Monthly Archives: September 2016


It’s you, with fragile moments and beautiful sentiments that make my heart soften to the beat of life. The smile that weakens my resolve and melts my intensity to lust. I love to adore you in these moments.

Love falls short of what we are, life above all is what makes us. Our pulse undulates through time like the Northern lights through crisp skies and my breath whispers across your body in beautiful wisps of every hue.

I inhale your beauty waiting to exhale the us that each pulse swirls and rises in a mist of emotion. Colors fade and shimmer within each beat of our heart thundering across the landscape of love and lust intertwined in one bolt of lightening.

We’re elemental within a universe of passionate particles dancing on air. Nothing else exists when we breathe as one spirit sharing the beauty of two souls united in time and space. Nothing matters, not even living is conscious within our embrace, we just fade into the future riding on moments and memories of now.

Now we’re eternal, not constricted by time or space. Tomorrow and yesterday are one moment to bind us as one. Within every moment is an eternity that is exponentially expressed every time our lips touch. This is how we became us.


National Distractions

This bullshit is a distraction, no this country is a distraction. I swear the idiots have taken over. I mean the media perpetrates this shit of course. They found the most dramatic figures in American culture, mined the one for shootings, and the other for criminal records. Now we have to be subject to all the bullshit that occurs when a matriarchal culture clashes with a patriarchal system, dude I’m done.

I can’t even brainstorm without some new twist on a story, so I guess I’ll ride it out. This latest one is brilliant. It’s perfect. You have the male from a matriarchal culture being shot by a female in a patriarchal system. It don’t get no better than this.

It would have been genius to write the situation and characters. She gets up in the morning straps on her gun and drinks a cup of coffee after kissing her significant other goodby! At the station she stands around a few minutes bullshitting at the water cooler about the previous shift. A cliche filled narrative of macho bullshit that her and her partner pretend to believe.

Then switch to the victim leaving his baby mamma’s apartment and heading to his momma’ house to change his jewelry and clean his ride. He could be texting another hood rat on one cellphone while talking to his partner on another phone about how “fly” or “fresh” he is; all the while giving everyone the nod as he slowly drives or parades through the hood.

These scenes could bounce back and forth with him working on his look and her checking her weapon. He could be eating breakfast and sitting at a table where momma cooks breakfast admiring his latest fashion statement while she reviews the latest BOLO’s drinking coffee and scanning the radio.

As he struts down a city street contrasting with the greasy water filled pot holes and boarded up windows, she could slowly cruise the boulevard flexing her arm and checking her hat angle in the rear view mirror hiding years of late night pizza and war movies behind the drivers door.

As they pass on the street he sees a “white girl” playing cop for his entertainment and knows she really wants a real “Nigga” like him to satisfy all the years of living in the security of that uniform without a real man.

She sees a “thug” that needs a real job and a belt that will tighten enough to hold his pant up. She gives him the look and flashes back to the mornings BOLO’s. There’s an empty space of disconnect there where she’s trying to control her adrenaline wondering if under those gold chains and grill is a suspect. He sees her eying him and thinks he’s got his braids and chains so tight even the cop can’t resist his look, so he tightens up his walk.

She hits her lights and he strikes a pose like, “ok girl, I’ll play!” She sees a hostile “gangsta” and does a mental check of scenarios she may have to react to. As she gets out of the car he decides to play hard to get and starts walking away. She adjusts her voice and commands him to stop.

As she makes her way towards him with her hand on her gun he thinks “ok I’ll play the game!” To play his part he reaches in his jacket with his best “hood look” and grabs the cigarette he’s missing dangling from his lip. She draws her gun with her best “John Wayne” swagger. He checks his finger nails and runs his fingers along his manicured mustache making sure he’s still tight.

In an attempt to exude masculinity through the feminine nature of his look he raises his voice with all the confidence of the “little man” he was raised to be around woman, and tells her to “slow down baby, all that ain’t necessary.”
She yells, “get on the ground!”, straight from her diaphragm in her best cop voice she was trained to use. He’s thinkin, “fuck that, I spent hours gettin this look going!”

This is the point where we are confused nationally. The disconnect between what two “characters” are thinking in the middle of a life and death situation neither character recognizes. Everyone playing their part till the sound of a gun going off rushes her to the realization she wasn’t prepared and he realizes that his game wasn’t a game, it was 100!!!

I wish all the characters on both sides of this drama would sit down. I don’t want to hear anymore about these attention seeking whores. I had a “brother in arms” who was drunk most days trying to forget his experiences “over there” who got killed for pan handling. He was a regular at the store where he was shot by an officer so everyone knew him, except this cop. He’s dead and the cop walked away. Ain’t nobody even got this dude on their radar. He was “white trash” though. No story there!

You can give these drama kings and queens media attention and send the National Guard out to enhance the scene. I understand that this “forced reality series” is just what they want and it’s a convenient distraction from the reality of more serious situations no one has answers to.

Just don’t get offended when I don’t get excited over the epoch. It’s a tired narrative that everyone sees, but winks and nods to each other so we don’t have to talk about the real problems of parenting, culture, and leadership. If we talk about these root problems its like looking in a mirror. Then all these characters would have to see themselves, rather than the character they see on the other end of a camera lens, and they aren’t the same people!


It’s been a while since I’ve stretched my brain. I hate the awkwardness of starting. Ideas, grammar, rhythm all swirl in the distance distracting my desire to just write. I have no purpose, like someone who trains for an event they’ll never attempt, I write.

My thoughts are stiff. The process is familiar, like the runner who remembers the “stitch” that comes and goes with time. The rhythm is similar, getting lost in the pace, that’s the beauty.

Once these “old bones” get loosened you never know what’ll come of it. Could be hypocrisy revealed or love hidden in plain sight. Either way it takes my mind off the aches and pains of knowing there’s never a “last hurrah”, there’s only the idea that never got written.

So I mine the imagination for that one nugget of truth that’s universal. This is what keeps my arthritic brain from fusing into some angry rant that rests in dust. Or worse, ceases in rust. The thought of my imagination being medicated into oblivion, or trapped within a blank page is frightening. So the legend will keep me digging and breathing.

It’s not fame, nor trilogies, not even dollars that keep my knuckles cracked. It’s the synergy of my emotions colliding with my intellect that lift my pen. The familiarity of hope never loses it luster as long as my minds wide open.

This is how nothing becomes something and everything becomes one idea away. Possibilities revealed within the white noise reverberating off blank lines of desire. Nothing can be beautiful.

So I’ll end with the beginning; as this is a fitting plot. The snake swallowed it’s tail to remind us that ancient wisdom and a newborns cry are the same inspirations, it’s just where we are in life that determines wether we hear the beauty of each.