a mother who has lost a son can do, when she spoke to unite us and not divide us in a time of terrible tragedy, when she stood strong and fought for the resources Louisiana needs to rebuild, she didn't need to say what we already knew: "I am a New Orleanian."
As Mayor Nagin communicates his optimism about this city's triumphant rise from the depths of despair, his determination and commitment say, "I am a New Orleanian."
The City of New Orleans will once again be a beacon of hope.
The Gulf Coast will once again be a beacon of hope.
We will rebuild our communities safer, stronger, smarter.
We will rebuild them with opportunity for all.
We will rebuild them with confidence, vision, and energy.
We will rebuild them to realize the hopes and dreams of all who have lived here and all who have helped us in our time of need.
And we will rebuild them for the tens of thousands of Louisiana people, scattered throughout the nation, aching to return home.
That is our sacred obligation, and with God's Grace and the help of "new" New Orleanians from across the country and around the globe, we will succeed by honoring the memory of those Katrina took from us with our City's and Region's rebirth.Mr. President, we express our thanks to you for supporting our requests for funds. We are grateful to the Congress for appropriating this financial assistance and to the American people for their loyalty. To all who have provided support around the globe, we say thanks. To Chairman Don Powell, we owe a deep debt of gratitude for his tireless efforts on our behalf and for listening so very well.
In light of the difficulties we all must make in our future recovery efforts, we pray this morning that God will
"Give us the courage to change the things that must be changed;The fortitude to accept the things that cannot be changed;And the wisdom to know the difference between the two."
May God bless us all!

I could not have said it any better myself. That speech almost moved me to tears. It truly has been a year that I will never forget.I was saddened and then angered by the medias commemoration/celebration of Katrina. I listened to networks from CNN to Tom Joyner, comment and toll the one-year anniversary of the most devastating event in U.S. History. I really worry the direction this thing is going. Public sentiment is fickle. I don’t want the moment to get lost in FEMA or Global Warming, or even costal restoration. But I don’t want America to forget, people still need help.

Forgetting Katrina is forgivable. Hurricanes on the gulf coast are a part of life. There will be another one, someday bigger, more devastating (hopefully not in my life time). But, what we can’t forget are the people. What we must not forget is what this storm showed us. We can never forget how much we can open our hearts in compassion even in this day and age. What we should never forget is that people are what make this whole thing work, not the government. Where our elected officials failed us, where our appointed officials failed us, we never failed ourselves. This speech is so honest, because homes were opened, cities were opened and people did their best.

I don't ask the often replayed and trite question, "Where were you when Katrina hit?" I am more in favor of the more revealing question,” Where were you before Katrina Hit, and where are you now?!" New Orleans, south Louisiana for that matter had big problems before Katrina, so the storm was neither the source nor the solution, merely a catalyst. So forgive me if this sounds absurd, Thanks but no thanks, if you are here to help as long as the Cameras are here go home. We don’t need self-aggrandizement. If you are here because Congress in their infinite wisdom sent 10 billion dollars to the area, go home. We don’t need carpet baggers.

We need people who really care, because the problem doesn’t stop with the levee, or the floodwaters, or the Hurricane...Hearts and minds need to be repaired.

Yesterday.I watched and listened:
as Al Sharpton complained about the treatment of evacuees,
as Jessie Jackson drove buses to get STUDENTS from Xavier out of the storm ravaged area.
as people merely hampered by a hurricane but utterly broken by the governments apathetic response wondered from whence there salvation would come.

One year later nothing has changed.
Al is still complaining, and demanding justice, now it’s for trailers to be provided (and re-keyed).
Jessie is still driving buses, except these buses are to get black voters to vote again for the black mayor.
People are now recovered from the hurricane, but still broken by the government’s apathetic response.

I don’t complain.

I bare witness.

Truth is you are never prepared for life, life happens and you withstand, conquer, become overwhelmed, rise yet again.I am still sad today. I will probably get sadder after I watch Spike Lee's joint on Katrina. Our government failed us this i now know. I can no longer sit piously by as other countries violate the morals, cultures and high standards of the good ole USA. I can no longer tisk, tisk, tisk, Ethiopians as they eat rice and bat at flies, or slight the failures of foreign countries to protect their children from sweat shops and pedophiles. I too have seen the third world and it is 60 miles from my door. I sat in disbelief as I watched friends and family share corners of my home as their homes were destroyed. I cried as I watched children on rooftops for days begging for rescue. I anguished as I watched mothers caring for despondent children underneath interstate overpasses with no food or water. I grew angry as those rescued were further subjected to harm as they were shuttled and disbursed throughout the country.

I wonder have I witnessed a modern day genocide caused by a Hurricane but enabled by failed government inactivity.

But, I can say without fear of contradiction, human spirit, American Spirit, and compassion, can conquer even this!

Wednesday, August 16, 2006


I think I need at least one more day to get warmed up.

The idea of writing again has me juiced, but work has stymied my flow. Seems like I do my best when I should be doing something else, but that is for another time and posting.

I went out last night.

From where I am sitting that statement just caused the heavens to rejoice followed by the tolling of several bells. Yes, I WENT OUT last night. Not just a stop-at-party-grab-a-drink-then-head-home-to-the-lovely-wife. I went out for a night on the town and it was Tuesday.

But what did amaze me is how pitiful everyone is. For the record I have not been out for at least 6mths…give or take. In going out terms that is a lifetime. I have missed several new dances; a whole season of clothing; and the new spot is now the old spot.

Going out for real involves a few things.
1.I took a nap. (So I could be ready to stay out late… any one over 30 should develop this practice.)
2. I got dressed. (Not just jeans and a shirt. I put on some gear!)
3. I left the house late. (Other sign of coming home late… If I leave
at 10:00 and come back at 3:00, I only been gone for 5 hrs.)

A good friend of mine does a party on Tuesday. A party for the “Grown and Sexy”. That is a term that is being overused in my neck of the woods. Every party is only for the Grown and Sexy. I could go on about this but I want to tell you about my night. But quickly, the terms Grown and Sexy are not mutually exclusive. I saw many that were sexy, but not grown, and some that were grown and definitely not sexy.

I came early so I could grab me a spot in the corner furthest from the door, and start my drinking session. The new drink of choice is Crown/Tonic/Soda/2 Lemons. I watched as the lambs came in, bahing all about me. Not one individual, not a single solitary person who decided to come dressed as themselves. Cepting for me and these three flaming homosexuals, who were so over the top it was entertaining. Not the point of the story either, but yall shoulda seen these dudes and they was jamming they azz off.

Back on point.

I saw bout:
43 Kanyes.
22 Jay Zs.
25 Russel Simmons
50 Christina Millians
50 Christina Millians at 40+ years of age
15 Christina Millians who needed to drop bout 15 or more pounds.
4 Guys who wore suits, cause they think that is dressing up
No doubt about it. TV can be deemed a success. We are now officially a Cult of Personality. I getting more thoughts together, so forgive the lack of focus on this post.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Starting Something...again.

My first day back.

Checking the seat, little snugger than I remember, they just don’t make stuff like they used to! (Or failing to keep my New Years resolution of riding that bike is coming back to haunt me!)

My fingers still dance nimbly around the keyboard. These ergonomic keyboards are the stuff of legend, and it was worth the looks as I stole it from the office supply closet.

My typing is disturbed by the constant banter from the secretary. Now that I am deep in thought and creation, my silence seems to invite discourse on her part. I keep typing, it looks like work, so maybe she gets the picture.

The world is such a different place from when I last conversed with all of you. I am sure we have all spent time laughing and crying, watching children grow and loved ones go. The Circle of Life.

For some reason my own mortality rises continually on my level of conscience. I have not left my mark in this world. Yeah, I don’t knocked plenty of heads off, experienced some of the things that life has to offer. But, from a life that has given me so much I have given very little.

So my mood and my tone are somber. The black and white of the monitored type reflects my reality, my mood, and my life. The black and the white.

My mind is swimming with topics. Some are old and now history, some are new and current; some are still on the outer boundaries of my mind waiting to be coalesced into thoughts, ideas, words, sentences, paragraphs, stories or diatribes.

Where should I begin, do I want to provoke thought, OR help someone’s significant other get some tonight.

You tell me, I am back!

Friday, March 17, 2006

The Trouble With Blogs

I always look at your eyes. They give it away…all the time. If you are mad, happy, or disgusted, your eyes will let me know. Beautiful brown subtle eyes. I watch them for affirmation, I watch them for acceptance. I knew something was wrong.

I sat there that night oblivious, I held the baby as he continued his frustrated attempts to communicate. I babbled right along with him, I figure if my babble sounds like his babble he might think we are talking. I look at my wife, her eyes dart to miss my gaze. Oh shyte what have I done!

The baby boy distracts me with a less than baby like fart. I laugh and try to catch my wife laughing also.

She isn’t!

She sits with the laptop carefully studying the electronic images, or words… not distracted.

“You want a movie tonight, we can all sit up and eat popcorn and watch a movie?” I ask out of desire to watch a movie, but more so a medium to gauge the situation.

She barely opens her mouth to mumble, “No…”

“Okay, well, lets put the baby to bed and go through some old CDs!” my effort is good, the follow through a tad bit shallow, “What is the name of the last song on Bell Biv Devoe’s album? That shyte was my jam, I know I have the CD down here somewhere.” I hold the boy football style as I move towards the set of built-ins.

“Nope, I’m not in the mood” Her words are, pale if words can be pale. Not transparent though, I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Her eyes followed the lap top brightly lit screen.

I watched her a moment longer. No outward signs of inner stress. She was ice. She was cold. I was in trouble. Not that I am suggesting that I could ever get in trouble. I am a grown man, independent, except for the love I feel and need to feel from my family. However, I am not stupid enough to think that getting on someone’s bad side does not have repercussions, so in other words, I was in trouble.

“How about we sit in the atrium, drink some wine?” My suggestions have now turned to begs, I am not pleading to do anything, I am pleading for her to talk, do something. Don’t be mad, or tell me why you are mad, the impending doom, is killing me. I marshal this comment to myself quietly.

“No! Give me the baby, I am going to put him to bed!” She shoves the laptop onto the coach beside her as she marches towards me. I offer him up, as a sign of peace and she jerks him from my arms and moves toward the baby’s room.

I can’t break the thoughts running in my head. What did I do? Why is she mad! I hear water running. Damn, she is pissed. I hear the boys brief but vocal displeasure at getting his nose cleaned. Phuck, I don’t get her, never do, never have. We have a tight friendship, a close bond… a bond that…bonds….bonds…BONDS!!!!

It all comes together for me; the images flash in my mind kinda Usual Suspect, Momento, Sixth Sense and Frailty like. BONDS! The Laptop, her displeasure!!!!
MY BLOG!!!!!!

I had been checking comments on the laptop earlier. I guess I left the screen up! Damn, she had been reading my blog. My inner most thoughts, my private confessions, my stories of the past. Stories and words crafted together to bring out feelings, urges, understanding.

Well, truth is it wasn’t like I was hiding it. I mean I wasn’t trying to keep it from her. I explain, and explained it like this. I didn’t like my writing at first. It had no style or appeal. My funny wasn’t funny, and my serious was…not funny. I even stopped writing for a while. But I never did this blog with the intention of hiding it from her. I just didn’t think it was good enough, it didn’t merit conversation. Well as of late, I think it has been getting better. I think I found my stride, and I started walking. I fully intended to present her with a compiled somewhat redacted version of my work here. One day, don’t know when but not too far off in the future.

So instead she tripped up on it instead, by herself, with no explanation, no story context, no foreword by the author. And of all the post she had to read, she had to digest
bonds as the first one…damn!

She was mad!

I walked into the bathroom and hugged her. She rejected me! I hugged her again, she pushed me away, as she pushed away tears. I reached for her but again I was rejected.

“Do you love her” Softly between quite sobs, “Do you have feelings for her, things I need to know…anything!”

She wasn’t angry she was hurt. I single handedly sabotaged myself, my life, my relationship. How would she ever trust me again?

No, don’t get confused, stay focused. The blog is/are stories, romanticized recounts of past events. My life before her, and some of my life with her. They show, or should show in the end a growth, and better yet a reason for growth. Why I changed, and what changed me. My despair was not that she was reading the stories, the entries, my issue was…well keep reading.

“No absolutely not, that isn’t even possible. I wrote that trying to express a feeling, trying to show how a great/good friendship can develop from a volatile past. I wrote that to discuss bonds and explore that one.” I explained, with passion and fluidity, I felt shyte was on the line and my words were my only refuge…solace…rescue.

She motioned for me to be quite, she didn’t want my daughter to her us talk.

Again, you got to see why I love this woman; she is still more concerned about my daughter than she is about jumping my azz. I continued none the less, mostly because I was scared not to. Silence and time drives weeds. Yeah, weeds can be removed, but they never seem to really go away, when you least expect it, and are at your most vulnerable, the weeds will sprout up and take shyte over.

So I talked, we talked. I explained and she listened. She spoke, and I heard her. Then I truly got it. I truly understood what was in her heart and in her mind. So now I post!

I hurt her! I dissolved a little bit of the trust we have between us.

I sit on a wealth of talent called creativity, humor, and incite. I very rarely take full advantage of this gift. If you know me, you know that personally I am this person you read when I write. But most people don’t know the layers beneath that. The layers that never feel accepted. The layers that pride themselves on making it alone. The layers that stand steadfast and turmoil and despair. I never let those layers out. I usually turn on a joke, quip, or banter instead of suggesting that something more goes on underneath. But when I write, if you read carefully, I am in essence expressing much much more. Those stories are there for a reason, and they all mean something, even the raunchy ones. It is more than merely laying bones to rest. On this blog I have expressed layers of me that most people have never seen.

All save for one. One who knows my layers. One who accepts me for who I am and who I could be. One who admires my independence but can embrace and nurture me despite it. One who stands beside me in turmoil and despair, without fear or trepidation. My Bond with her starts at my heart and ends with my soul. Nothing replaces that.

So, I erred. I screwed up. I did something so silly and simple. I discounted first and then withheld an interesting and now important part of my life from the one person that is my life.

Yeah, me and wifey are okay. We sit in understanding a mutual respect. And honestly she probably wont read this blog ever again. But when I write she gets the first edit.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

My Life Part VI

My Life Is Done For Now.

Thought I would end this segment on that last note. Give you guys a chance to get yourselves together as we head further into my journey, my blog, my past.

But for the sake of really finishing a story, I must add the falling action!

Yes she called my Mom,

Yes she handed me the phone in the middle of my drunken rage,

Yes, I declined to talk to my mother at that juncture, and decided my better move would be to just go home.

And that is what I did I went home. With my tale between my legs. I was no longer shamed by Ms. 29. I was shamed by my own actions on this night. I said to myself never again would I let someone run me.

Yeah right yall got to know that the X-wife, the bane of my existence, tested…no destroyed that self admonition.

Nuff of that…moving on…closing that chapter and starting anew!

Say can anybody tell me about motivational speakers.

My sister and a good friend of mine are trying to push me in that direction. I don’t know to much about it, but think it sounds interesting. Give me some information if you got any.

Flava the End Part 1
Yeah, he chose Hoops. And she deserved it! Or did she.
She seemed real, genuine, and nice in a hoodie girl sort of way. But her body was banging so I was hoping she would win.
Because she did seem real, how in the hell does she kiss Flava on national TV, one of the JJ Evans kisses, damn.
How in the hell do you say you love Flava on national TV.

I just don’t get it folks; maybe yall can understand and shed some light!

Saints got Drew Brees, now we bout to do some big things. Play-off bound!!!!

Southern plays Duke in basketball. We made it to the big dance baby, and we not trying to go home early. Can yall say…..SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS…..U……S.S.S.S.S...U.

Freaky Friday on tap for tomorrow.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

My Life Part V

Wig splittin time!

Yeah, I was on that kinda mission. My friends were unaware, some had passed off in drunken stupors, and others had gone on their own puzzy salvage missions. But I was mad, hurt, and unable to express my feelings in a mature and logical manner. I was still a teenager, what did you expect!

My knuckles gnarled and tense, held the steering wheel in a passionate grip. I wasn’t driving, I was being driven. I was filled with a macho vibrato that was akin to running through hell with gasoline draws, from bad beginnings come bad endings.

Second thoughts momentarily arrested control of my truck. What was I doing, or what was I going to do. This wasn’t me, this wasn’t feeling right. This shyte was defiantly not my style. Man, just let it go, turn around sleep off this high.

Man you crazy, dis bitch phucked ya boy, claiming to be having your baby, you need to get her straight, sorry we cant let this ride! (Tell the boys downstairs to amp up the testosterone)

I am not sure if I am driving slowly out of fear, a sense of loathing, or a drunken high. I had no plans once I got there I guess I was going to have to play this one by ear. I goto keep my two tenants in mind.
Don’t get hurt!
Don’t go to jail!
As I pulled into the driveway my last bastion of common sense failed me and allowed me to proceed further. I began to get angrier as I walked up stairs, I was mad as hell and I wasn’t going to take it anymore.

BAM BAM BAM! I knocked before I realized.

The door opens slowly, its her sister, she closes the door quickly and loudly announces my presence.

I beat on the door again. It opens slowly this time, with the latch chain attached. From the cracked door pursed lips suggest I leave because Ms. 29 has company.
“I aint leaving I want to talk to her and clear some shyte up” I controlled drunken slur, as I tried to sound commanding.

“I told you she got company, why don’t you just leave…call her tommarrow” Her sisters advice fell on deaf ears. Ears deafened by rage and righteous indignation.

“I aint leaving, whoever that nigga is he got to leave, I aint leaving”
Background time…well, let me tell you more about me and less about the story. Even as a teenager I professed to be cool. I have always been a “lay in the cut kinda nigga”. But I do handle my business. TO that end, let me suggest that I am not a big dude. Even at my ripe old age I am still slightly less than imposing. Now, don’t get it twisted I never lost a fight, and I been in a few, I am able to handle my own. I don’t back down, don’t run, and usually the willingness to fight gets you out of positions of fighting. Now imagine me as a teenager. I was full or vinegar but very light in the azz. The bellows of my tenorish baritone weren’t scarring shyte.

But here is the scene:
12:20 am, A light weight azz nigga beating on an apartment door in a drunken rage. Anger for being showed up by a chic. Angry cause he lost face with his boys. Confused by his feelings of hurt and distrust, added with testosterone-laced pride. Yeah it sounds like an episode of COPs and but for the grace of god it would have been.

“I promise I aint leaving, she phucked up and she know it. I thought she was pregnant and she phucking my boyz. Whateva nigga you got in their need to leave cause “shoogh got some splaining to do.”

The door busted open as a huge back to Africa, former Mandingo Slave, knuckle dragging, ex-convict, construction working black man stepped out. I tensed up and surely let out a groan. I braced up, unafraid but scared nonetheless. He paused as he passed me. I refused to move as all alpha male style as he walked by. He laughed as he passed me, “You live in TallTimbers, in them first set of apartments?”

AWH Shyte, if I survided this night this mutherphucker is prepared to stalk me.

“YEAH! And?”

“You don’t remember me…me and my podnuhs were at your crib bout two months ago. The party where yall broke into the swimming pool. That shyte was off the chain” He laughed as he recounted the story. “Yeah for sure, handle yo business little man”

Let me add at this time with the violent nature of nigga today, Somebody would have been dead from that conversation. But the hood used to be good, and I believe in my heart that god protects babies and fools, and I wasn’t a baby!

Feeling dumber than ever, I a turned back to my mission. “Open the door, now!”

Again the chained door opened. “CO go home, I am serious, we have nothing to say to each other” Her eyes were cold to me, dead, no more love, no more sex, no more relationship. Was she having my baby?!?!?

“Why would you phuck my boy…damn…why would you run that shyte on me! You are so phucked up, bitch…damn” I couldn’t help but let my pain out. I was hurt more than anything. I wasn’t cool, wasn’t smooth, I was a little boy who couldn’t express feelings and who had had his feeling hurt. I didn’t want her, but I didn’t want anybody to have her?” WHAT IS THAT ABOUT!!!

My anger again gained control. I beat widly on the door! “I cant believe you bitch!”

The door closed again and I was left with my furry and my hurt, and silence.

The door opened again, I pushed forward full throttle.

Ms. 29 stood defiantly in the door way. I stopped to gauge her as I planned my next move. Should I hit her, should I…..

She handed me the phone!“Its your Mom!”

Friday, March 10, 2006


I stood with my hand on the doorknob. I was steel and ice ran through my veins. A dull distant thump repeated somewhere in the distance.

My gaze narrowed, I intentionally focused.

A dull distant thump repeated somewhere in the distance.
What do I say, hmmm...what do I do...better yet what the fuck?!?!?!?!.

The distant thump maintained its syncopated rhythm. Where is that thumping coming from? Its mellow timbre further invaded my mind. Panic quickly replaced my calm. The thumping increased, in both rate and volume. My eyes flit but for a moment. Seconds roll like minutes then hours. The distant thump now moves close and begins to dominate the landscape, towering over my empty mind searching for thoughts. What the fuck Thump, thump, thump, its on me now… my heart beat!

I unconsciously briefly focused on a bead of sweat as it traced the ridges of my spine before disappearing into the area between my left and right ass cheek. This was how shyte was going down. This is how ya boy would end. I was new to the game but not that new. I figured that a carefully chosen phrase, mixed words, a glance and a quip could skillful retract me from this impending situation.

"Well, who is it for, it aint mine. Shyte you are tripping, I’m OUT"

Was that it…was that all I had to say. Hell, hath no fury like a woman scorned. Well, I just burned this bitch beyond scorn. My sweaty hand failed to turn the knob quickly enough. She pounced!

Okay….maybe I should give you a little background at this point. Long time ago, I started writing about my life. The voyage was a long penned one so I decided the clever thing to do would be to break it into bight size morsels for your entertainment. This is the fourth part of that series which as of now has six parts. As I write, I remember more things, and the story gets longer, but I guarantee each portion sheds some crucial light on ya boy. So if you are lost please catch up…. My Life Part I, My Life Part II, My Life Part III.

I drew back, franticly clawing at the doorknob. Oh shyte, I just new I was going to have to peel this chics wig. (Yeah, I know, don’t really sound like me but it was a different place, a different time, a different me.)

“Please Closet, think of us, think of our future, think of our family” she begged as she sprawled on the floor grabbing my ankles.

Oh how far the mighty have fallen, this shyte was pitiful. Nevertheless, still passing on an opportunity to be chivalrous I kicked her off and defiantly strode out the door. Next came my biggityness!

“Damn girl, I said stop tripping. If you are pregnant it aint for me. What I look like having a child with you. I am way to young for kids. See, its that kinda shyte that makes me not want to be with you! Dangone!” I amped up my performance as her sister entered the room. I was an ass for sure, I know…I knew it then, but I was young and foolish.

I stood over her as she lay on the ground sobbing. I continued my rant with showmanship and style. I was an azz.

Towards the end of my torrent, the environment changed. The temperature seemed to chill quite a few degrees, the source of this climatic change? During my tirade, and macho performance it appears a calm and peculiar demeanor had settled over Ms. 29. Her icy glare sent me back. She still cried but her tears turned from anguish to anger. I had over stayed my welcome and overplayed my hand. Now it was really time to bounce.
I hit the door and jumped into my auto. I peeled the drive with laughter in the bottom of my throat. I had dodged a big one. Or so I thought. I looked in my review mirror as that little set of trouble fell into the distance. I still didn’t get it. I wouldn’t allow my mind to ask me the questions that needed to be asked. What if she is pregnant? What if it is yours? What the hell are you going to do?

I had about two weeks of trouble free days. I say days because my nights were racked with dreams and fitful sleeps. I saw my child with her in several different settings. My dreams depicted a handsome son being natured by his mother to visit harm on me. The dreams were evil. I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. But I should have known that Ms.29 had the game afoot the whole time. She could and would get me back I just didn’t know it.
I was good. I mean my life was good. I was in an apartment with my best friends since middle school. We were all in school on the yard. We all considered ourselves big pimpin. We smoked big weed and drank. Life was good! We threw parties every other weekend, parties that eventually devolved into weed smoking sessions. During these sessions we often had open, frank, and weed induce conversations. Truth had a way of coming out.

My BOY: Say whats up with you and Ms. 29. She aint be calling are tripping lately. You finally dropped her or what.
Closet Owner: Something like that. We had a falling out. I put her on probation. She got to earn this dick!
All: Laughter
Associate: Well, I am glad yall not kicking it.
CO: What difference does it make to you! NIGGA!
ASSOCIATE: I am just saying, she called me up and well, I been banging it for like a week.
All: Silence

Damn, she had done the unthinkable. She phucked my partner! That bitch! How could she. That is the worse thing you could do to a man, is secretly let his friend hit. That shyte has the tendancy to make a young nigga uncool. I was on the spot. I needed a reply. The room was quite waiting for me to redeem myself.

CO: Shyte, that’s cool. Like Snoop and Dre say…It aint no fun if my homies cant have none nigga. Shyte I open the top so all my nigga can get a drink.

ALL: Hell yeah, CO is the man.

My Boy 1: Say dawg you think you could hook me up!

MY BOY: Shyte, I know I am next.

Associate 2: I would love to get at that too damn.
General discussions ensue about wanting to; trying to; hoping to; fuck my Ms. 29. Okay, I was done. This bitch had pulled the final straw. But I had to keep my cool. I had to maintain my grip on this situation.

CO: Yeah, it’s all good with the puzzy. But watch she claiming to be having this nigga baby. The more the merrier. Shyte that baby might be for one of all niggas already.

ALL: Silence

Shortly thereafter all the many offers to fuck were replaced by declines. I had regained my perch as top dog, even if my perch was tainted. I had managed to hold my anger in check, but that wouldn’t be for long, dis bitch would pay.

Part V...Monday I promise! But for now I got something really improtant to tell you guys. Okay, I aint ready to tell you all yet, give me a day or two. I am not trying to tease, its just sometimes I have to practice getting my words out.

I will say this, I do love getting your comments. I think that your comments, more than anything else, spur me to write, well other than this really strong desire to express myself. I have always been creative and looking for an avenue of expression. Maybe this is it! Maybe more is instore. So thanks for the kind words. I will say when you like my writing all I can do is give a big ole cheesey is a little to dark to blush.
So though you hate to hear it.... Stay tuned!