The Mind of Me

I'm Back....Sorta.

2011-08-17T16:36:00.000-07:00

Life is changing. Gotten older...and understanding that good health isn't guaranteed. Whatever the case, I'm trying to break the habit of enjoying other people's art and get back to creating my own. I consider this a valiant effort to begin again. I've fucked around and written a few tracks but haven't mustered up the courage to drop lyrics. I'm not ready to open that Pandora's box and come face to face with the failures, the hopes, and dashed dreams of a life I was certain would have taken a different path. I really don't want to ruin the ending of the movie but it's all an illusion. Life, here today-all illusion. I think about all the nebulous plans I let course through my brain-always focusing on the destination and ignoring the journey. All bullshit...even the destination.

I love to write But I don't like to read what I write. Actually that's a lie-I love to read what I write. What I don't like is the filter. Filter you ask? That part of me that information passes through and causes my emotions to start firing in sync with the synapses in my brain. You relive every moment with varying levels of intensity.

Right about now I'd like to say something self-loathing and dramatic like, "Fuck my life" or something equally as ridiculous but I'll spare everyone the unnecessary over-dramatization of my deluded existence. If I focus, I'm mean really hard, I can see the silver lining. I fucked some good pussy and, after all, isn't that one of the main reasons we're here? To fuck. I think this is the first time in my writing 'career' that I've said something so vile as 'I fucked some good pussy'. At this juncture, I don't really give a shit anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a fuck anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a damn anymore. Get the picture? I really don't care anymore. So I'll say what ever the fuck comes to mind. I'll sum it up for you: I'm middle-aged, fucking broke and in a relationship I can't manage to make any sense of. And honestly, the one thing that really bothers me is being broke. I burned through my escape fund trying to increase my escape fund and now I'm stuck. Yeah, whatever.

Fuck my life? Nah...Not yet. I'm still in the midst of defining it. Not quite ready to call it a colossal failure yet. I'm still analyzing it-picking it apart and trying to place things neatly into perspective-you know, like a movie. But if you were allowed to read the cliff-notes of my entire existence the picture wouldn't be so pretty. They say the devil's in the details-in this case, my salvation is to be found when you read between the lines but no one seems to care enough to pay attention. They want the quick and dirty-and then on to the next thing, all the while muttering to themselves, "At least my life isn't that fucked up." Hey buddy, yes it is. You're just still being deluded by your own illusion. Tomorrow you're me-living with one last feeble hope for redemption.

Did I have fun? To quote the former Alaskan governor, "You betcha!" But it wasn't fun I was after-fun was diametrically opposed to what I was attempting to accomplish. I played the part. Tried to be the responsible one and hold it all together while my significant others never really gave a fuck about me or what I was attempting to accomplish. I was the dude that kept the lights on. I tried to do the 2.5 kids, white picket fence, etc. But everyone saw through the illusion but me. I wondered why they thought I was after something else. It was a con, wasn't it? I couldn't possibly believe in the illusion could I? Yeah, I did. I wanted to be someone my loved ones would be proud of. But I don't think you can plan other people's impression of you. I think it would have been better for me not to really give a shit about what anyone thought and went for whatever it was I wanted in life. And if in the end they were proud, it would be the cherry on top-not the entire dessert.

So now here I am, left holding a memory bank filled with busted dreams and life's lessons learned. Lessons no one seems to care to benefit from. Everyone's too preoccupied with their own illusions to believe anything I have to say. So why do I bother? Because time is precious and to waste it chasing illusions seems like a sin to me; like the worst imaginable crime.

In the end it won't be so difficult to admit I allowed myself to buy into the illusion. But right now the very thought of it all stings like salt water in an open wound and it's last call for alcohol and life has presented me with the bar tab-time to pay up. And I'm asking myself, 'Where did the evening go?' Was it worth it? Someone else will have to decide because at this juncture, I don't really give a shit anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a fuck anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a damn anymore. It is what it is-it was what it was. And to worry about any of it is simply a waste of time. Are you geting the picture?

Chocolate Covered Strawberries

2009-12-20T06:02:00.000-08:00

I'm all over this!

Reflectively Pensive During the Fall

2009-09-30T08:28:00.000-07:00

It's fall-a season that carries a lot of meaning for me. When I was a kid, fall was when we returned to school, which was never a happy time for me. Quite frankly, as I child I only liked the summer-you could toss the rest of the year in the trash. Oh wait, and Christmas. As an adult, I had to teach myself to enjoy the entire year and all the pleasantries the four seasons offer.

I remember when I learned to fully embrace fall. I'd just got out of a very turbulent relationship and my newly found freedom brought new and exciting experiences. A new love interest-a new job-exposure to many different cultural activities, I was flying high. The change in temperature was a warm welcome. I found pleasure in layering my clothing, stepping out into the cool night air, and allowing myself to be dazzled by all my new surroundings.

Well once again it's fall and it's a pensive time for me. A lot of new things occurring in my life right now. Some, if I allow them, can make me very depressed but I've been consciously navigating my way through. If I find myself getting down, I don't panic, I just go with the feeling and I allow it to have its time. I think that's the only way we move on-instead of burying our emotions, let them run their course. I also know how to "medicate" those feelings with music.

It seems every time Maxwell comes out with a new CD, I've just ended a relationship. Somehow he always helps me navigate through. So suffice it to say I've been listening to a lot of Maxwell lately. In fact, his very first release, Maxwell's Urban Hang Suite was released when I was going through a major break up. I picked it up and 'Til the Cops Come Knockin' and Reunion helped me put things into perspective. Instead of spending the entire time wallowing in sadness, I began having a few 'Til the Cops Come Knockin' episodes of my own. From what I hear his latest, BLACKsummers'night, has two more releases scheduled: blackSUMMERS'night and blacksummers'NIGHT, I think I'll stay single until he's done. Oct. 16 he'll be at the Hollywood Bowl and I'll be there to check god out.

Well, enjoy the fall everyone. Embrace the changes nature brings. Here in California we're lucky enough not to be fully assaulted by inclimate weather so we should allow it to act as a prop or backdrop in the motion picture of our lives. I have quite a fondness for the fall. The cool air reminds me of loving and being loved; of a hand in hand walk with someone special; of concerts and plays and warm coats. I implore you all to find something special about this time of the year and make it your own.

TPOKW?

*Side Note-I took this photo yesterday on a jetty in Seal Beach at sunset. California has some very beautiful sunsets.

Glenn Beck and The Fema Camps

2009-09-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

Immediately after the election of President Barack Obama, Fox 'News' host Glenn Beck began ranting and raving about Fema death camps. Surely Obama couldn't have erected these death camps in the short time he was in office, therefore the death camps must have existed prior to Obama's election to office and Beck must have known about them. The only real objection Beck has is not their existence thereof, but that a democrat (and an African-American one at that) is now in control of the government who would be responsible for filling said camps.

The Lipstick Lesbian and the Dirty Dance.

2009-09-27T08:27:00.000-07:00

Last night I was supposed to go out on a date-but I canceled and opted to go see my friend's reggae band play...alone. Why, you ask? Well the woman I was supposed to go out on a date with was supposed to confirm by a certain time but failed to do so. At the last minute she called as though everything was fine. I told her it was kite flying season, gave her the best location to go fly one, and headed out to hear the reggae band.

I arrive at the venue and take a seat next to what I perceive to be 2 guys and a 2 girls. I don't think much of it, just a couple of couple's out to hear some good reggae music. As the evening progresses, the two guys go out on the balcony to smoke, and one is hanging all over the other's ass. I give them the side-eye, but hey, to each his reach right?

Later that evening, one of the 'guys' comes up to my table and introduces 'himself', his name is Rena. Don't know too many guys named Rena. This is about the time I realize Rena isn't a 'guy'. We chat about the band, she tells me they've been at the venue drinking since 6pm (it was 11:30pm) so she was pretty wasted. I tell her the band plays at the Sandpiper on Thursdays, she should check them out. She asks me to write the name down on a napkin and I say, "Sure." Rena comes back with a pen and a napkin and I scribble the name of the club, and some directions along with a map and hand her the napkin. Wait, did the club just see a 'dude' get my phone number? That's EXACTLY what I would have thought had I witnessed such an event-a dude picking up on another dude. I let it go.

Later, Rena, who's now become my favorite ~~stalker~~ fan, comes up and says, "My girlfriend wants to dance with you. Go dance with her." I sit, stunned. The word 'girlfriend' is reverberating around inside my head. After a few beers, I'm not the sharpest knife in the kitchen drawer so I'm sitting there processing this information....slowly: Now let's see, she looks like dude and dude's have girlfriends...processing... BUT she's not a dude and she has a girlfriend....processing...OH!!....LESBIANS!! Ok then, why does the lipstick lesbian wanna dance with me? This all transpired over the course of about 5 seconds. Rena can no longer wait, she grabs me by the arm and drags me over to her girlfriend, who smiles a drunken I could sure use some dick right now smile and we're off to the dance floor.

The lipstick lesbian (LL) immediately begins the dirty dance. I'm most certainly not feeling this at all. I keep looking over at Rena who pretends to be in deep conversation with whom I'm hoping is a real guy because this evening is turning out to be too bizarre for this old man. I try to create some distance, but LL insists upon sowing her heterosexual oats tonight and I'm the chosen penis. I continue to create distance because #1 she's drunk and #2 I don't want to go mano a mano with Rena over this nonsense. Not that I couldn't take her-one punch and she's on her back counting light fixtures on the ceiling-but who wants things to come to that?

Eventually Rena comes out and begins dancing with the 2 of us...WEIRD!!! I turn my back to them and dancing alone is a blonde woman who'd told me earlier she liked my hair-so I begin dancing with her. This goes on for about a song or two when all of a sudden LL jumps in between the two of us and begins the dirty dance again. Now, I'm really uncomfortable. I'm being made a public spectacle of by a lipstick lesbian who is making it obvious she wants to do the black snake moan. I'm in a quandary, what am I to do? Finally, the band plays a slow reggae song and I make the excuse that I have to go to the bathroom and politely excuse myself. When I come out of the restroom, they're gone and I breathe a sigh of relief. Had they not left, I might have been propositioned and I have to tell you, vomiting wouldn't have been off the list of possibilities. Not that I found them disgusting, but the mere thought that I might have been propositioned to fill some void in a lesbian relationship bothers me.

In many ways I felt sorry for Rena. I know she asked me to dance with her girlfriend to make her happy and I'm sure there's no limit to what she might have allowed to transpire in order to please her. I didn't feel a kinship or camaraderie of any kind with her, I just felt, she being the stud of the two, had to indulge a lot from her girlfriend to keep her. And all the dirty dancing in public with a real man...that seemed like a power play on behalf of LL. It's as though she was saying, "See, at any given moment I can replace you with an original."

Sad.

TPOKW?

And Chris Brown Got How Many Years of Probation?

2009-09-23T00:10:00.000-07:00

This is just ridiculous.

How I Survived the Weaponizing of My Children (and What Died in the Process)

2009-09-22T18:11:00.000-07:00

I love my kids-all of them. But I don't love them as much as I should; the way a father is supposed to love his children. I can't. I learned that years ago. Who's that scratching their head? I can hear the fingernails raking over the scalp. "What's that you say? You don't love your kids?" No, that's not what I said. What I said is I don't love them as much as I should. But make no mistake, it was a conscious effort on my part-a decision made out of necessity.

Love is a very, very, powerful emotion. It drives people to do some very unacceptable things. It can also motivate people to do very positive things as well-but that's not the focus of this blog entry. In the 80's, my son and I were separated for almost 6 years. His mother took him and disappeared. I've written about it in previous blogs and many of you might have read about it, so you know the story. During the first year of his absence I drowned my pain in alcohol. I don't remember very much during that first year, but I do remember a pain so intense, I wanted to, and probably would have done harm to his mother. Her saving grace was I didn't have a clue where she was. I was close to the brink of insanity and there's no telling what I might have done had I gotten a hold of her. After the first year, I found things to distract me but there was still a burning rage deep inside me. Years later, I decided that I had to put a lid on the love I have for my children. Their mothers could always weaponize that love and use it against me-and boy did they.

I had to make a choice, a very difficult choice. Either I allow the love I have for my children to be used against me in such a way that I could do harmful damage to someone and lose my freedom, or I control the depths of that love. This might be the first time some of you are hearing anything similar to this, but I'm certain there are more men out there who've experienced this same transformation. Imagine being faced with that dilemma-no one said life was easy.

Women who weaponize children and use them against their exes are the worst terrorist of them all. Worse than the 9-11 terrorists? Yes. Allow me to explain: often this type of terrorism goes unreported and in some cases is even sanctioned by local government. The damage is far reaching. It creates a riff between the paternal parent and the children. Eventually he has to let go. He has to put some emotional distance between himself and his children. Perhaps there are alternatives, but I don't know what they are. In my case, I had no way of knowing my son's mother would disappear with him so I was completely unprepared.
Certainly this behavior isn't against the law-it flies below the radar. In fact when the mother of my 2 daughters did the exact same thing (even after knowing my son's mom had pulled this stunt on me), the police department refused to get involved.

We live in a society where men aren't supposed to show their emotions, so many do as I did and suffer in silence or self-medicate themselves with alcohol and other mind/emotion altering substances. Some lash out, but the majority just try to deal with the pain alone. I know that many of the decisions I made after my son was removed from my life were decisions to try and eliminate the pain. It's like being on fire and grabbing anything within reach to try and extinguish it. I got with the wrong woman, made two more children out of wedlock, and just sunk into an even deeper hole. I became the perpetrator to my own victim. Self-destruction wasn't my intent but it was definitely my destination.

The real question now that I've said all of that is just how much do I love my children? Okay, I'll admit the first paragraph was seasoned with a little sensationalism-I do love my children with all of my heart. But there is a room that exists within my emotions that has a door that I open, enter, and close behind me. I become emotionally unavailable to all who attempt to reach me. Behind this door, I feel absolutely nothing (that's not true, I feel safe). I could watch someone die and feel no sympathy for that person-I literally shut down all of my emotions and become numb. I developed this place out of necessity-I had to find a way not to care, otherwise I would behave in an irrational manner that would have surely led to my incarceration.

I don't think fathers should be forced into creating such rooms. They have a profound affect on the children. My daughters all think I'm an emotionless man. I normally stay in the middle. Not getting too angry, not showing much happiness-almost robot-like. Sure, I tell them I love them all the time, but I think they think it's just something dad says because everyone else does.

I've lived in this country practically all my life, and I've had to deal with a myriad of enemies. I've had to deal with employers who were against me; a judicial system that categorizes me by color first; had to struggle for survival every day as an enlisted person in the United States Air Force-and that is no exaggeration. The racism I witnessed and experienced in the Air Force was unbelievably brutal in that the military justice system requires less burden of proof than civilian courts. It's a lot easier to charge and convict a member of the military under the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) than it is your average citizen. It was emotionally easier and in some instances, like a chess game, for me to deal with the military racists. They repeatedly attacked, and I successfully defended-every single time. But having to deal with people who are supposed to have a modicum of compassion for you attacking you in places they know you're most vulnerable is far worse. It should be considered a crime.

These women knew that I loved my children unlike I ever loved anything else on the earth-and they weaponized that love and used it against me. And for what? Because I exercised my right to freedom and decided I couldn't be with them anymore? One I left because she was an alcoholic with a tendency to be extremely violent and reckless when drunk. The other I left because she believed a man was someone you tormented, attacked, schemed against. In her own words she once told me, "Men don't feel pain like women-it doesn't hurt you all as much." It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that eventually you're going to have to put some distance between that person and you.

My children and I all have, what I consider, a working relationship. We express love for one another, enjoy spending time together, and experience a genuine warmth towards one another. I smile deep inside and feel so fortunate that I survived those early years and to have come out on the other end still possessing the ability to feel for them-but I know that I keep one hand on that doorknob and at the first sign of trouble, I'm ducking behind that door. I wish it didn't have to be that way, and perhaps one day I'll feel comfortable enough to board up that room, never to enter again and experience the freedom associated with never having to worry about them being used against me again. Wow, this is probably the first time I've thought about it consciously, and what an emotional mess I must be. Many women I've dated say I sometimes become unreachable-and I know that I've used that door with the women in my life as well. And it makes perfect sense to me, but I'm sure they have no idea why all of a sudden a wall is erected and they are on the opposite side of it. I don't know if words are enough to explain it all to them.

Anyway, that's my story and it's sticking to me. If I could find a way to shake it, I'd be telling you an entirely different one. But as it stands, that's the only one I've got to tell.

TPOKW?

Addendum
In writing this entry, I just realized in the process of shutting down emotionally, I killed my own passion-passion for love, for art, for life. There had to be an innocent bystander. My passion became a casualty of the war. I guess I've learned the hard way that we are shaped by our environment and we should choose our environments wisely.

Hemp-It's Time.

2009-09-20T09:32:00.001-07:00

In 1990, Hugh Downs of ABC's 20/20, did this report on hemp. Take a listen, this information may shock you.

Faking Orgasms

2009-09-17T13:09:00.000-07:00

Apparently Missy Elliot and someone by the name of K Michelle (I have no idea who she is) have a song out about faking orgasms-you can check the video below. I've but one thing to say about this (yeah, when have I only had one thing to say about anything?), if you're a woman faking an orgasm, you're only cheating yourself. You're not cheating me-I got mine. Now don't get me wrong, I believe that a man should take care of the woman's sexual needs first, and then go for his, but if your attitude about sex is foul from the beginning, or your initial introduction to sex was not by choice, or was the result of sheer and utter coercion, it might be hard for you to understand the merits of sex.

Furthermore, SOME women have a tendency to bring other issues into the bedroom-which is a complete bastardization of the sexual act in and of itself. Relationship problems should never make their way into the bedroom (unless of course the relationship problem is in the bedroom). I know of women I've dated who knew not to mix the two. They may have been angry about something I said, did, or wouldn't do, but when we hit the sheets and sex was on the menu, they put those issues aside-not away, but aside. They always resurfaced later-but always at a time much more appropriate. These women were 90% of the time orgasmic. Bringing your relationship problems into the bedroom is like going to Disneyland and refusing to ride the rides because Shrek 3 sucked. Uh, hello! Two separate issues!

As many of you already may know, Missy Elliot has been reported to be a lesbian so I don't expect much from her. But from what I understand she's had relationships with guys. In her 1997 release, The Rain, Missy states I break up with him before he dump me. This lyric speaks volumes. From the onset she predicts the relationship will end negatively, so how invested in its success can she be if she's prepared to beat him to the eject the reject button?

I think songs like this send the wrong message to young women. Listening to this style of rhetoric will definitely have a negative effect on how they view sex and interface with the men they become sexually involved with. I'll leave you with this story: many years ago I was in a relationship with a young lady. She would fake orgasms and after I came, she would laugh and reveal that she didn't come. This happened a couple of times until one day I sat her down and explained, "Honey, this isn't a competition. What you're perceiving as victory is really self-defeat. Sex is an act of exchanging pleasure-if you want to play games with it, just know that I can do this without you. Why would you deny yourself the pleasure this act brings? You might as well go watch TV." Afterwards, we began having some extremely amazing sex-and one day, years later, she told me it was me who taught her how to feel like a woman. Not a (self) pat on the back, just a pat on the fact.

Now listen....

Side note-Years ago I watched portions of Missy Elliot's reality TV show (as much as I could stomach) and got the impression she fancies herself a mogul. And I think she's used the casting couch with women a couple of times (though I have no proof to substantiate this belief). In in fact she has, I believe it is because a lot of women believe that this is what powerful men do, and to be equally as powerful, I must assert myself accordingly. I will concede that a lot of men in powerful positions misuse their power. I for one find it extremely loathing and contemptible. Develop a personality and go find a woman who doesn't have to be coerced into a sexual relationship with you. Men who behave in this manner are the lowest life form in my opinion, especially when they stand in the way of someone's hopes and aspirations. A woman's years toiling away in playhouses and college productions shouldn't be discredited by some pig who will only hire those who'll blow him. We the public are often denied the pleasure of true talent because the seasoned actress who worked hard to perfect her craft refuses to degrade herself for a part in a movie. It's a practice I wish I had the power to end.

®

OK, This Is Funny!

2009-09-15T09:01:00.000-07:00

I'm sure the world has seen the footage of Kanye West's brash interruption of Taylor Swift at the VMA Awards the other night. Rumor has it that Barrack Obama has unofficially called KW a 'jackass'...I concur.

Someone spoofed Kanye and Barrack and I thought this was hilarious so I'm sharing it with those of you who follow me.

Enjoy!

®

Tired

2009-09-13T07:09:00.000-07:00

Last night while relaxing at a bar I saw the footage of what appeared to be an outburst by Serena Williams during her match at the U.S. Open in Flushing Meadows, New York. This morning I awake to find that, because of a foot fault call made by a line judge, Serena became angry and was ultimately eliminated from the match, an elimination that was quite a costly one.

Some of the comments made by rank and file Americans on sites like AOL.com and youtube are quite disturbing.

jakegorospe1980 said: pure criminal.. just a classic ghetto bad ass attitude.. the sort of thing that puts majority of black amerficans straight to jail. they dont think, they just act naturally like a criminal.

hateyou79 said: She is just mad that a white girl beat that monkey ass. Fuck that ugly ass nigger. Tennis is a white persons sport. Go play basketball or something.

While Car3radio eloquently opined: Just a IGNORANY "APE"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I guess they've all forgotten John McEnroe's vicious outbursts.

I read these comments and wonder why I'm still in this country. Why many of us are still here. When will we learn that we'll never be accepted as citizens. We fight in wars we don't start, with people who've done nothing to us, for people who hate us. Like Muhammad Ali once said, "No Viet Cong ever called me Nigger." We're patriotic. We pay taxes and many of us, despite what is depicted by the media, do our best to be law abiding citizens.

The message is loud in clear to me, as it was to Marvelous Marvin Hagler many years ago. Many of you may remember after Marvin was defeated by Sugar Ray Leonard, he felt that because he was from the streets and Leonard was the All-American Olympic Gold medal winner, he was unfairly denied the victory. Marvin immediately left the sport of boxing and the country and hasn't lived here since. He moved to Italy, started acting and last I heard was a very happy man.

I was watching a documentary the other day about a woman from England whose son was murdered by a woman he was dating. What stuck with me about the story was the fact that as a young woman she had planned to go to different countries across the globe to work. Her first stop was Australia, then she came to America, after which she planned moving on to South America. What was so profound to me was this woman never felt as though she wouldn't be welcome globally. I feel unwelcome in neighborhoods, restaurants, shopping malls etc. RIGHT HERE IN WHAT IS SUPPOSED TO BE MY OWN COUNTRY! I began to wonder what it would be like to feel as though you are welcome every where you go. I'm sure she would be shocked if someone treated her as though she wasn't welcome-I'm surprised when I'm welcomed.

This type of silent but deadly mental pressure is taking its toll on me and I can no longer ignore it. When in the military during my tour of duty in Spain, I sometimes felt the uneasy stares from Spanish nationals, but I expected it from them, I was a foreigner in their country. But I was also able to travel many places alone where white G.I.'s could not go without being attacked. I don't know if it was a fear they had of me, or if it was because they understood our history as Americans better than most of us do. Suffice it to say, I felt more welcome in that country than I ever did here in this one.

African Americans have been fighting and dying for this country since its inception. We've been pioneers in medicine, technology, literature, art, sports, education and it all pretty much goes unnoticed. Many Americans (white and black) have no idea that Charles Drew researched in the field of blood transfusions, developing improved techniques for blood storage, and applied his expert knowledge in developing large-scale blood banks early in World War II, saving thousands of lives of the Allied forces, only to die in a car accident because he wasn't allowed access in a local whites only hospital. And then there's Garrett Morgan who originated a respiratory protective hood (similar to the modern gas masks), invented a hair-straightening preparation, and patented a type of traffic signal. He is renowned for a heroic rescue in which he used his hood to save workers trapped in a tunnel system filled with fumes.

I could go on about the many African-Americans inventors whose inventions improved and or saved the lives of many U.S. citizens only to have their inventions stolen, or their names and contributions omitted frm the pages of history. And let's not forget that many of our ancestors labored and toiled in this country and gave it a great financial foundation-a foundation that has provided many a U.S. citizen a comfortable lifestyle-while we are denied the right to be treated equally even to this day. Immigrants come to this country and are more welcome than we are. And they come knowing exactly who's the lowest on the social totem pole.

I was tired when I was in junior high school so you can probably imagine how exhausted I am now. I can read the writing on the wall-we're just not going to be accepted. We'll always be considered second class citizens no matter what station in life we achieve. If you don't believe me look at how they've treated President Obama. I can't speak for the rest of those who share my skin pigmentation and who have also shared my experience here in this country, but this second class citizen is done. If I'm treated as a second class citizen in another country it's to be expected-it's justified, I would be a foreigner. But here, in a country where I've served in the military, paid my taxes like everyone else, abided by the laws and tried to conduct myself as a model citizen, I can't take it any longer. I have to find a way out.

During the civil rights struggles of the 60's, after Rosa Parks was arrested for not giving her seat to a white man...(a white man...come on), a bus boycott was organized in Montgomery Alabama. Blacks came together and created carpools to ferry one another back and forth. It wasn't long before the city of Montgomery began to miss the financial contributions of its black citizenry. It became evident to many white males that their jobs were in jeopardy and they began trying to disrupt the carpools and force blacks to use the bus system. But black people in Montgomery were strong. I want you to notice that I didn't write we were strong. Those black people did their part and fought their fight. The rest of us have to do ours. We can't sit back and ride the coat tails of people on the front line and claim their victories. And they shouldn't have to drag the rest of us along-we all need to do our part.

Eventually the Jim Crow laws that mandated blacks stand when whites boarded buses were rescinded and the black citizens returned to using the bus system-which in my opinion was a terrible mistake. We should have never gone back. We should have allowed the public system to fail. That's always been our problem-we always give up the fight once we are given that which we should have had all along. I may not claim their victories but I will most certainly claim their defeats. We should have pooled our money together started our own busing system and never looked back. We should have stayed in our own neighborhoods, frequented our own restaurants, shopped at our own stores and kept our money in our communities which would have created jobs for our people-but we're too busy trying to be a part of a system that will NEVER accept us as equals.

I know that there are whites here who see us as citizens. But many of them refuse to stand against the system-and in some ways I don't blame them. It's not their fight, it's ours. And if we don't do anything about it, why should they? I don't advocate we go toe-to-toe with this system, that would be the equivalent of me climbing into the boxing ring with Mike Tyson in his hey-day. If blacks are going to remain in this country we should take a page from our history and silently disappear (like we did from those Montgomery buses). This disappearance might be welcomed by many white Americans...at first. But when they begin to miss the $750 billion dollars that we spend annually, someone is going to wonder what happened. When businesses begin to close and people begin to get laid off, the impact will be felt. I say we should disappear, never to return and the money we generate and disseminate into this economy should be spent amongst ourselves. The Jews, the Chinese, the Indians (native and Asian), all support their own little enclaves. Why just the other day I saw a sign on the side of the freeway that read Filipinotown.

What I do know is that I a man on an island. I don't think we as a people will ever open our eyes long enough to understand what we need to do to better our situation here in this country, and as I mentioned before, I'm tired. I'm 46 and I'm tired. Tired of having to make deliberate movements when I'm pulled over by the police so I'm not shot for reaching for a weapon that I don't own. Tired of ignoring the prying eyes that follow me around the department stores. Tired of ignoring the fact that I've been paid less than whites doing the exact same job I was doing, (I was once paid less than a worker I was supervising). Tired of being the poster boy for crime in this country. Tired of seeing my image being negatively portrayed in the media. Tired of white women clutching their purses or locking their car doors when I walk by. Tired of calling about the availability for an apartment and when I show up being told that they have none available. Tired of being afraid to go to a doctor because of what was done to black men and women during the Tuskegee experiment. Tired of watching black men just like me crumble under the pressures that I experience everyday and knowing that each day it's a struggle for me to put on that happy face and go out into a world that I know hates to see me coming. Tired of black women joining the ranks of those who wish me ill-will and further damaging me. Tired, tired, tired. I know people who read this are going to say I sound like a victim-spend a lifetime in my shoes and then talk to me. I know some women are going to read this say you're a weak man and my response to that is if that was true, I'd have been dead a long time ago.

Serena, sadly you'll never be nothing but a nigger in the eyes of most Americans...and I really don't know what a nigger is. But what ever it is, that's who they say we are and me personally, I'm tired of others defining me, or having to redefine myself every time I interface with Americans. I have many things in this life to be thankful for-but I want to feel like the British woman who, at the very core of her being, knows she's welcome anywhere she goes in the world. I want to be able walk into a public establishment and have it feel like Cheers, where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came. I don't know of any place like that here. So I have to find a way to leave America and find some place like that somewhere else.

Signed,

Just Plain Tired.

:-(

A Prediction

2009-09-12T10:06:00.000-07:00

It won't be long, but mark my word, sometime in the near future whites will declare themselves a minority class in America. You'll then see how a system designed to benefit a repressed class of minorities is really supposed work.

You can say you read it first here.

TPOKW?

The Perils of Barack Obama

2009-09-10T16:22:00.000-07:00

Man, I like Barack Obama. I really do. I think he's an intelligent human being. But as president, I have to say he has absolutely no power. Last night while giving a speech on Capitol Hill, Republican Joe Wilson's accusatory outburst demonstrated the respect Americans have for the man. For reasons I don't agree with, people feared Dubya. When Joe Wilson (no relation to the aforementioned Republican congressman) reported that Iraq had no weapons of mass destruction and went against the Bush administration's position, his wife was outed as a CIA spy. Now I don't agree with what I considered then, and consider to this day, an act of treason, but publicly no one stood up to Bush and his war hawks. I don't believe anyone should be controlled by fear, but the highest office in the United States deserves respect, regardless of who occupies the office and rude, accusatory outbursts on the House floor while the president gives a speech demonstrates a lack of respect for the institution of government.

Everything Obama does is subjected to the highest form of scrutiny. Policies designed to improve the lives of American citizens are labeled socialist. There's no question the source of America's uneasiness lies in the color of Obama's skin. America has a negative image of the black male in their minds and having one, even though he doesn't have the blood of former slaves coursing through his veins, occupying the highest office in the land is unbearable.

Here's a secret I think many white people know, but many black people don't. Most white people understand that there is a caste system in this nation. It has always existed and extends as far back as America's association with indentured servants. Many immigrants, both black and white, came to this country as indentured servants. But the indentured servants began to outnumber the ruling class and something had to be done to separate them. White indentured servants were assigned overseer duties and ruled over the darker servants. And while blacks in this country walk around thinking we're all equal, non-ruling whites know that the system grants them privilege and know better than to bite the hand that feeds them. Theoretically, Barack Obama poses a direct threat to that privilege. Whites fear he'll redistribute the wealth (read-transfer it from whites to blacks and minorities).

If you doubt historically there are/were systems in this country that favored whites, google discrimination in housing, hiring, etc. and do the research for yourself. Discrimination in housing, justice, employment, education, and access to health care are all examples of a system designed by whites for whites.

Barack Obama strikes fear in the hearts of those Americans who understand that they have benefited from a system that, through policies of discrimination, slowed the overall development of minorities in this country, and they fear a reversal of fortune. But let's be real-what is it that they really fear? Is it the fear of competing with an opponent on a level playing field? Could this nation as a whole and whites in particular have benefited so greatly if it not for the contribution made by slaves and the restrictive and regressive institutional policies of Jim Crow that afforded whites unfettered access to higher institutes of learning, jobs, land ownership, etc.? This is a question many white Americans should ask themselves. Blacks faced roadblocks every direction they turned. Those who managed to acquire wealth always ran the risk of being lynched, burned out, arrested on trumped up charges and incarcerated indefinitely. On July 30, 2008 America took it upon herself to officially apologize for slavery and the subsequent Jim Crow policies. Each white American should, as a part of their atonement, let black Americans know that they truly recognize and appreciate the involuntary sacrifices of our ancestors. It would go a long way in healing this nation.

The rank and file Blacks of this nation expect absolutely nothing from Barack Obama-politically, socially, economically, or otherwise (in fact, blacks didn't take his candidacy serious until he won a major race in the primaries indicating support from whites). We know that it would be political suicide for him to direct as little as $1 of tax payer proceeds to programs benefiting the black community. You think he's labeled a racist now? Let white Americans dream Obama's helping the black community with their taxpayer dollars and he'll be a lame duck before his first year in office is completed.

I admire the fact that Obama stands fast in the face of a lot of necessary opposition-and let me explain why I say necessary opposition. This country's political system was designed so that citizens and lawmakers would have a tough row to hoe enacting laws and instituting policy. In my estimation the system is once again working in the manner it was designed. The question of the day is why is it now functioning properly? I'll answer that-because white Americans fear Barack Obama and it is out of this fear they are paying attention to his every move,(something we should have been doing all along). Had we been this attentive during the Clinton and Bush administrations, we probably wouldn't be faced with the current *economic crisis, and we wouldn't be fighting two wars, the cost of which will take us a couple of generations to repay. Obama has caused the nation to once again pay attention to politics and policy. Sure, we may be out of touch with the proper political decorum, but Americans have once again focused their attention on Washington and I hope we maintain that focus for generations to come.

History will most likely be kind to Obama. As a leader, he's only as effective as the people he leads and if Americans continue to scream SOCIALIST every time he proposes a

*During the Clinton administration restrictions governing Wall Street were lifted triggering the sub prime mortgage crisis and the destructive era of predatory lending and credit default swaps.

Think Lincoln Freed The Slaves?

2009-08-27T07:27:00.000-07:00

I have to admit this was another Iron Eyes Cody moment for me. Please watch and prepare to toss another useless piece of propaganda brought to you by our education system.

The (Sub)Urban Explorer

2009-08-24T21:02:00.001-07:00

I've lived in this neighborhood for-I just realized it's been 3 years this month! Wow, time flies whether you're having fun or not. I completely missed my move-in anniversary, I guess I'll have to drink to my 3rd year here. Anyway, Saturday I said some unexpected time so I hopped on my human-powered, two-wheel, environmentally-friendly mode of alternative transportation and headed out to chart new territory. I have to set the scene for you: I love overcast days and Saturday happened to be one such day. By nature I'm a melancholy cat, and usually hang dead-center, so when the sun dips behind the clouds, it balances me. I ventured west of the main drag in my city and discovered one of the nicest middle-class neighborhoods one could cycle through. The houses were surprisingly modern and custom. No two were alike. Some were obviously multi-million dollar homes. The tree-lined streets provided a nice canopy and I cycled through amazed at how I'd lived so close and not venture to this part of town.

The street seemed never to end. I rode until I found myself near the 405 fwy and one of my favorite live music spots. The sun was still relaxing behind the clouds and the coolness of the day splashed across my face. Discovering something exciting right in your own city can be a rewarding experience. I had completely avoided the west side. I mostly jogged on the east side near the military installation-a very sad and impoverished area. Who knew such lavish accommodations existed on just the other side of the boulevard?

Today I waited for the sun to set and mounted my bike and retraced my path. The trip wasn't as impressive but it was nice to see people out jogging, walking their dogs, and families cycling in the bike lane. Surprisingly, everyone was friendly; they all smiled and waived as we passed one another, which was unexpected seeing as how I was a stranger in their midst. Tomorrow I plan on venturing down some of the other streets and perhaps even spending some time in the park. I even discovered a public library at the mid-point in my journey which I'm sure I'll spend some time in real soon.

TPOKW?

As God As My Witness....

2009-08-11T22:09:00.001-07:00

If I caught a mother of my child doing something like this, there isn't a court in the land that could save her. This is child abuse, pure and simple. Now I understand why black women perm, and glue/weave extensions in their hair. As a child, if I had to endure this type of pyscho-traumatic abuse daily, I'd have a negative outlook on my hair as well.

Constables on Patrol

2009-08-11T21:28:00.001-07:00

You've got to ask yourself who's minding the store. It seems like someone sent out an edict and cops have just tossed civil rights and Constitutional protection out the window. Here are just a couple examples. And ya'll wondered why Harvard Professor Henry Gates got a little upset.

Marijuana, the Planted Plant

Not in the Rear End

...and the Academy Award Goes to....

2009-08-06T12:25:00.000-07:00

I'll let you decide. I've got one word to describe the nature of some women-duplicitous. When Chris Brown, (in what I considered an act of retaliation), attacked Rihanna, women around the world echoed in unison the following, He should have just walked away! Perhaps, but who am I to say? In the following clips, I really believe these women should have just walked away.

Women have been portrayed as sugar and spice and everything nice for quite some time now, but I think evidence is beginning to emerge that reveals a side of women once solely attributed to men. This post isn't an attempt to vilify women, only amplify the true nature of human beings, having nothing to do with gender.

And the nominees are...

The Rebar Widow

Deadly Dippolito

Granny Hire Your Gun

Thou Shalt Kill...NOT!!

Post your favorite in the comment section of this blog.

Merry Marrying!

TPOKW?

Cory Booker for President!

2009-07-23T12:56:00.000-07:00

This is the black man who ALL black me should pattern themselves after. Hey, I know he avoids double-negatives, sagging pants, and the bottles of Cristal, but he is we should strive to be. If you get a chance, check out Street Fight, a film documenting his unsuccessful mayoral bid in the city of Newark, New Jersey. Four years later he returned to defeat the corrupt incumbent Sharpe James. Mayor Booker moved into one of the worse housing projects in Newark, Brick Towers, and lived there for 8 years. A former suburbanite, and graduate of Stanford and Yale school of law, Mayor Booker lived amongst the people whom he has now been helping as mayor.

Folks say Mayor Booker wasn't black enough. I hope we stop that nonsense talk. As Mayor, Cory has reduced the crime rate in Newark by 70%-that's not a typo people, 70%. He struck a deal with local businesses asking that they hire ex-cons if the city trained them and gave them the basic skills to become employable. He is truly one of the best of us and we should all strive to be more like him.

This is What I'm Talking About

2009-07-23T10:15:00.001-07:00

This movie is about the corporate take over of the Walmarts of the world.

Anytown, USA

2009-07-20T16:49:00.000-07:00

Last month I took a trip to North Carolina for a graduation party for my two daughters. One graduated from Baylor with a bachelors in health sciences-the other graduated from high school and will be attending Auburn in the fall. I am very proud of the both them.

During my visit, I noticed that I could literally close my eyes, board a plan in the U.S., land somewhere else in the U.S. and there wouldn't be anything differentiating one location from the next. America has morphed into a geographical homogeneous cliche of itself. Wal-mart, McDonalds, Jack-in-the Box, Target, Home Depot-everywhere you go, there they are. I remember taking a trip to the island of Maui in 2005 and I couldn't contain my excitement; vacationing on a tropical island paradise. The plane landed, we disembarked, picked up our luggage and the rental only to drive out the airport and right in front of us was a Home Depot, a Wal-mart and my eyes glazed over at that point. Somehow I don't recall seeing a bright-orange Home Depot sign in my fantasy of this tropical paradise.

Why have we allowed the oligarchs to circumvent the artists? Why has consumerism trumped environmentalism, or the preservation of the world's natural beauty? Hawaiians never needed a damn Home Depot. If they did, they would have built one themselves. Home Depot decided it needed Hawaii, and firmly planted itself in the way of my tropical island paradise.

There was a time you could travel to any place in the U.S. and that place would have a personality of it's own. The architecture, the local culture, even the language was geographically unique. Now, everywhere you go you bump into the manufactured M-TV culture that is neither unique nor interesting.

Starbucks (another eyesore on the geographical landscape) was kind enough to install a kiosk in the North Carolina hotel I was staying in and one morning I decided I needed a pick-me-up. I stood in a very short line, and when my early 30's Caucasian barista asked me what I wanted, I answered, "Grande Soy Mocha please." She then looked up at the ubiquitous flat-screen on the wall where John Legend was performing in New York's Central Park and began speaking to me in a vernacular unfitting North Carolina. I looked deep into this woman's mouth (to the point where I could see her tonsils) and wondered to myself if she'd swallowed a sista' from M-TV's hip-hop show 106th and Park. Her dialect was perfect-for someone aptly name Shaniqua. I remember feeling a little sad. I didn't want to hear her speaking that way. And trust me, it wasn't an affectation, that was her normal, everyday way of speaking. What happened to the southern drawl? I know, I know, it often sounds slow and backwoods, but I know better. Southerners aren't anymore intellectually challenged than the rest of the nation.

It bothers me to see the United States converted into this television culture that is instructed to wear the same clothes, speak the same dialect, shop at the same discount centers, all the while refusing to rage against the suppression of artistic and individual expression. Trust me, a tribal tattoo isn't an expression of individuality if EVERYONE has one. Nor is multiple piercings, colored hair, or the dreaded tattooed sleeve. In my opinion these people aren't trying hard enough. Dying your hair purple is easy-it's far from counter-culture. If you're sitting on your couch in front of cable TV watching The Hills, with purple hair or a tattooed forearm, or a tongue, belly, or clit-hood ring, you're not an individual. You're just a poor imitation of someone who once was a member of a counter-culture but has since moved on.

In her high school days my girlfriend made her own clothes. Bored with the unofficial 'uniform' all other high school kids wore, she designed her own fashion. Was she ridiculed? Yes, she was. Did it pay off in the end? Yes, it did. She ended up being a noted and Academy Award nominated costume designer. And all of those high school kids who looked at her as though she was an alien from another planet, well they're still walking around wearing someone else's uniform.

This country gave the world jazz, blues, rock, rhythm and blues, rap, hip-hop. As controversial a figure as he might have been, we gave birth to Michael Jackson-a global figure who inspired the world up to and beyond the day of his death. Why are we settling for the cookie-cutter imaginings of those void of imagination? What happened to the rebel spirit that raged against the status quo and made a counter-culture art form born on the streets of New York a world-wide phenom? Rap and hip-hop records can be found in almost every language on the planet.

I hope we don't lose our spirit to be free; free from Blockbuster Video, and Home Depot and Starbucks coffee. I hope that we celebrate the individual that lives in all of us and continue to design from our imagination and not from some prefabricated snap-in-place, void of creativity, mind prison. I hope that one day we realize that in order to be one self, one has to listen to one self-not the homogenized corporate radio with the same play list of artist whether you're in Hollywood California or Hollywood Florida. I hope we pull our children away from the i-Carly's and the Hannah Montana's of the world and give them the space they need to develop their own voices without Disney whispering some subliminal message lowering their self-esteem. And if one day we do decide to speak with one voice in this country, I hope it is a voice of our own design. Not one crafted by profit motivated oligarchs who couldn't care less about us, the planet or the future of our children.

TPOKW?

Sick In America

2009-07-11T03:45:00.000-07:00

Bill Moyers is one of the few old-school journalists who asks tough questions and get the answers that most Americans need to hear. It might explain why he's no longer a mainstream journalist and is found on PBS. Watch both youtube interviews, or go to pbs.org and watch the entire 36 minute interview with former CIGNA health insurance exec Wendell Potter. Potter recently left CIGNA and is speaking out on the health care industry's grip on the lawmakers of this nation. He speaks candidly about the industry's attempt to discredit film maker Michael Moore's documentary Sicko.

Partially through the interview, Moyers plays devil's advocate and asks Potter what is wrong with a company making a profit and, although accurate, Potter's answer excluded a crucial component of the problem with health care in America. What insurance providers are doing is the equivalent to selling tickets to patrons to see a play and then canceling the performance and refusing to return the cost of the ticket to the patrons. Or more accurately selling you an automobile and when you come to pick it up neither giving you the automobile nor a refund. There isn't a business on the planet other than health care insurers who can blatantly get away with such criminal behavior. And both the chambers of congress, and possibly even the executive office of government might be in the hands of these merchants of death. I agree there isn't anything wrong with a company turning a profit, it' just that people shouldn't have to die in order for them to do so. I believe it is possible for health *(un)insurers to make a profit without harming people-it's just that they've gotten extremely indolent and would prefer to rob people instead of figuring out ways to earn a profit in a highly competitive market.

It has always been my contention that certain industries cannot afford to be privatized. In an environment where company's must struggle to survive, there is no place other health (un)insurers could have arrived than where they are today. The relationship between Wall Street and health insurers is equivalent to the relationship between a Las Vegas bookie and a fixed NCAA basketball game and conglomerates shouldn't be allowed to profit from the intentional mismanagement of a health care system. The same RICO laws utilized to bring down the likes of John Gotti and Sammy 'The Bull' Gravano should be used to break the stranglehold health care insurers have on congress.

*I call them (un)insurers because in my estimation you pay them a lot of money over the years, only to have them uninsure you once you get sick. It ultimately boils down to you paying them huge premiums for them to tell you when you get sick you're uninsured. You can opt out of being insured and know that for free.

TPOKW?

Central Free Methodist

2009-05-14T12:39:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, I was an overactive child. The word 'bad' was bantered around a lot, but that simply was a matter of opinion. Because of my overactive behavior, at the age of 10 I was sent to live with an aunt in Shreveport Louisiana; the idea being that she could straighten me out. The States of Louisiana and California are as similar as milk and mud and I bristled at the cultural differences.

I was enrolled at a private Christian school, Central Free Methodist, but was to soon learn that, although it might have been central (to what I don't know), there was nothing free about my new academic institution. I quickly learned that teachers in the south were actually able to beat you like they were your slave masters. I remember receiving one such beating, coming home and telling my aunt only to receive a second beating, (if someone can find justice in this, by all means please point it out to me).

Ms. Wiley
My teacher, the bloated Ms. Wiley, was an ugly, overweight, viciously angry, manless black woman. She spent at least a quarter of the school day napping, and the rest either beating us, or devising brutal ways to administer her punishment. There were several methods she would use:

1. A tree limb (known as a switch) that would be used either on our bottoms, or the palms of our hands.
2. Wooden or plastic rulers, which were turned sideways so that the sharpest, densest, portion struck the palm and you would feel the impact to the bone.
3. Belts which would also be applied to either your bottom or the palm.
4. Wooden boards that were applied the same as above.

Wiley was evil incarnate but she wasn't alone. All of the teachers beat their students and I was often told that I was lucky to have her as a teacher-Reverend Thompson was worse. It was nothing to see students, male or female, with welts on all parts of their bodies. Hands, arms, legs, and even faces were all open for touches, and I seemed to be the only one outraged by this. The rest of the students humbly bowed their heads and took it. There was student in our class named Bruce Wilson who, as a small child, had been hit by a car. Bruce obviously had a mental impairment-he walked with a limp and, because of a nervous condition, would eat the palms of his hands. His palms were always moist and covered with uneven layers of skin. For a while, Wiley beat Bruce's hands and sometimes they would bleed. She eventually switched to putting Bruce over her lap and whipping his ass. There was no end to this woman's brutality. There were students in our class who rarely received beatings-but rest assured a day didn't pass without someone being on the vicious end of Wiley's rage.

The Beat Club
There was a particular group, of which I was a member, that got beat more often than others. It wasn't so much that I was misbehaving, out of fear I quickly curtailed my mischievousness, but I was later in life able to speculate Wiley disliked me because I was from California. Perhaps California was a place she dreamed of visiting, but found it economically impossible. I might have reminded her of her own misfortune so beating me for the slightest offense may have been the way she comforted herself. She would often say to me in the vilest of tones, "This ain't California."

Denise Brown sat at the front of the class and was also a member of the Beat Club. She was a small, honey-colored girl with a sweet face, but an extremely mean disposition. Denise spent most of her time with the boys and could hold her own in a physical altercation if necessary-she had our respect. One day something possessed her to put a tack on Wiley's chair. The entire class watched, but out of fear or solidarity, said nothing. When Wiley sat down, she immediately popped up and yelled, "Oh Lawd!", then searched her blubberous fat ass for the offending object. My crew and I knew better than to laugh, but knew during recess we would celebrate and laud Denise with much praise if she survived what was surely to be a vicious beating. Wiley searched the faces of us students and asked who was responsible-no one spoke. When the recess bell rang, Wiley dismissed the class, with the exception of the usual suspects. John Dixon, Antonio Carter, Denise Brown, Otis Ray Washington, and I were held back.

As we sat silently in fear, Wiley explained that she was going to beat us all until someone either ratted or confessed-I was to be first. Otis and I had been friends since my first day of school and we'd made a pact to never cry no matter how badly we were beaten. I stood up from my desk, looked over at Otis for moral support, and walked to the front of the class to receive my undeserved punishment. Wiley's weapon of choice for this occasion was the switch. She grabbed my hand and said, "I know it was you, wasn't it?" I replied, "No ma'am." WHAP! Wiley brought the switch down hard on the palm of my hand. I stood still, occasionally flinching at the searing pain that tore through my body. I stared directly into her eyes-a blatant act of defiance. WHAP! The switch was brought down again, and again. The pain was unbearable, but my desire to show no weakness forced me to stand firmly planted. Finally, she was done and I returned to my seat and Otis was called forward, then John, Antonio, and finally Denise. The cycle continued until finally, Denise confessed.

I thought that we would be released, but Wiley had a different plan. She called us four boys to the front of the class and made us stand in a semi-circle with she and Denise at center stage. She then grabbed Denise, pulled up her dress, pulled down her panties, and whipped Denise's naked ass right in front of us-Christianity can be a strange religion. We all stood petrified, refusing to believe what we were witnessing. After she finished, with the exception of Denise, we were all dismissed-she offered no apology. Out of fear, none of us ever spoke about the incident.

Brian Chisolm
Brian Chisolm came to our school mid year. Brian was big for 11 and built solid. He was about the same height as Wiley, but she clearly outweighed him. Brian was a cheerful kid who liked to do magic tricks and during recess, there was always a crowd of students around him being entertained by his slight of hand. Wiley immediately disliked him and couldn't wait to beat him. Brian had seen the rest of us receive beatings but had something entirely different in mind. The day finally came when Wiley felt she had a flimsy enough excuse to indoctrinate Brian. Brian stood trembling before her at the front of the class, (we were always beat at the front of the class). He began crying and pleading, I recall thinking at the time how pointless pleading was. Wiley commenced to giving him the beating of his life. After a few strokes, Brian lost it. He grabbed an empty desk, threw it across the room, and went on a terror. He screamed at the top of his lungs and behaved like a mad man. We members of the Beat Club looked at one another in amazement-none of us had ever thought to do this before. Wiley immediately stopped as Brian ran around the room like a Tasmanian devil. A student was quickly dispatched for help and Reverend Thompson came to the room to subdue Brian.

Afterward, we discussed the incident amongst ourselves and eventually we began to fear Brian. No one surrounded him during recess to watch his magic anymore-we believed he was crazy. One day, Wiley decided to test the waters again, and Brian was summonsed to the front of the class. He immediately began winding up-Wiley tried to take control of the situation, but Brian quickly grabbed the upper hand. Wiley struck him once, and what was once fear turned to rage! Brian grunted like a wild animal and tore through the room tossing occupied desks aside like they were empty cardboard boxes. One of the classroom rules was you didn't leave the room without permission-to do so would result in a beating. My desk was right by the door, and Brian was making a bee-line for it. I sat petrified as he barreled toward me like a runaway freight train. He approached my desk, tossed it aside as well, burst through the door and disappeared. The classroom fell silent; it looked as though a tornado had torn through it.

Wiley absurdly screamed at me, "Why didn't you stop him? Go find him." To me, looking for Brian was worse than receiving a beating. Wiley's actions, although painful, were predictable. No one, including Wiley, knew what Brian was capable of, and I, of all people, was appointed to track this wild animal. I slowly stood and looked over at Otis, but he wouldn't look at me-no one would, I was a dead man walking. I looked at the classroom door and, in a strange twist of irony, feared what awaited me on the other side. Eventually, I pushed the door open and stepped out into daylight.

Central Free Methodist sat atop a hill on a very small plot of land. There were only a few places Brian could be. I entered the building that housed the chapel, cafeteria, principal's office, and teacher's lounge. The lounge door was normally open, but now it was closed. I kneeled down and peeked under and saw movement-all the teachers were in their classrooms, it had to be Brian. I went back to my classroom and told Wiley that he was in the teacher's lounge. She asked me what I said to him and I said, "Nothing." She then yelled at me and told me to go back and tell him to come back to class-man, that was the last thing I wanted to hear.

I took my time getting back to the lounge. It felt good to be out of class and for the first time since attending the school, I actually felt free. I wanted to just keep walking and never go back, but I knew that was impossible, so I accepted whatever fate Brian had in store for me and stepped inside the building. Again, I peeked underneath the door and could see Brian's shoes. I stood and slowly opened the door. Brian sat calmly in a chair doing one of his magic tricks. He looked up at me and smiled and at that very moment I realized, it was all an act! Brian would pretend to lose his mind and Wiley didn't know what the hell to do with him. I smiled back and said, "Miss Wiley wants you to come back to class." He stood up, and followed me. Neither of us said a word, but he knew I knew, and his secret was safe with me. Brian might not have been a genius, but he was definitely creative. He wasn't afraid to go against the grain and he taught me something that day.

Eventually, Brian was transfered to Reverend Thompson's class and from time to time I'd see him on the playground doing his magic tricks, but something was different about him. Reverend Thompson was known to be a brutal man and I'm sure Brian's antics were no longer effective. One day Brian's mother ended his misery and took him out of CFM. I was sad to see him leave, but I was happy that he'd escaped the hell we kids were forced to endure.

Kim and the Phone Call
One day a new girl came to our class. Her name was Kim Tyler and she was by far the cutest girl I'd ever seen. I immediately began flirting with her and before the day was over, I had her phone number. Later that evening, I called Kim, only to have her mother answer the phone and scold me for calling. I have to admit it was a rather bold and inappropriate move for a 10 year old, but I couldn't resist-not to mention the fact that, at the time, I didn't see any harm in it. I hung up the phone feeling a little uneasy, but didn't think much of it. The next day at school, I walked into the classroom and Kim wouldn't even look at me. Wiley was no where to be found, and the whole vibe felt weird. I took my seat and awaited Wiley's arrival like the rest of the students. Eventually, she opened the door and when she did, she looked right at me and summonsed me to the front of the room.

"Did you call Kim's house last night?" she yelled.

"Uh, yes ma'am." I replied, both frightened and embarrassed. Wiley went berserk. She yelled and beat me at the same time.

"She gave me her number!" I pleaded.

"I don't care! Don't you be calling any little girls in this classroom, you hear!" she replied as she beat me mercilessly.

"Yes ma'am." I uttered in between her vicious strokes.

After my beating, I walked pass Kim's desk gave her the evilest stare I could muster.

"I was so mad when he called me Ms. Wiley" she said. To me, this was treason, and at some point there would be a price she would have to pay.

Free at Last
I don't really know how much that year at CFM affected me, but I did become a lot wiser with how I conducted myself. What I do know is on that last day of school I saw my classmates behave in a manner I'd never seen before. The entire day was spent at a local park with a lake and boat rides. There was food and lots of fun. We all ran and happily played all day like children are supposed to. I have to admit the day was tinged with bit of sadness. I knew that most of these innocent kids, the majority of whom were really good kids and didn't deserve the treatment they received, would have to return to this hell the very next school year. I was going home, back to a place where teachers didn't have the right to physically abuse you, and in some ways I wished I could have rescued them and taken them all with me.

The day finally ended and we were loaded onto the bus and taken back to CFM, where parents awaited and kids anxiously milled around, excited about the beginning of summer break. Otis and I said our goodbyes-it was to be the last time I ever saw him. There was a sadness in his eyes, and I'm sure he saw it me as well. We'd been through a mental hell together, and like comrades in war, we'd survived. On my way home, I passed our classroom, Wiley stood in the door.

"Come here," she said. I followed her into the empty classroom as she walked to the front where we'd receive our beatings. On the floor was a cardboard box. Wiley reached into the box and pulled out a small marble paperweight. Atop it was a blue, metal plate with a stamp of my name, the school name, and the school year.

"What's this for?" I asked.

"Attendance. You only missed one day of school the entire year," she replied as she handed me the award.

Without saying anything, I turned and walked out of the classroom. I no longer felt the need to acknowledge her-her control over me no longer existed; there was nothing left to say. As I approached the long stairway that lead down the hill and off the school campus, I noticed two girls sitting on the sidewalk playing jacks. One of them was Kim Tyler. As I walked past her something overcame me and I exacted my revenge by stomping her hand with as much force as I could muster, and without missing a beat, I ran as fast as I could down the steps and on to the street-never looking back. And as the distance between Central Free Methodist and me grew greater, and the blood-curdling screams of Kim Tyler grew fainter, I was overcome with jubilation. Finally, I was free!

TPOKW?

KRS-One

2009-05-14T09:14:00.000-07:00

I know many of you have probably seen this already, but it is well worth checking again!

TPOKW?

Cheated In the Game of Life

2009-04-15T23:26:00.000-07:00

When does a man lose the urge to cheat? If someone would have asked me that question 10 years ago, I would have answered never. But lately I've pretty much lost the urge to even look at women (other than my own of course). The idea of breaking the ice with a stranger unnerves me. I have no interest in hearing the pointless stories that have been retold in bars and bedrooms and restaurants to the many men who endure them only hoping for what some consider the ultimate pay off-in the end, we mostly just want to fuck. But lately, I've have no interest in fucking strangers. No, lately I have no interest in the thought of fucking strangers.

It's never the fucking that ever matters, it's the thought of fucking that's the most interesting. The mere act, well, is sometimes better observed. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the act, but it means more on an ethereal level than I allow myself to admit. Reserved now best describes my position. But trust me, it's an acquired position-a path down which women have recklessly lead me. I would have opted to have ended up someplace else-but I'm here. I would like to have held onto those beliefs, you know the ones innocently believed at a time long ago. But those thoughts were unfairly tainted with wishful thinking and naivete. I look back on those early years and smile inside-how foolish was I? But I'm certain I'm not the only one. I'm sure many a man has found himself here and wondered how he allowed himself to become so deluded for so long.

I hear it in the voices of the young-and wonder if it would be fair to ruin what may otherwise be perceived as a happy ending. There is no happy ending-sorry. There's just a series of misadventures that continue until you either opt out on your own, or are relieved of duty by some unpredictable twist of fate. And in the rear view mirror, your past stares back at you and for a brief second you wonder if there's still a chance-a glimmer of hope for the future. Sure, you would have preferred a lifetime of bliss, but you'll settle for a decade, or half, or less. In the end we rise from the game table of life, count our blessings, and comfort ourselves with the handful of fond memories we walk away with. And we tell ourselves if we had the chance to do it all again, we wouldn't change a thing-but that's just what we tell ourselves knowing deep down inside we would change it all if someone would just give us the chance.

TPOKW?

Voices From Beyond

2009-04-10T07:07:00.000-07:00

Someone very close to me sent me an email one day of a video. I watched the video, enjoyed it but delved deeper into the source. This brief explorative journey led me to TED. Now before you get all homophobic on me, let me explain...I am not a homosexual-TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design (www.ted.com). It was as though I'd stumbled into the minds of some of the most brilliant people on the planet. Some I'd heard of, but most I had not.

I don't mention it much, but I am an artist in my own right. It took me a long time to be able to first think those words, then say those words, and if my memory serves me correctly, this is the first time I've ever wrote those words in a public forum. Why? Because I rejected my artistry. Or better put, I tried to pimp my talent-but deep down inside, I knew I wasn't being true to myself, therefore it never really panned out. Yet, I continued to try to improve as a musician/songwriter/performer-and I still have a long way to go.

What does any of this have to do with TED? Well, this morning I checked my email and there was a video from TED featuring an author, Elizabeth Gilbert, whom I've never heard of. My normal reaction would be to click next, but I decided to honor her and listen to her presentation titled Burden of Genius. Ok, I have to confess something here-I had just finished watching a Southpark episode about rapper Kanye West who considers himself a genius. When I saw the title, it all kind of tied together in a bizarre kind of way. For those of you who have a spare 20 minutes, (which might encompass a great number of you in this jobless economy), take the time to glimpse into the mind of the creators of artistry and watch this video.

I have commentary that I would like to share with you which you may read now, but will make sense to you once you've watched the video.

Commentary
Elizabeth spoke of the origin of modern day genius and juxtaposed today's views with ancient Rome and Greece. I'm not going to offer my beliefs on those societies, but when she stated that during those periods people viewed creativity as voices from the gods or daemons (which, incidentally is the archaic spelling for the word demon), I could immediately relate. I've had fellow musicians ascribe the term genius to me and some of my work and I, in a masked fit of rage, reject the term. My experiences are entirely too limited, and my time in this physical body is too short for me to claim responsibility for that which passes through me. I don't know where the inspiration comes from but I do know it doesn't come from within me-it passes through me. Sometimes I capture it and record it, but most often I don't. I know firsthand the fear that it may never pass through me again-but then again, I'm aware of the fact that if I listen-really sit still and listen, they always speak to me.

There have been religious frauds who over time try to cast out demons. Why? In my most humble opinion, they don't want you talking directly to God, or the gods, or whatever divine spirit that may guide you-they just want you listening to them. I am not a religious person. I used to say I was agnostic, an ancient Greek term that supposedly means you are without knowledge of the existence of a God-but lately I'm beginning to reject the term. Not so much because I've found God, but more so because I really never lost God. And when say God, I don't mean a white-haired bearded dude who, for some odd reason, has been frozen as an old man for....ever, but God as in knowledge. I'm not going to try to explain it all here-it would require a more in-depth analysis, but my life mentor, who incidentally was the one who broke my ties with formal religious dogma, came to me one day and said that he could prove God's existence. When I asked him how, he simply said, "Everything man did not create, God did." As my younger bretheren would say, Marinate on that for a minute.

®

Waxing Philosophically and Dealing From the Bottom of the Deck (or what you write when you have nothing to say)

2009-04-06T19:34:00.001-07:00

I can't quite remember the exact time or date I realized I was a man. Manhood was never something I felt I needed to seek-I figured it would find me when it was time. I do, however, remember when I realized no matter what, you couldn't take manhood away from me. I was thinking about doctors, lawyers, politicians-(you know, important men). I found myself feeling a little uneasy because I was none of the above. And then a voice came to me and said, They are no more a man than you are.

I guess what I realized is we shouldn't necessarily judge man by his achievements (said so eloquently by the world's greatest underachiever). I sometimes have to ask myself if it's just the concept of sour grapes I grasp to make myself feel better, but I know deep down inside that's not the case. Man is man-be he butcher or baker or candlestick maker. There was a time when a man was cool if he was the milk man, or a garbage man, or a shoe salesman. People actually used to support families with those careers. Now we mock the garbage man or a shoe salesman-and milk men, as far as I know, don't even exist anymore.

Achievement can be a tricky thing. For instance, you can ascend to the highest office in this country, and still fuck it up (I'm not pointing fingers or naming names...I'm just sayin'). I bet some of those presidents, at some point in their lives, wished they were just some average Joe (the plumber) that no one knew or gave two shits about. Which, in some ways, probably explains why I wallow joyously in my mediocrity-I don't need to climb to the mountain top to know that eventually I'll wish I was back at the bottom.

I was at the grocery store today and was having a conversation with the lady behind the deli counter about working from home (which I will begin doing as soon as I pack up all my shit and stop showing up at the office). She asked me if I thought it would make me lazy-my reply was, "Are you kidding-you don't get any lazier than me. After this comes death." I often mislead people in my attempts at humor and their gullibility is usually tied directly to their IQ, (suffice it to say the lady behind the deli counter really believes I'm lazy, which is fine by me).

I guess you can say I'm a closet overachiever. I love to push myself, but not too far and certainly not in front of a crowd. I hate when people say things like, "Oh, he's so talented at that." No I'm not-you could do it too if you weren't so wrapped up in meaningless activities (I'll have to remember that one the next time I say someone's talented). I guess I don't care for the attention and it's been that way as far back as I can remember. When I was about 4 years old I would always get compliments from the church ladies about my eyelashes. It was the most embarrassing part of the day for me (even more so than walking in front a room full of people putting money in a collection plate I had other plans for. It used to piss me off because my mom would hand me the dollar and I'd have it just long enough to walk up and put it in the plate-why couldn't she just do it herself, after all, she was usually right behind me with hers). But I digress-back to the church ladies. I got so tired of them with their cheek-pinching and their compliments one day I went home right after church, marched right into the bathroom, and cut my eyelashes off. My mom was livid! Needless to say, they grew back and the church ladies resumed their annoying behavior.

It took me a while to settle into the man that I am-and for now I'm comfortable. I've always done things my way-even when it appears I'm doing it someone else's. I make sure I inject a little bit of me in everything I do-it's the human equivalent to pissing on a fire hydrant. My female companions are usually unique in some way; toe-the-line types and I usually don't last long. I know I won't always be who I am now, but I when I look back, I'll understand who I was and hopefully that will explain who I'll become. One day I'll be an old man whose plumbing may or may not work; who may desire the young ladies but will be so repulsed by the difference between us the desire will seem ridiculous; whose accomplishments, although personal, may go unnoticed-but that's okay, I'm an audience of one and I really only need to please me.

Mike Tyson, (that philosophically intellectual pugilist), once said in an interview, "The only thing that matters in life is that dash on your tombstone-the one between the day you were born and the day you died and what you did in between". I thought that was pretty profound coming from a guy who gets hit in the head for a living. But it's true, that is all that matters. And sometimes it matters to others, but mostly it should matter to the person whose name tops the tombstone-and to those who loved them.

I don't know what they will say about me when I'm dead or how my loved ones will judge me. I guess I used to try to live my life in a way that allowed me to write my own eulogy, but what fun would that be? Why should those in attendance at my funeral be bored with my myopic view of myself? No, I think those who knew me should have their say-be it good, bad, or indifferent. And I hope that I've surrounded myself by those who'll be bold enough to give an honest account of who I was and what I stood for. For what it's worth, I did the best with the hand I was dealt. Life deals us all 5 cards from the deck. It matters not the face value of those cards-what matters most is how you play them. Winning hands come in all sorts of configurations. Ask yourself this question: could a pair beat a 3 of a kind? And the answer would be, it happens all the time.

TPOKW?

The Last Time We Were Together....

2009-03-24T20:10:00.000-07:00

Was in the 60's. When I say we, I'm referring to black men and women. If my memory serves me correctly, it was the 70's that drove a wedge between us (Women's Rights Movement). We were hit even harder in the 80's with the introduction of crack cocaine to our community. In the 90's black women gained their independence and excelled in the work place and began to look down on black men for not excelling at an equally rapid pace, driving an even greater wedge between the genders. Now, just about a decade into the new millennium, the rift that separates us seem insurmountable.

Nothing could be more of a testimony to how far we've gotten away from one another than the latest debacle between Chris Brown and R&B singer Rihanna. Women believe that Brown crossed the line when he allegedly attacked Rihanna. Detractors say that Rihanna, who has spoken in the past about striking her younger brother in the face with a bottle, attacked Brown first. Some women believe that, even if Rihanna struck first, Brown should have just walked away.

For those of you who choose to ignore nature and her purpose, there is a reason why men are physically stronger than women-because typically we are slower to anger and under normal circumstances we use physical violence as a last resort. Women have much shorter fuses and are more emotional. I have theory as to why this is.

The Prince's Gender Theory
Throughout nature the female of most specie are responsible for the care of offspring. Our offspring are our future for without them we cease to exist. Nature, being the wise designer she is, knows that whoever is responsible for the protection of the offspring has to be someone who will act first and think later-enter the female. Females are emotional and they have no problem expressing their emotions. If they are upset, they may cry openly. If they are happy, they express their happiness. If they are angry, hell hath no fury. Nature needs an emotional guardian. Encroach upon the young of any female animal and, regardless of the size difference, that animal will attack. It's an emotional response. She doesn't take time to contemplate the danger involved and sometimes she loses her life defending her young. Male animals are a more analytical-a trait nature cannot afford when it comes to defending the young. Let's say there is a male in charge of the young and a predator encroaches. The male is going to size up that predator and contemplate whether or not he can defeat him. Secondly, he will begin to calculate the distance between he and the predator and whether or not he is close enough to truly be considered a threat. Lastly, he will consider ways he can salvage the situation without actually having to fight physically. A female would have already engaged the predator by now-and most likely sent him or her on their way.

With that said, men-real men, are relatively hesitant to use violence. If this wasn't the case, you would see far more violence perpetrated by men against women. Domestic abuse occurs, I'm not trying to say that it doesn't. But I think that domestic violence, just like immigration, is a political hot button and is sometimes used to manipulate the public. Women have also falsely reported domestic violence. I once dated a woman who was upset because she saw me sitting between two female coworkers at a bar. When I came home, she barricaded the front door of our apartment. I, knowing we never locked our 2nd floor patio door, climbed up on the balcony and let myself in. She then attempted to push me out, but I just walked past her, undressed and went to bed. Moments later, there was a police officer shining a flashlight and a handgun in my face telling me to get dressed. This woman told the officers that I came home and attacked her. The officers separated the two of us and began questioning us. It wasn't long before the officer questioning my ex walked over to his partner and said, "She's changed her story 3 times already. She's lying." I was asked to leave my own apartment and stay the night someplace else-I went to my mother's house for the night and the very next day while this woman was away, moved out of the apartment. Had she been a better liar, I would have most likely been arrested for domestic assault, and worse yet, convicted.

How did we end up this way? Why is it that men find it necessary to violently abuse women or vice versa? Why is it women defend or excuse their own irrational behavior? I have a theory.

The Prince's Theory of Gender Separation
As I mentioned earlier, women are emotional creatures and spend very little time analyzing situations. If it feels bad to them, they're done with it. If it feels good, even though they know it's not right for them, they'll go for it. That's not to say men aren't the same way, they too will do things they know that is not good for them. The difference being, men calculate the amount of damage they may have to endure and weigh the consequences. When I was a child and embarked upon an adventure in mischief, my excuse was already prepared and I determined if the risk was worth the reward. Even as an adult male, the few times I made the decision to cheat in a relationship, I asked myself if it was worth the risk of losing that relationship-it was never a spur of the moment decision. Often I would contemplate for weeks, sometimes months. I always wanted to give the person an opportunity to turn things around before I committed to straying because once that cat was out of the bag, he's extremely reluctant to return.

Back to my theory. During the women's rights movement, women fought for equality. Equal pay, equal access to jobs, and freedom from domestic duties. I can't prove this, but I believe that the women's rights movement was a lesbian movement and heterosexual women were emotionally co-opted. I believe that lesbians hid behind heterosexual women for their own gains. Now that lesbians have the access they desired, heterosexual women find themselves out in the cold, separated from their male counterparts trying to figure out how this occurred. Some 40 years later, if you ask the average woman about equal access to jobs, what you'll find is many of them long for the days when they were domestic engineers-not having to answer to over-bearing bosses, fighting hour-long commutes, and paying ridiculous monthly fees to day care centers. They were the masters of their homes and most ran a pretty organized and tight ship. Men weren't the ones who threw women out of their roles as domestic engineers-they heard the cry from women who had no use for a husband and joined up to become their own (and their family's) worst enemy. Heterosexual women now view men as oppressors, violent abusers, rapists, etc. (lesbian speak), and to their credit, there are men in all of those categories. But for the most part, the majority of men simply want a wife, a nice home, and a family they can be proud of. Lesbians managed to highlight and amplify the worst of men to drive home their point, and women, being the emotional creatures that they are, fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Women must now find a way to lose those negative images of men. Sure, some of us abuse, rape, oppress-but the majority of us don't. And if we're going to judge one another by the behaviors of the worse, it would be just as easy for men to start with their long laundry list of negative female attributes. But that would cause nothing but more gender separation. For every Scott Peterson or O.J. Simpson (whose guilt I still question), there are a thousand Denzel Washingtons, Bill Cosbys, Barack Obamas, or John Does who don't murder, rape or abuse their mates-and they deserve the spotlight more so than the abusers.

I know many of you will denounce my theories and call me insane, but take some time to do a bit of research and see if there is any validity to my belief. One thing we can all agree on is the moment women left the home and began trading their labor for money to buy things they didn't really need, our children became the target of advertisers, and once there was a time they looked to their parents for guidance, they now take their cues from corporate sponsored product salesmen.

TPOKW?

The Matrix and Faith-Based Nonsense

2009-03-22T11:50:00.000-07:00

This is going to be one of those mashed posts where I combine two separate topics I'd like to discuss. Hopefully I'll find a way to tie the two together before the end and come out looking like a literary genius.

The Matrix

This may come as a surprise to most, but 99.9% of us have never had an original thought. I can hear some of you out there arguing with me before you even contemplate the concept. Give it some thought-most of what you say, you've either read it somewhere, heard it on television, heard it from someone who either read it or heard it on television, or observed someone else exhibiting a behavior and commented on it. Not one original thought amongst us. The communities we live in? Designed by someone else. The jobs we work? Designed by someone else. The movies we watch, the books we read, the foods we eat, the cars we drive, the clothes we wear, the languages we speak, the schools we attend, our political parties and affiliations, our religions-this list could continue into perpetuity-all designed by someone else. So, in the grand scheme of things, how important is an individual if he or she just regurgitates that which they are told? Sure, you may disagree with a certain concepts, but immediately you adopt an alternate position- designed by someone else.

If you really evaluate the world we live in, it is the Matrix. A moment of the day doesn't pass without your senses being assaulted in some way shape or fashion, and often those assaults take place in the form of an advertisement; someone, somewhere telling you that in order to be a better person you should buy this product, shop at this store, dine at this restaurant, vacation at this resort, invest with this firm, bank at this bank, marry or date this type of person, listen to this type of music, attend these schools, live in this neighborhood-are you beginning to get the picture? In the midst of this assault, how can we be expected to devise an original concept?

This Matrix also has a built in protection mechanism-it encourages members to punish anyone who is doing anything opposite of the flock through ostracism, ridicule, and an assortment of other negative behaviors designed to encourage dissenters to get back in line with the rest herd. It manages to use internal emotions like jealousy, anger, and hatred against us. In essence, we police ourselves. But this mechanism isn't fail proof-whenever someone or something arises that won't be reherded, the Matrix then co-opts that individual or movement and popularizes it-reducing its effectiveness, (think Jesus, Martin Luther King, The Hippie movement of the 60's). Once these effective movements are stripped of their inherent power and reduced to fad status, they'll either fade or exist harmlessly amongst the immunized herd.

The advent of modern technology (i.e. the internet), has produced the Matrix with one of its greatest challenges-controlling ideas that run counter to its current system of control. According to the blog, Wired, China, Burma, North Korea, Vietnam, Egypt, Iran, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Cuba and Tunisia restrict internet access and often prosecute users for what they post online. The United States didn't make the list, but we are all aware of the National Security Agency's (NSA) unconstitutional monitoring of our online activity. The system simply cannot afford unfettered usage of such a dynamic and powerful tool-censorship will eventually be the order of the day.

Those of you who either have now been enlightened by this post, or who may already have known this information might ask, "Well what does one do about it?" which is a very good question (to which I have no answer). The most important thing to do in my estimation is to make as many people aware of this phenomenon as possible. After all, our participation, to a certain extent, has been voluntary-not that, should we all awake, it will continue to be.

Some of you may also say, "Well this concept that you've just introduced is an original thought-you're contradicting yourself." and I would have to disagree. What I've introduced, even if it was original (which it isn't), is merely an observation of what is occurring around us. It's no different than an archeologist observing some obscure tribe in the rain forest. His report isn't original, it's just an observation of something that has existed for hundreds of years, unbeknownst to the masses.

Faith-Based Nonsense

When I was 17 I joined the United States Air Force and, not long after my 18th birthday, I was shipped off to an air base in Spain. I admit I didn't know much about the world in which I'd just stepped into, but I was soon to discover how much I really didn't know. I did, however, possess a firm rooting in the teachings of religion. Born a baptist, I knew a majority of the biblical tales, but not much else.

In the military I was a law enforcement specialist (more commonly known as MP), and one day on my way to work I noticed that the names of the streets seemed to be alphabetical (Del Amo, Cadiz, Barajas, Alicante). When I arrived at the armory, I quickly went to a map of the base and discovered that all of the streets that ran north and south were alphabetized, and all of the streets that ran east and west were numbered (1st st., 2nd st., etc.). It was then that I realized that someone, not unlike myself, had logically planned this. And because military bases are nothing more than small cities, I concluded that someone had planned all of the cities I'd ever lived in. Soon after I began to understand the role of a city planner and all of those signs I used to see on people's front lawns that read John Doe for City Planner made sense.

"Where am I going with this?" you may ask yourself. Well, here it is: an individual should never have to

A. figure this out for themselves and,

B. find this out at the age of 18.

I don't recall this information EVER being taught in any class that I took-not even the ones I used to ditch (I did read the books even though I opted out of attending the class). But rest assured that somewhere, in some school in the United States of America, this information is being taught, and it is being taught to those who seem to be preselected and groomed to be the next city planners, city attorneys, mayors, police chiefs etc.

What does ANY of this have to do with religion? I'll answer that for you now-why is it that we put so much emphasis on teaching children religion when, unless you're going to be a minister of some sort, it doesn't benefit you one iota in building and maintaining a community. Most people don't even know who to turn to in their municipal, county, or even state and federal government when they have problems. But we know where the church is. I know this is going to rub some of you the wrong way, but I don't really know of a problem that you'll have that Jesus will really solve. Jesus couldn't, wouldn't, or didn't help the victims of Katrina. But I guarantee you if those in the Lower Ninth Ward knew how the political machine of New Orleans functioned and actively participated, they would have been better equipped to deal with the crisis. Most of our problems aren't God/Jesus made problems-they are the result of a man-made system vulnerable to mismanagement (either intentional or otherwise), greed, and corruption. In my most humble opinion, I don't think God is who you should turn to in these matters. I know it may pacify us emotionally to turn it all over to God, but while we're looking to God to solve problems we could solve ourselves, there are those who are lined up at the proper agencies making sure that they and theirs get the resources that are lawfully and rightfully theirs-and the lions share of what those who choose not to be politically active leave on the table. Communities are supposed to receive government funded services because these communities and municipalities pay taxes. Property taxes fund schools-other taxes fund other services. But if you're unaware of how the system works, you'll continue to pay taxes while those services are either under-funded or unfunded.

I don't blame the black community for not knowing these things-but I do fault them for contributing to their own insanity. It is said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly expecting different results. In recent history, the church has been nothing more than a tumor on our community. It extracts a minimum of 10% of income from its parishioners and contributes absolutely nothing but entertainment in return. It's modern-day snake oil. Walk in with your bible and a prayer (oh, and not to mention that 10% tithe)-walk out with all your problems solved. We all know that there isn't a place on the planet where this works-so why have we convinced ourselves that this is how it works in the church?

Quiet as it's kept, Jesus was a man of action, and all this singing, tithing, and praying we're doing would probably piss him off. It is one thing to have faith, but without action, it's useless. Yeah, I know the Christians now tout this very saying, but this is a new phenomenon.

Lastly, I think the worse thing a people can do is follow a dead guy whom they've never met, not quite sure what he really said, and most likely won't be back. The original followers of Jesus, some 2000 years ago also believed he'd be back-and some 2000 years later, he's yet to return. I can't think of a better way to paralyze a people than to have them sit idly awaiting the return of a deity when others around them get shit done. Do I believe in God? I don't know-nor do I think it matters. What I do believe is sitting around waiting for God to do for you what you can do for yourself is no better than sitting on your ass waiting on a government check you did nothing to earn. White people turn to God after they've done what needs to be done. They invent a monetary system first, and then lie and print In God We Trust on the back. They create a country, and then write a song asking God to bless it. Anything you ask God for, he's mostly likely put here already-all you need to do is stop asking him for shit and get up off your ass and go get it.

I'll leave you all with these two thoughts that hit me this morning and inspired this blog:

Amidst a cloud of ignorance, you can convince people that anything is possible, even when it is not.

and,

Faith is what we rely upon when we fear facing reality.

E'nuff said.

TPOKW?

Anna Deavere Smith

2009-03-16T14:17:00.000-07:00

I once studied acting at a repertory in California and this phenomenal woman was my acting instructor. At the time I was too young to realize what a great instructor she was but in retrospect, I am awe-struck by her and wish I could have appreciated her instruction when I had the opportunity. On our first day of class, we all were to bring a monologue to recite and at the time I was reading I Tina, a book about Tina Turner's life with Ike. There was a chapter that described what Tina experienced the night when one of Ike's women shot herself in a bathroom. I decided to recite this passage. When I finished, Anna asked me, "Where have you studied acting before?" It was my first acting class, and at the time I felt she'd paid me the greatest compliment a teacher could bestow upon a student.

Pay close attention to her Korean Grocer bit. Exceptional!

The Wings of a Butterfly

2009-02-22T03:29:00.000-08:00

When I was a boy, I once caught a butterfly-something I'm sure we've all done at one time or another. I didn't mean it any harm. I was just curious, as most boys are. When I finally let it go, it could no longer fly. I'm not quite sure what I did, but when I released it, it simply fell to the ground. I didn't think much of it and quickly moved on to something else. Now, as a man whose years have accumulated, I think back on the life of that butterfly and how delicate it was. Had I known at the time that I would have such a profound and devastating affect on its life, I'd like to believe I would have let it be.

We humans do this a lot-tilt the balance of nature for no apparent reason but to satisfy our own curiosity, or because we are unaware of the change the slightest of our actions can set into motion. There have been people that I've met along my life's journey who have impacted me both positively and negatively. My nature has been to focus more on those who have affected me positively, but lately I've been thinking about those who, without knowing, derailed what might have otherwise been a perfectly happy existence (if such a thing exists).

When I was in my late teens, I met a young lady in her mid-20's who probably had the most negative affect on me as anyone I've known. This woman and I created a child, and when that child was born I believe I understood the world in its purest form. We eventually separated, but the bond I had with my child was deep-my world was now defined by his existence. And then one day she took that child away, disappeared without a trace. No letter, no phone call, nothing-she and that child just vanished. And what remained inside of me was a gaping wound that, 'til this today, has never completely healed. My life was now defined by that wound, and like someone who has been encumbered by a handicap, my every action thereafter was hampered by it. I temporarily lost the ability to think and behave rationally. I drank heavily, and unwisely drove afterwards. I made many bad life-altering decisions during this period. I spiraled out of control.

I don't know if this woman knew the affect this would have on me-perhaps if she'd have known, like me and the butterfly, she would have done something entirely different. And I wasn't fully aware of how much my life was shaped by the incident until one day, about a year or so ago, a close friend of mine and I were having a conversation about his son. During this conversation he said to me, "Man, I don't know how you survived losing your son back then. If someone were to take my son away from me, I'd lose my mind-I don't know if I could take it." Hearing him say those words felt like someone had lifted a ton of bricks from my chest. Just to know that someone understood the depth of the pain I had experienced, and to some extent was still experiencing, gave me relief. I smiled inside, not really knowing why. Perhaps I was happy that someone heard me back then-that someone cared enough to listen. Up to that point, no one had ever mentioned anything about it to me; for the most part, I suffered silently.

Six years passed before I was reunited with my son. But by then we were strangers-neither of us sure how to move forward. We managed through it, but deep down inside I knew that a crucial bonding period had been lost and we would never have that true connection one shares with someone they've known all of their life. And in the dark recesses of my mind, I still struggle with feelings of guilt, shame, mistrust, distrust, anger, and powerlessness. The only solace I experience is when I remind myself that I am free, because had I found her during that six year period, I can't honestly say what I might have done to her. It was like my son died and I would have wanted to make her pay for the pain she'd caused.

My every relationship since has been shaped by that experience. I am always ready to let someone go, whether I want to or not. I've since learned that, like the wings of a butterfly, people and relationships are extremely fragile, and the slightest of our actions can alter them greatly-either positively or negatively. Over the years I've analyzed why she did what she did, and I've long since forgiven her. I no longer speak to her, for reasons having nothing to do with severing me from my child. One day I just decided there was no reason for us to ever speak to one another again, and we've not uttered a word to one another since. I harbor no resentment towards her, she was burdened with unimaginable demons long before she met me and knowing this gave me all the strength I needed to forgive.

If there is a lesson to be learned from this experience, I think it is to be fully aware of your actions and how they affect those around you. There are no free moves in life, and what you may deem an innocent gesture might result in catastrophic consequences for someone else. I often see people walk through life with a cavalier, devil-may-care attitude and I wonder whose lives they may be unknowingly destroying. Sure, there's always asking forgiveness, but I think life would be so much better if we behaved in a manner that never required us to have to ask for forgiveness.

We should all walk through life as though each misplaced step shattered a dream.

TPOKW?

"Where you been?" they keep asking me.

2009-02-19T16:33:00.000-08:00

Good question. I've, err, ughh...been busy. Truth be told, I've been swimming with the sharks. I had some really juicy stuff to talk about, but I got cold feet and decided that my arrest last November wasn't anyone's damn business but mine. Since the cat's out of the bag, I might as well speak on it.

I'm not going to go into detail but suffice it to say, my girl was ripped off by a contractor, then he vanished. We managed to locate him, went by his house and left a note. We then went back the next day and he was home. I asked him when he planned on finishing the fence he was handsomely paid to build and he went through several gyrations before going in the house, calling LAPD, then coming back out and getting all up in my face. My initial response was to hit him, but I knew this wouldn't be a productive thing to do. So I just stood there yaking back and forth with him. Just then, the boys in blue rolled up, he yelled, "He hit me", I was cuffed and arrested. TRUE STORY!!!

Bail was $50k-420 pc, communicating a threat, (after the cops decided that me allegedly hitting him was flimsy, my nemesis claimed I said I was going to assemble my 'crew' and come back and kill his entire family).

Some of you may doubt this version of the story, but if I gave you the full details, you would believe me even less. My girl couldn't believe, in this day and age, an out and out criminal could rip someone off for several thousand dollars, and then get away with saying someone hit him and have that innocent person arrested. This man stood at least a foot taller than me and outweighed me by at least 70 lbs. But you know us fierce negroes have to be watched-we're known for our super-human strength. We've been rumored to have the strength of ants (relatively speaking).

Don't get me wrong, I've mixed it up with guys much bigger than me before-most of the time successfully. But come on, at my age, I have no business fighting a cold. Fighting wasn't anything I was interested in-hell I wasn't even interested in being there. I just wanted to help my girl rectify this problem.

And the boys in blue? Ohhh, man the quality of cops has gone down. These aren't very bright individuals who can think on their feet. Even the detective that contacted my girl to interview her left a note on her door-she called him back in less than 15 minutes and said, "you left a note on my door," and he still didn't know who she was. Wisely, she told him, "Call me back when you figure out whose door you left a note on," and hung up the phone. Fifteen minutes he calls back and says, "Why didn't you just say who you were." Great detective work Sherlock. No wonder so many crimes go unsolved.

I'm not saying there aren't smart cops on the force, I'm just saying every one we dealt with during this episode shared a collective IQ of 50.

Incidentally, no charges were filed against me. But for the 10 minute ride to the station and about an hour and half of less-than-luxurious accommodations, we were billed $4000.

You would think something like this couldn't occur in the bustling metropolis of Los Angeles, but guess again. Am I bitter, not as much as I should be. The incident damn near tore my girl and me apart, but we made it out ok, both of us more cautious about what we say and do. Neither of us cared for strangers before this incident, and we like them even less now.

So that's my story. Remember, next time you decide so talk to someone who may have ripped you off, video or audio tape the incident-it may keep your ass out of jail.

TPOKW?

A Little Comic Relief During Tough Economic Times

2009-01-28T17:18:00.000-08:00

This is definitely worth a laugh!

Jesus Christ, White People Can Fly!

2009-01-09T09:41:00.001-08:00

The title is not meant to be racist, but complimentary. Lebron and Kobe may own the hardwood, but these cats own the sky!

Enjoy!

TPOKW?

wingsuit base jumping from Ali on Vimeo.

Yeah, Whatever

2008-12-02T06:11:00.000-08:00

I've wasted my life trying make sense of a world gone mad.........

Check This!

2008-11-30T14:45:00.001-08:00

The Amazing Richard Williams

2008-11-28T11:20:00.000-08:00

In this day and age when a majority of black families are without fathers, we should all take notice when one not only rises from the ashes, but also attains great fame and fortune in the process. There are several families that come to mind-The Jackson Family, headed by Joe Jackson; The Marsalis family, piloted by father Ellis; and the Williams family, led by the incomparable Richard Williams.

What Richard Williams accomplished could quite easily be called impossible. Raising his family in Compton, California, one of the worse ghettos in the nation, Williams dedicated his life to his two daughters Venus and Serena. So many doubted him-yet he continued to train his daughters to be the best tennis players in the world. I have to admit what I know about the man is limited to information I gather from the internet, but my desire is to know so much more. He should be a beacon to all in the black community-both men and women alike. He stood face to face with racism and poverty and managed to never blink. Not only did he survive, but he triumphed where so many have failed, (or never bothered to try).

So much negativity is directed toward black men in this country. A lot of that negativity is adopted by black women and black men, in the attempts to remain the patriarch of their families, catch hell because of it. I know, I've lived it. Whatever her reasons, Oracene trusted Richard and, from what I can see, stood behind him every step of the way. I know how hard it is to see the sun that shines on Wimbledon, the U.S. Open, and Roland Garros from the mean streets of Compton, but Richard saw it and Oracene believed. I'm not saying that it was a walk down easy street for her-I'm just saying she, at some point, believed in his dream. Many men fall prey to non believing women who sabotage their attempts to garner success in whatever field they strive. Again, I've experienced it first hand.

It would seem like the world, both black and white, would embrace a man like Richard Williams as a true American hero. But he still receives the cold shoulder from the media, and I don't hear much about him in the black community either. All we ever focus on is the fruit (e.g. Venus and Serena) and not the tree that produced that fruit. I can understand the white worlds trepidation-Richard wasn't supposed to rise above the systematic poverty that grips the inner-city. He was supposed to succumb to gun violence, drugs, crime, or have his spirit crushed by the constant presence of the suppressive police force that harasses and abuses inner-city black males on a daily basis. He and his daughters were never supposed to take the world stage and dominate a sport that is reserved for the wealthy and elite of this nation. But, as Richard so eloquently put it when Venus defeated Lindsay Davenport at Wimbledon in the year 2000, Straight outta Compton!" and his family never looked back.

What Richard Williams represents is what the world would have to face if the black family had not been so devastated by welfare in the 60's and 70's, the crack epidemic in the 80's and AIDS in the 90's and the present. If so many black fathers hadn't got caught up in the drug game and so many black mothers in the blame game, the world would see an emergence of successful black athletes, politicians, musicians, physicians, scientists, etc. Euro-centric history doesn't teach us about the great black civilizations that existed when Europeans were in their dark ages but men like Richard Williams, Earl Woods (father of golf great Tiger Woods), and James Jordan, Sr. (Michael Jordan's dad), are examples of the greatness we could once again achieve if we focused on rebuilding our family structure. All too often we face opposition both inside the home and out. Many black men choose to leave the family structure in search of peace. I know I've walked away from many a relationship because of the constant battle I faced with women who seemed hell bent on existing in an impoverished state. The question I always faced was, "Why do you think you're better than everyone else?" Well, because I am. We all are. We can all do better if we'd just try.

I hope that one day someone will make a movie about Richard Williams, before he's no longer with us. We should celebrate people while they are amongst us so that they know we appreciate their hard work and dedication. Richard Williams is not only a credit to the Williams' family and the afro community, but he's a credit to the human race. He managed to wade through the societal muck and emerge victorious! I congratulate the man. I am in deep awe of what he has accomplished and we should all strive to be like Richard Williams.

TPOKW?

The Silliness and the Sagging Pants

2008-11-25T14:35:00.000-08:00

To sag, or not to sag, that is the question. Ok, maybe not. I think it's safe to say that none of my regular reader(s) wear sagging pants-but hopefully that will change. Frankly, I don't care what you wear, as long as you read and comment. I do, however, have an opinion about sagging pants-I think it's dumb. That being said, I think those who choose this style of fashion have the right to express themselves in this manner. I may find it ridiculous, but that's just me.

Here's what President Elect Barack Obama had to say on the matter:

MTV Shows

This is what brings me to the silliness of the sagging pants-laws preventing individuals from sagging never saved anyone's lives. And as the P.E. so eloquently stated, there are much larger issues that we should be tackling. Healthcare, education, war and poverty should be higher on the list. If you live in a city where this ordinance was passed and your public school system is a non productive group of buildings occupying land, you should vote your local lawmakers out of office. Must we attempt to legislate every nuance of social behavior?

At first glance, mandating young men pull up their pants sounds like a good idea. But I've seen the television show Cops and just about every fleeing, sagging suspect is betrayed by pants that end up around their knees. For the fat, out of shape, donut devouring law enforcement officers, this is a blessing in disguise. The playing field has now been leveled by a fashion statement. No longer do they have to chase the swift-footed perpetrators through vacant lots and alley ways. After a couple of strides, pants end up around ankles and the pursuit is over.

For me, there's nothing worse than seeing a young male (black or otherwise-black males aren't the only saggers), with his boxers bunched up and the waist band of his pants damn near around his thighs. I often wonder if they keep their brain back there. What heterosexual male wants to see another man's underpants? I certainly don't. Furthermore, what statement are you making? What are you attempting to communicate? I fail to get the message. I surmise it's a way of thumbing your nose at society for social disenfranchisement. Ok, I feel the rebellious sentiment. My generation opted for long hair. But we also read, and studied, and knew things other than what car P-Diddy drove, or who was sheboinking Rhianna. We had an idea of the struggle of black folks and what might be necessary to turn things around. We cared. Generation Sag seem not to care about tomorrow. Their complete focus is on the bling, or how to come up, no matter what the communal price might be.

Don't get me wrong, I considered the sag when it first hit the scene-but then I stopped myself and asked, "Does my mother, or my children need to see me in this light?" Not to mention the fact that I didn't really identify with the crowd that sagged. I've always seen myself as an intellectual (to a certain degree), and those who sagged seemed disinterested in knowledge. Most saggers could be seen on the street corner-I never cared for hanging out on the street. That's not to say that there aren't individuals with high I.Q.'s sagging, but the combination of the two appear to be oxymoronic to me. Intellect almost mandates you pull your pants up.

The worse offenders of this behavior, and I have nothing against this section of society, are the butch lesbians. It's the equivalent of me donning high-heels, fake boobs, a wig, and stepping out in....style? These women look absolutely nothing like real men-the boobs are a dead giveaway. There is something sick about this thug mentality. How did we get so turned upside down? I have no real advice for a woman who wants to appear to be man-I simply don't know what to say, other than you look utterly ridiculous. A feminine woman has so much to offer-you'll never be me, so stop trying. Again, I have nothing against a woman who is interested in women-but pull your damn pants up.

Each successive generation strives to do other than what their parents did, and I hope the children of Generation Sag decide that wearing your pants just above your knees is just plain dumb, and take things in the opposite direction. Does sagging look cool, sort of. But its association with ignorance and violence make it an endeavor not worth embarking upon. Almost every body of a dead black man you see lying in the street after being riddled with bullets, has his pants down. Why would anyone want to identify with such a thing? Young brothers, don't get me wrong, I support you. I feel that if you want to wear your pants beneath your buttocks with your underwear showing, you should be allowed to. After all, they are your pants, your underwear, and it's your image. Old white men who neither understand nor care about your future shouldn't have the right to tell you not to. But I just think it feeds into a stereotypical myth about black males we just can't afford. If you've decided that sagging is the way to go, at least counterbalance the idiocy by educating yourself. Know more than when Jay-Z's next album drops, or the price of a Maybach-neither of which enhance your existence in a lasting, positive way. Find ways to better your community and help provide a secure future for the next generation, and most of all, please consider PULLING YOUR DAMN PANTS UP!

TPOKW

Obama and the One Drop Rule

2008-11-21T15:52:00.000-08:00

According to press releases, next year America will have her first president of African descent. Barack Hussein Obama, politically dismantled former P.O.W. and war veteran John McCain and his maverick sidekick Bullwinkle-er, Sarah Palin with the greatest of ease (Joe B. helped too). Now that it's official, America's true racist feelings are emerging in a place where tongues and opinions are rarely held-the cyber-world. Those who have a hard time with a HNIC (if you don't know what that means, watch Stand and Deliver starring Morgan Freeman), are declaring President Obama bi-racial, which begs the question, has any of them ever heard about the One Drop Rule?

For those of you unfamiliar, the one drop rule, which actually was enacted into law in the early 20 ^th century, stated if you had one drop of African blood, you were African. According to Wikipedia, the 1910–19 decade was the nadir of the Jim Crow era. Tennessee adopted a one-drop statute in 1910, and Louisiana soon followed. Then Texas and Arkansas in 1911, Mississippi in 1917, North Carolina in 1923, Virginia in 1924, Alabama and Georgia in 1927, and Oklahoma in 1931. During this same period, Florida, Indiana, Kentucky, Maryland, Missouri, Nebraska, North Dakota, and Utah retained their old "blood fraction" statutes de jure, but amended these fractions (one-sixteenth, one-thirtysecond) to be equivalent to one-drop de facto. Madison Grant of Virginia in The Passing of the Great Race wrote: "The cross between a white man and an Indian is an Indian; the cross between a white man and a negro is a negro; the cross between a white man and a Hindu is a Hindu; and the cross between any of the three European races and a Jew is a Jew."¹. Obviously, the rule was important enough to require the enactment of laws. When the U.S. Supreme Court in Loving v. Virginia (1967) outlawed Virginia's ban on interracial marriage, the one drop rule was declared unconstitutional.

The rule may have been considered unconstitutional, but the sentiment behind it remained intact. A mixed race child of African descent is still considered black-even in poverty stricken, war-torn Vietnam. Bi-racial Vietnamese conceived during the war by African-American members of the military are still scorned in Vietnam. Racial identity, as it relates to African blood, is still a major global issue and Obama's election proves that, although we may elect a mixed-race black man to the highest office in our country, accepting his black side is difficult to say the least.

Another point of contention in cyberspace is whether or not he's African-American. Most people say he is not which is the epitome' of ridiculousness because he is more African-American than American born blacks since his father was African. American born blacks are really just Americans. The only connection we share with Africa and Africans exists in the similarities of our skin colors-and one might even argue that those similarities are questionable.

What's most upsetting is that we have to have this conversation at all. Aside from the racial rhetoric, what we all can agree upon is he is darkest President we've had to date. And that darkness is similar to a group of Americans that were once slaves in this country. Disassociate him from black Americans if you wish, there's no arguing the previous two sentences.

I think this is a perfect opportunity for those of us who simply find it hard to accept blacks as fellow countrymen to seek and destroy that internal illness that exists within. That illness that causes you to feel better about yourself because you're not black. I've heard it said in many different ways, I may be poor, but at least I'm not a nigger! or No matter how fat and ugly I get, I can still get me a nigger or Just take it and I'll call the cops and say a nigger stole it. I'm talking about that kind of sickness. Let's find a way to analyze and eradicate it. I know I'm wasting words because racist whites will never give up their animus towards blacks. In some ways, I feel that racist whites are direct descendants of indentured servants who, along with some blacks, arrived prior to slavery and were considered a lessor class of people. It wasn't until the institutionalization of slavery that these whites gained favor amongst the ruling class and were placed in positions of authority over their former fellow (black) indentured servants. The fear of returning to the lower rung of society spawned a hatred for what and who they used to be, and a desire never to return. The mere sight of a slave reminded them of their former less than existence and it was incumbent upon them to prove to the ruling class that they could keep the nigras in their place. Many a slave were beaten, raped, lynched, and murder all in their attempts to demonstrate to the ruling class their ability to maintain order. Well, you can stop now, the ruling class really never saw a difference, and most likely never will.

I don't quite know what the future holds for a country so divided by the simplicity of color-one can only hope that we rise above the pettiness of our dermatological differences and find commonalities that could be instrumental in not only restoring our perception of greatness, but exceeding our previous ideologies and truly building an amazing nation none of us could ever imagined being blinded by something so silly as a one drop rule.

'Nuff said.

TPOKW

No Representation Without Taxation

2008-11-07T06:09:00.001-08:00

Read the title again. I know you think you know what it read, but read it again. You probably think it is the same as the phrase coined by Reverend Jonathan Mayhew in a sermon in Boston circa 1750, but it isn't. It is a phrase that should have found its way into our political lexicon the moment the Christian Conservatives arrived on the scene.
During the past 8 years, the Moral Majority has manipulated the political machine in this country. Credited for Ronald Reagan's victory of Jimmy Carter in 1980 by delivering two-thirds of the white evangelical vote, they have been an influential and effective part of the political climate. But the question that comes to my mind is how is this possible if, as a group, they pay no taxes?

The separation of church and state is a phrase that I've heard practically all my life-and has been one of the most memorable political phrases to date. From my understanding, this is why religious organizations are exempt from paying taxes. If you don't contribute financially to wealth of the nation, why is your hand immersed in government affairs? I certainly don't believe that anyone's views should be discriminated against, provided they are within the boundaries of the law. But matters relating to God, (pick one), should be separate from matters of the state. Yes, Christians are citizens of this nation, but religion and its dogma has its place-in the church and not interlaced throughout branches of government.

If the Religious Right, or the Moral Majority want representation, pony up. The Trinity Broadcasting Network (TBN), the Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN), Jerry Falwell, and Pat Robertson could never have amassed the wealth they've attained if they had to pay their fair share in taxes. Yet they were allowed access to the White House and the President and have been influential. The mere fact that the first Presidential Q & A session between now President Elect Barack Obama and Senator John McCain was held at the Saddleback church, in my opinion, is a violation of the 'separation of church and state' mantra.

¹ The phrase "separation of church and state" is derived from a letter written by Thomas Jefferson in 1802 to a group identifying themselves as the Danbury Baptists. In that letter, referencing the First Amendment to the United States Constitution, Jefferson writes:

"Believing with you that religion is a matter which lies solely between Man & his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legitimate powers of government reach actions only, & not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should "make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof," thus building a wall of separation between Church & State."

With that said, and mandated by the faithful, this should go both ways. The "Moral Majority" should keep it's nose out of matters of the state. Imposing their views upon non believers, and attempting to turn those views into laws violates the very principals for which they fought. They can't have it both ways. Either the government can interfere into their affairs, or vice-versa, or matters of the state are matters of the state, and matters of the church are matters of the church.

Too often the lines get blurred because congregationalists are voters and politicians aren't bold enough to put them in their place. Legally, churches aren't supposed to engage in political affairs. Doing so compromises their tax exempt status. But this didn't stop both John McCain and Barack Obama from participating in a Q & A 'debate' at the Saddleback church in Lake Forest, CA. Both candidates knew that by refusing to participate in the debacle would have alienated a very powerful voting block. At some point someone must send a message to this group and let them know under no uncertain terms are they to support candidates, denounce candidates, or speak of politics in their congregation-ever. There are rules and, like everyone else, they must obey them. After all, it was the church who insisted upon this separation.

At the risk of alienating readers, I'll admit that I am not a religious individual. For lack of a better term one might call me agnostic. In my opinion, we should all be agnostic. Who amongst us can say truly whether or not God exists? If you haven't literally talked to him or seen him, it's pretty safe to say you can't know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he exists. I'm not talking about hearing your own conscience and attributing it to God. I'm talking about actually hearing a voice that if someone else was in the room they'd hear it as well. We've had too many individuals come along throughout history who've claimed they've heard the voice of God and now they are responsible for communicating the message to the masses. Even man has developed the ability to conference call-God has to have a way to speak to more than one person at a time. But I digress.

To put it bluntly, most evangelists are living, breathing, business men who take advantage of the tax exempt status granted the church to amass untold wealth. That money flows in one direction-from the congregation to the pockets of the church leaders. If a member of the congregation is in financial need, the most the church is able to offer is prayer. Try paying your bills with that. Sometimes, they'll tap the congregation to help said member, but never will they open up the church coffers to help the needy of the congregation. Sadly, most of these individuals are happy to walk away with just the prayers-even though they may have, over the years, contributed thousands of dollars to the church. I don't knock a man his hustle. If you've got people willing to exchange legal tender for that which they could achieve at home, then more power to you. As Thomas Jefferson so eloquently put it, ".....religion is a matter which lies solely between Man & his God." If this is true, what on earth does one need with a church. I don't think Thomas Jefferson envisioned the nonsense that passes for religion today. But to each his own. My position is simple, as an organization pay taxes like the rest or keep your nose out of matters of the state. And as I so eloquently put it, NO REPRESENTATION WITHOUT TAXATION.

Enough said.

TPOKW

Addendum:
A couple of evenings past, a young man of about 20 came to my door selling magazine subscriptions. I know he thought that it was the first time someone had tried to sell me a magazine subscription I didn't want, but unbeknownst to him, I've been staving off individuals like him since I was 20. Anyhow, he began his script the moment I came to the door and I politely listened. At one point in his monologue he asked if I believed in God and my answer was "No." Perplexed, he then asked me, "What are you, Muslim?" Now I know in the the written form of communication there are no long pauses, but I'd like for you, the reader, to take a Final Jeopardy moment and seriously contemplate what that young man asked me, (play Final Jeopardy theme here). Did any of you hear what I heard? Since when is Allah not a deity? Who kicked him out of the line up? How did Muslims become godless people?

This is my problem with religion. With the exception of Buddhism (which really is a lifestyle more so than a religion), each one professes to be the true religion of God. And for the most part, they all pretty much teach the exact same tenets-thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not kill, etc. If adhered to, there would be no religious wars. No crusades-No religious 'conversions' at the hands of barbaric Conquistadors. Most religious teachings are beautiful, but there implementation leaves a lot to be desired. I don't know why any person with half a brain couldn't see the chasm that exists between religious practices and religious teachings. I don't want to choose sides in the ongoing holy war that exists between Muslims and Christians, but the Christians have all but declared the Muslims a godless- that's what I got from that young man's question. Again, I'm a neutral party here, I think both sides need to clean up their act, but where is it written that any of us have the power to render a people godless? If you expect others to respect your beliefs, you'd better start by respecting the right of others to believe in what they choose-provided those beliefs do not harm others. Otherwise, there will be an ongoing sibling rivalry while each side jockey's to be God's chosen people, (another concept that disturbs me to no end).

I understand why this young man opted to throw God into his sales pitch-religion, being a instrument of control, can sometimes be invoked to aid consumers in loosening their purse strings. I wonder what his response would have been had I said that I was religious and then subsequently order a subscription to Playboy magazine. Hmmm....perhaps I'll try that next time.

®

References:
¹ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Separation_of_church_and_state

The Incomparable Tim Wise

2008-11-05T09:32:00.000-08:00

I became acquainted with Tim Wise's magnificent work one day while listening to KPFK, a progressive and independent, listener supported radio station in Santa Barbara, CA. I was immediately amazed with his approach to race relations in this country, not because he is of European descent, but because he sees things for what they are and has the courage to speak truthfully, even if he is hated by some of his own kind. The appropriately named Mr. Wise, makes me proud to be an American of African descent. Recently, I was falsely accused of threatening someone's life and subsequently arrested on felony charges. I spent less than 3 hours in custody because someone I love deeply immediately posted 8% of the $50,000 bail. I remember feeling like a loser-being cuffed before the officers were even able to determine fault. I can't go into detail because the case is still pending, but suffice it to say I was horrified as I sat in the holding tank and listened to officers discuss amongst themselves the "facts" of the case and how I was such a loser ("He has a job-who'd hire him?).

Reading the words of Tim Wise helped restore my self-esteem. He reminds me that our judicial system has been, since its inception, unjustly tilted against blacks and that, although African-Americans do commit crimes, quite often (as in my case) they are falsely accused and face an uphill battle just to make themselves whole again-if that is even possible. Those that know me personally know that I've defended myself against this injustice in my personal, military, and professional life and through wisdom and sheer luck have emerged scarred and battered but never incarcerated. Once again I'm faced with injustice and must prove to a court what should have been blatantly obvious to the arresting officers. I am certain I will prevail.

I would like to share with you something I read this morning on Mr. Wise's blog. His words, as always, are inspirational so please, take the time to read this entry in its entirety. I am also posting his opening statement on affirmative action from youtube. I am certain you will enjoy this as much as I did.

Much respect to you Mr. Wise.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Good, and Now Back to Work: Avoiding Cynicism and Overconfidence in the Age of Obama

Good, and Now Back to Work:
Avoiding Both Cynicism and Overconfidence in the Age of Obama
By Tim Wise
November 5, 2008

Tonight, after Barack Obama was confirmed as the nation's president-elect, I looked in on my children, as they lay sleeping. Though they are about as politically astute as kids can be, having reached only the ages of 7 and 5, there is no way they will be able to truly appreciate what has just happened in the land they call home. They do not possess the sense of history, or indeed, even a clear understanding of what history means, so as to adequately process what happened this evening, as they slumbered. Even as our oldest cast her first grade vote for Obama in school today, and even as our youngest has become somewhat notorious for pointing to pictures of Sarah Palin on magazines and saying, "There's that crazy lady who hates polar bears," they remain, still, naive as to the nation they have inherited. They do not really understand the tortured history of this place, especially as regards race. Oh they know more than most--to live as my children makes it hard not to--but still, the magnitude of this occasion will likely not catch up to them until Barack Obama is finishing at least his first, if not his second term as president.

But that's OK. Because I know what it means, and will make sure to tell them.

And before detailing what I perceive that meaning to be (both its expansiveness and limitations) let me say this, to some of those on the left--some of my friends and longtime compatriots in the struggle for social justice--who yet insist that there is no difference between Obama and McCain, between Democrats and Republicans, between Biden and Palin: Screw you.

If you are incapable of mustering pride in this moment, and if you cannot appreciate how meaningful this day is for millions of black folks who stood in lines for up to seven hours to vote, then your cynicism has become such an encumbrance as to render you all but useless to the liberation movement. Indeed, those who cannot appreciate what has just transpired are so eaten up with nihilistic rage and hopelessness that I cannot but think that they are a waste of carbon, and actively thieving oxygen that could be put to better use by others.

This election does indeed matter. No, it is not the same as victory against the forces of injustice, and yes, Obama is a heavily compromised candidate, and yes, we will have to work hard to hold him accountable. But it matters nonetheless that he, and not the bloodthirsty bomber McCain, or the Christo-fascist, Palin, managed to emerge victorious.

Those who say it doesn't matter weren't with me on the south side of Chicago this past week, surrounded by a collection of amazing community organizers who go out and do the hard work every day of trying to help create a way out of no way for the marginalized. All of them know that an election is but a part of the solution, a tactic really, in a larger struggle of which they are a daily part; and none of them are so naive as to think that their jobs are now to become a cakewalk because of the election of Barack Obama. But all of them were looking forward to this moment. They haven't the luxury of believing in the quixotic campaigns of Dennis Kucinich, or waiting around for the Green Party to get its act together and become something other than a pathetic caricature, symbolized by the utterly irrelevant and increasingly narcissistic presence of Ralph Nader on the electoral scene. And while Cynthia McKinney remains a pivotal figure in the struggle, the party to which she was tethered this year shows no more ability to sustain movement activity than it was eight years ago, and most everyone working in oppressed communities in this nation knows it.

It's like this y'all: Jesse Jackson was weeping openly on national television. This is a man who was with Dr. King when he was murdered and he was bawling like a baby. So don't tell me this doesn't matter.

John Lewis--who had his head cracked open, has been arrested more times, and has probably spilled far more blood for the cause of justice than all the white, dreadlocked, self-proclaimed anarchists in this country combined--couldn't be more thrilled at what has happened. If he can see it, then frankly, who the hell are we not to?

Those who say this election means nothing, who insist that Obama, because he cozied up to Wall Street, or big business, is just another kind of evil no different than any other, are in serious risk of political self-immolation, and it is a burning they will richly deserve. That the victorious presidential candidate is actually a capitalist (contrary to the fevered imaginations of the right) is no more newsworthy than the fact that rain falls down and grass grows skyward. It is to be properly placed in the "no shit Sherlock," file. That anyone would think it possible for someone who didn't raise hundreds of millions of dollars to win--at this time in our history at least--only suggests that some on the left would prefer to engage politics from a place of aspirational innocence, rather than in the real world, where battles are won or lost.

So let us be clear as to what tonight meant:

It was a defeat for the right-wing echo chamber and its rhetorical stormtroopers, foremost among them Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck.

It was a defeat for the crazed mobs ever-present at McCain/Palin rallies, what with their venomous libels against Obama, their hate-addled brains spewing forth one after another racist and religiously chauvinistic calumny upon his head and those of his supporters.

It was a defeat for the internet rumor-pimps who insisted to all they could reach with a functioning e-mail address that Obama was not really a citizen. Or perhaps he was, but he was a Muslim, or perhaps not a Muslim, but probably a black supremacist, or maybe not that either, but surely the anti-christ, and most definitely a baby-killer.

It was a defeat for those who believed McCain and Palin would be delivered the victory by the hand of almighty God, because their theological and eschatological vacuity so regularly gets in the way of their ability to think. As such, it was a setback for the religious fascists in the far-right Christian community whose belief that God is on their side has always made them especially dangerous. Now, having lost, perhaps at least some of these will be forced to ponder what went wrong. If we're lucky, perhaps some will suffer the kind of crisis of faith that often prefaces a complete nervous breakdown. Either way, it's nice just to ruin their Young-Earth-Creationist-I-Have-an-Angel-on-My-Shoulder day.

It was a defeat for the demagogues who tried in so many ways to push the buttons of white racism--the old-fashioned kind, or what I call Racism 1.0--by using thinly-veiled racialized language throughout the campaign. Appeals to Joe Six-Pack, "values voters," blue-collar voters, or hockey moms, though never explicitly racialized, were transparent to all but the most obtuse, as were terms like "terrorist" when used to describe Obama. Likewise, the attempt to race-bait the economic crisis by blaming it on loans to poor folks of color through the Community Reinvestment Act, or community activists like the folks at ACORN, failed, and this matters. No, it doesn't mean that white America has rejected racism. Indeed, I have been quite deliberate for months about pointing out the way that racism 1.0 may be traded in only to be replaced by racism 2.0 (which allows whites to still view most folks of color negatively but carve out exceptions for those few who make us feel comfortable and who we see as "different"). And yet, that tonight was a drubbing for that 1.0 version of racism still matters.

And tonight was a victory for a few things too.

It was a victory for youth, and their social and political sensibilities. It was the young, casting away the politics of their parents and even grandparents, and turning the corner to a new day, perhaps naively, and too optimistic about the road from here, but nonetheless in a way that has historically almost always been good for the country. Much as youth were inspired by a relatively moderate John F. Kennedy (who was, on balance, far less progressive than Obama in many ways), and much as they then formed the frontline troops for so much of the social justice activism of the following fifteen years, so too can such a thing be forseen now. That Kennedy may have been quite restrained in his social justice sensibilities did not matter: the young people whose energy he helped unleash took things in their own direction and outgrew him rather quickly in their progression to the left.

Tonight was also a victory for the possibility of greater cross-racial alliance building. Although Obama failed to win most white votes, and although it is no doubt true that many of the whites who did vote for him nonetheless hold to any number of negative and racist stereotypes about the larger black and brown communities of this nation, it it still the case that black, brown and white worked together in this effort as they have rarely done before. And many whites who worked for Obama, precisely because they got to see, and hear, and feel the racist vitriol still animating far too many of our nation's people, will now be wiser for the experience when it comes to understanding how much more work remains to be done on the racial justice front. Let us build on that newfound knowledge, and that newfound energy, and create real white allyship with community-based leaders of color as we move forward in the years to come.

But now for the other side of things.

First and foremost, please know that none of these victories will amount to much unless we do that which needs to be done so as to turn a singular event about one man, into a true social movement (which, despite what some claim, it is not yet and has never been).

And so it is back to work. Oh yes, we can savor the moment for a while, for a few days, perhaps a week. But well before inauguration day we will need to be back on the job, in the community, in the streets, where democracy is made, demanding equity and justice in places where it hasn't been seen in decades, if ever. Because for all the talk of hope and change, there is nothing--absolutely, positively nothing--about real change that is inevitable. And hope, absent real pressure and forward motion to actualize one's dreams, is sterile and even dangerous. Hope, absent commitment is the enemy of change, capable of translating to a giving away of one's agency, to a relinquishing of the need to do more than just show up every few years and push a button or pull a lever.

This means hooking up now with the grass roots organizations in the communities where we live, prioritizing their struggles, joining and serving with their constituents, following leaders grounded in the community who are accountable not to Barack Obama, but the people who helped elect him. Let Obama follow, while the people lead, in other words.

For we who are white it means going back into our white spaces and challenging our brothers and sisters, parents, neighbors, colleagues and friends--and ourselves--on the racial biases that still too often permeate their and our lives, and making sure they know that the success of one man of color does not equate to the eradication of systemic racial inequity.

So are we ready for the heavy lifting? This was, after all, merely the warmup exercise, somewhat akin to stretching before a really long run. Or perhaps it was the first lap, but either way, now the baton has been handed to you, to us. We must not, cannot, afford to drop it. There is too much at stake.

The worst thing that could happen now would be for us to go back to sleep; to allow the cool poise of Obama's prose to lull us into slumber like the cool on the underside of the pillow. For in the light of day, when fully awake, it becomes impossible not to see the incompleteness of the task so far.

So let us begin.

WHAT???

2008-10-30T15:10:00.001-07:00

GERMANS TRAINING TO KILL AFRICAN-AMERICANS IN NEW YORK?

A Class Divided

2008-10-27T14:28:00.000-07:00

In 1968, a day after the assassination of Martin Luther King, an Iowan school teacher conducted an experiment in discrimination with her 3rd grade class. Please watch this in its entirety with your children. It could explain to many of us why we are where we are and that behavior is directly related to treatment. You can either watch it here or go to Frontline and watch it (my recommendation).

The Usual (Black Male) Suspect/Redistribution of Wealth

2008-10-26T19:16:00.000-07:00

Recently, a volunteer for John McCain filed a police report stating a 6' 4" black man robbed her at an ATM machine in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Ashley Todd, 20-year-old college student from College Station, Texas, said that she was at the machine when she was robbed at knife point. She gave the 'robber' $60 and as he walked off, he noticed she had a McCain/Palin sticker on the back of her vehicle, turned around and hit her in the back of her head. While she was on the ground he kicked and punched her. Finally, the alleged mystery man then turned her over and, with a "dull knife" carved a-get this-backwards "B" in her face (as seen in the photo). She later recanted and admitted the entire ordeal was a hoax.

Obviously, this woman was attempting to discredit the Obama presidential campaign, but it proves, in the spirit of Susan Smith and Charles Stewart, not even a Black Presidential candidate is above a race-based false accusation (by proxy).

The Redistribution of Wealth

I was on my way to work this morning and was listening to KPFK and one of the guests brought up the Obama phrase, Redistribution of Wealth. I admit I've heard this a thousand and one times before since McCain has put so much emphasis on the phrase-but I heard it for the first time this morning. When McCain looks into the eyes of the American people (albeit through the lens of a camera) and says, "Obama wants to redistribute the wealth," what he is ultimately communicating to white Americans is that Obama wants to take wealth from whites and give it to blacks. If Obama doesn't catch this and address it, it might be a serious problem for him come election day!

Sorry to put two separate posts in one, but I felt in some way they were politically related based upon their racial associations.

TPOKW?

McCarthyism Anyone?

2008-10-22T15:12:00.000-07:00

McCarthyism is a term describing the intense anti-communist suspicion in the United States in a period that lasted roughly from the late 1940s to the late 1950s. This period is also referred to as the Second Red Scare, and coincided with increased fears about communist influence on American institutions and espionage by Soviet agents. Originally coined to criticize the actions of U.S. Senator Joseph McCarthy, "McCarthyism" later took on a more general meaning, not necessarily referring to the conduct of Joseph McCarthy alone.

In Debt We Trust

2008-10-22T09:32:00.000-07:00

There are several episodes so please watch them all. I encourage your comments.

Cousin Nebo-My Alien Relative

2008-10-16T13:26:00.000-07:00

Because I have this creative thing nagging me constantly, I have to find new ways to express it. Recently I purchased another laptop and it had this comic strip software on it and I couldn't resist, so here's the first installment of Cousin Nebo-My Alien Relative.

Enjoy!

click photo to enlarge

Riddle Me This?

2008-10-04T19:15:00.000-07:00

If it is true that the Bush family are historically Nazi sympathizers, why aren't Israel and Jewish people up in arms over this?

Proof God Exists

2008-10-02T05:47:00.001-07:00

I was listening to a talk show on television the other day and I heard one of the guest say, "Well ya' know, there are no atheist in a foxhole" and thought to myself, "Hmmm...there's proof God exists." In reality, that's not proof of anything, but in the world of talk shows, it was hardcore evidence.

For some reason, his words found their way into my conscious at 5:45 a.m. and I had to do something about it. I felt like the premise had to be analyzed-to be dismantled in order to uncover what existed under its hood. The more I thought about it, the more in my mind it reminded me of why religion has been so popular over the years and why so many people have a problem taking an educated look at the stories that make up the bible. Some of them can't really be possible. I have no intention of debating the bible, I believe people should be allowed to believe whatever they choose, as long as it does no one harm. To illustrate what I mean, I'll site one story that really bothers me, and then move on to make my point. In Genesis God created the heavens, the earth, Adam and Eve, the serpent thing happens, they get booted and have a couple of kids-Cain and Abel. Cain and Abel grow up and go out into the land and find wives-Errrrrrrrk!Pump the brakes! Wait a minute, God created Adam and Eve and they had two kids-that's only four people on the planet, remember? During the time Cain and Abel were growing up something miraculous occurred. Someone came out of no where and gave birth to some daughters because the very next thing the two brothers did when they got old enough was to go out into the land and find wives. Where did those wives come from?

I've had this discussion with many a religious person and I've heard answers that range from, "Well, there were other people, God just didn't mention them," to, "Well they were their sisters." I'll deal with the first one first-You know why God didn't mention those other people? Because the bible specifically states that there was nothing, a void, and then the whole shebang was thrown together in 7 days. Then came Adam and Eve, then Cain and Abel. Nothing about any other people. Then all of a sudden there were enough people available so that the brothers could have wives. There's something missing in the story and I can't find anyone who can give me a logical explanation. And don't get me started on the incest explanation. But I digress.

Let's get back to the atheist/foxhole statement. What I've deduced from this talk show guest is that you need fear to prove God's existence. What he's ultimately saying is, "You see, I know how to make a believer out of you atheists-SCARE THE DEVIL OUT OF YOU!" Stick you in a fox hole and, see, you're all fixed now. I can make you believe I'm the man from U.N.C.L.E. if I dangle you from a cliff. In fact, Shug Knight convinced Vanilla Ice that he didn't even write Ice Ice Baby by dangling his ass from the 12th story balcony of a Los Angeles hotel room (he may not have believed he didn't write it but he sure signed a contract stating otherwise). And it's that same fear that has created religious zealots who walk by faith, and not by sight. Incidentally, it was the same fear that made the people in the story, The Emperor's New Clothes see clothes that didn't exist. It took the courage of a little boy to break the ridiculous spell the Emperor's greatness had on his subjects.

It's the same fear that has people believing that Muslims are evil. The same fear that has forced people to keep their mouths shut while the rich in this country loot the coffers. Everyone's trying to hold on to a little bit of what they've had while the rich continue to bleed the line. They've gotten bold enough to ask for $700 billion from Congress and the President right before our very eyes. Why? Well because they know that we are more interested in holding on to a little house on a little plot of land, than taking back this entire country from them. John McCain has 7 houses people-7 houses! And people are losing their homes daily. How could he be so bold as to ask for your vote when he has 7 houses and at least 7 million Americans go hungry, or live on the street, or can't get decent medical coverage or afford healthcare. Incidentally, when he goes to Bethesda, or wherever he goes for medical care, YOU'RE PAYING FOR IT!! See he can get the best healthcare available in the nation at your expense, while you can't buy prescription drugs from the local Rite Aid because he's allowed pharmaceutical companies to increase the cost of your drugs beyond what you can afford to pay.

By now you're probably asking, "Where's the proof that God exists?" Here it is: They are your gods. Who? Them. Those who asked Congress for $700 billion-they are God. They are the merchants of life and death, and have been for quite some time. Think about it-they decide where your money is spent. They can throw it away on a worthless war saying they are looking for a guy that has been dead for god knows how long. Look, if they can find Sadaam in a foxhole out in the middle of the desert and he didn't have a damn thing to do with 9-11, why can't they find Bin Laden? Do they think he's hiding out in those houses in Iraq that troops have been kicking the doors in on now for the past 6 years? Come on people, they are your God. They decide that they are going to let a city of people-Americans-die in a stadium after the levies broke. They decide they are going to offer your asses up as slaves to China by borrowing ENORMOUS amounts of money that they have been lining their pockets with that you and your descendants will be paying back for generations to come. And if you don't, you'll end up speaking Chinese and changing your names, because no one turns their backs on loans that amount to over $1 billion a day for the past 5-6 years. The interest payments alone are enough to bring down a solvent country.

The rich are the gods and everybody knows it-that's why you can't get the common man to speak ill of them. First of all, he wants to be them. Secondly, he focuses his attention on those who are poor and downtrodden and condemns them for being lazy when they work just about as much as the rich. Don't get me wrong, if you work hard, I think you should benefit from the fruits of your labor. But the rich have tilted the game in their favor by taking control of this country's lawmakers and mandating that they create laws that protect their interest, and their interest alone. If an independent country threatens their interest, they send in the military to restore order. There-God exists. Who else is going to have you in a fucking foxhole? Hey, I know, I know, he's not what you expected-but neither was Santa Claus the first time you saw him at the mall.

I have a hard time understanding why God would need to stick you in a foxhole to convince you he exists-or why people who seem to be of decent intellect can't see the absurdity of such a thing. Everything God does to prove his existence has something to do with man doing something to you. Man creates a war, sticks you in a foxhole and you find God. Man throws you in jail for 20 years and in this squalid existence, you find God. I think I now understand God-he is the product of fear. If you're not afraid, you probably won't need him. But man, if you find yourself in a foxhole, you can't miss him. This explains why our nightly (and daily for that matter) news is wrought with things that scare the shit out of you. AIDS (man made), Africanized Honey Bees (I'm still awaiting their arrival), SARS, The British (as in The British are coming-oh wait, they came already...they called themselves The Beatles), Muslim Terrorists, The Russians, UFO's-etc. etc.

Look people, the bottom line is this: one day you'll die. There's nothing you can do about it except make sure you live a good and prosperous life, leave the planet in good working order so successive generation can live prosperous lives as well, and don't overstay your welcome. Death, although it has been vilified, is a good thing, (unless it comes in the form of a bomb dropped from 20,000 ft. or at the end of a bayonet). Death is part of the life cycle and the only way to avoid it is to have never been born. So there's nothing to fear. And if God is waiting on the other side, he'll want to know why you fell for every misconception and misinterpretation of his word introduced by man. He's going to want to know why he gave you a brain and you decided not to use it when you read stories of boys who found wives where there weren't supposed to be any. He's going to want to know why, if you believed so much in walking by faith and not by sight, you never started driving by faith and not by sight.

I've beat this thing to death-gotta go to work

TPOKW

EPILOGUE
Answer me this: Why is it that people give thanks to God on Thanksgiving when it was the Native-Americans that provided nourishment to those ungrateful settlers and who, through their charity, nurtured them through a tough winter and were repaid by being massacred and having their land stolen from them. Shouldn't they be giving thanks to the Native Americans?

Confucious say, "Man With 7 Houses Does Not Need Another".

2008-09-30T09:14:00.000-07:00

Let's keep John McCain from obtaining another house in November. This man is not lying, he is delusional and believes everything he says-including believing he's a Maverick. Those of us old enough to remember know that James Garner and Jack Kelly were the only real American Mavericks. All kidding aside, let's send him back to Arizona, and his fork-tongued side kick Sarah Pack of Lies Palin back to the Russian border. Psst! Do Something!

Economic Downturn=Less Fake Boobs-It's the End of an Era!

2008-09-25T08:48:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know me well know that I have a pet peeve-fake boobs. To me, putting silicone or saline filled bags atop your breast plate is equivalent to gluing fatter rose petals on a rose. You can't improve upon that which the creator has created. Of course there are exceptions-when a woman is born with an abnormality or when she undergoes a mastectomy. In those instances, I believe one should consider restorative surgery. I once dated a girl who was born with one big boob and one small one-she opted to get the larger one reduced. I asked her why she didn't make the runt larger and she said she feared they wouldn't age the same. In similar situations, I could see getting an enhancement, but getting implants because you were born with 32-A's, in my opinion, is just ridiculous.

Breasts are beautiful-period. Bigger doesn't necessarily mean better. If they sag, beautiful. If they get stretch marks, beautiful. If they no longer stand up at attention like they did when you were 16, that's ok-hopefully by the time they've dropped below see-level, you've developed character and a personality that transcends the altitude of your breasts. Women should know, if you got them-men love them. If you strategically place a pair above a knot hole on a tree, you'd find a man in society not above fucking that tree. I, of course, am not one of them but just know that they are out there.

Breasts are powerful enough on their own. They can make a man go deaf and cause his eyes to fixate and only break gaze once they've left the room. At Mardi Gras, a flash of breasts, any old breasts, causes crowds of both men and women to throw beads and erupt into a chorus of YEAHHHH's!!!!!!!!!!!!!. Breast don't need help. But there are women out there whose self-esteem is tied directly to the perkiness of their boobs. In my opinion, the creator made boobs for men and babies (not necessarily in the order of importance-but if you really want to get all chicken-egg about it, the order is correct. You need the man before you get the baby). So many women who get breasts implants claim that they got them for themselves-Poppycock! They don't improve the production of milk, and I don't think you get a stiffy looking at your own-so please, someone tell me what the hell is meant by such a comment. Oh and if you do get a stiffy looking at your own, well, you're not exactly a woman after all now are you?

In my opinion, there is nothing worse than a mature woman wearing a skimpy outfit that accentuates her silicone/saline filled gel sacks. I once saw a woman that was so wrinkled and skinny, dressed like a 17 year old tart. I think everyone in Old Navy that day agreed with me-she looked ridiculous. There wasn't anything sexy about her. She received no cat calls, no whistles, no invitations to dinner. Put her on the arm of any man and he'll chew that arm off in the name of liberation.

With all that said, I guess in some ways I'm a little happy that the economy has had a turn for the worse. Visa/Mastercard will no longer fund these unnecessary attempts to corral youth in a sealed silicone breast baggie-you'll be forced to fund the fiasco solo. And with the saving habits of most Americans and the rising price of housing, gas, and food, I think it's safe to say we've seen the end of an era-HOORAY!! Hooray for the breast as it was intended to be! If the creator wanted every woman to look like Pamela Anderson between the neck and waist, he wouldn't have created Calista Flockhart-and I'm sure that would have made Harrison Ford a very unhappy man. So say goodbye to unnaturally enhanced double-D's and hello to enhancing your personality.

Vive la Boob Natural!

TPOKW

Black Ice

2008-09-13T15:06:00.000-07:00

Here is a brotha that is bringin' it like it should be brought...if only we would listen. We want to stick our heads in the sand like there isn't some sort of system designed to wipe us from the face of the planet-and by ignoring it's existence, we participate in our own demise...speak to us Black Ice.

T-Wayne

2008-09-10T15:20:00.000-07:00

This is hot! The production value is ridiculous. Just when I thought I was a video editor.

Enjoy!

T-Pain - Can't Believe It ft. Lil Wayne [OFFICIAL VIDEO]

When You Travel Abroad, Remember....

2008-09-10T07:38:00.000-07:00

these people are speaking to the world on your behalf.

Is It Just Me or Does Solange Knowles Look Like Orlando Jones...In Drag?

2008-09-05T17:48:00.001-07:00

Hey, I ain't one to celebrity bash (that's if you want to call these two 'D' listers celebrities), but if you put some make up, lip stick, and a dress on Solange Knowles, doesn't she look like Orlando Jones in drag? I don't think I would have gone here had it not been for the nasty response Solange gave to a television host whom she thought mentioned Jay-Z when she was introduced (google that shit, I'm too lazy to post the link).

I don't know if she has talent or not, but I hear the CD sales and downloads are moving like cooling lava.

TPOKW?

My Baby's Been Bakin'

2008-08-28T08:50:00.000-07:00

While I was out slaving over a hot keyboard, Nancy was keeping the Nancy's Kitchen cooking show going on her own. Take a look at the beautiful quiche she baked.

TPOKW

Jamie Cullum Live! Singin' in the Rain/Umbrella

2008-08-21T13:37:00.000-07:00

His performance was too short last night, but this was definitely the highlight of the evening!

What The Hell???

2008-08-14T14:31:00.001-07:00

I don't knock people for having fun-adult fun. To each his own. But to have a baby at the festivities? This photograph is CRIMINAL and everyone in it (excluding the baby) should be arrested and convicted of child endangerment. What the hell is this world coming to?

TPOKW

I've Been Saying This All Along

2008-08-11T08:52:00.000-07:00

Why won't we just wake the fuck up? Don't be scurred. There's nothing to fear but fear itself. The truth shall set you free. Yada, yada, yada. WAKE UP!!!!!

Nancy's Kitchen-Chicken Milanese

2008-07-22T20:45:00.000-07:00

It's Been a Long Time...

2008-07-13T19:00:00.000-07:00

since I left you, without a dope rhyme to step to..... For those of you who remember the infamous Rakim, I just wanted to start off with something that some of you may recall, and others (R. Lawrence) may have never heard of. Be that as it may, I'm blogging again. Why? Because it's Sunday, and I've never been a fan of the day. But lately, I've really been a HUGE fan of Sundays. My significant other (if I can be so blatant as to call her that) and I usually spend the mornings reading the paper and sipping on lattes at a local Starbucks, then we come back to her place and lounge around or hit the beach. Sunday tradition consists of her preparing BLT's for lunch because the both of us are MEGA fans of bacon and she has the sense enough to know that over indulging shortens one's life expectancy, thusly, Sunday is the day of bacon. Our evenings are usually shared in the kitchen preparing dinner. My job is preparing the meat-something I enjoy because I'm able to experiment and try new recipes.

How did I ever become so domesticated? Well, it's simple. I think it's something that's a part of every male, you just have to find someone who won't force you into the kitchen against your will, but who will highlight the finer points of a masculine male who knows how to prepare meat. Yeah, I know I'm being tricked here, but I enjoy it nonetheless. To share the kitchen with Nancy is such a joy for me. It's like team work at its finest. I even help with the cleaning (sometimes).

So today is Sunday, and here's a list of things I've accomplished:

1. Donated to the Starbucks/LA Times fund
2. Had a BLT
3. Walked the dog (twice)
4. Visited every electronics store in a 10 mile radius (twice)
5. Configured Nancy's wireless network (welcome to the world of wireless baby)
6. Transferred all pertinent software from my Mac to her newly purchased Mac Book (welcome to the world of Mac baby)
7. Lovingly seasoned salmon filets and grilled said filets to perfection

Now I'm about to have a seat in front of the tele and enjoy a meal fit for a king!

Wish you all were here!

TPOKW

Loose Cannon

2008-07-07T19:55:00.000-07:00

If you were to poll other societies that Americans deem "ancient" or "outdated" you would probably find that they are societies who have defined roles for each member. Children play a role, men play a role, women play a role. Through the eyes of America, however, we usually take a myopic view of the male roll and label him "overbearing" or "domineering". And in a vacuum, this may be true, but when you juxtapose those adjectives to the responsibility of the male in any society, you might see the necessity in one being a bit overbearing.

I love to use the pilot analogy-at 30,000 feet, you don't want your pilot allowing wanton chaos in his cockpit. Why? Well the fate of the passengers hang delicately in the balance, that's why. A man's role in any society is to protect the members of his family and community. There was a day when invaders would regularly compromise the security of small communes and men were expected to lay down their lives to protect the women and children. Now that we've convinced ourselves that the police are the protectors of men, women, and children, every thing has gotten completely skewed. If you don't believe me, I'd like you to research the average response time for a 911 phone call. Based upon what I've read, the average response time is 8-10 minutes, and we all know that varies depending on the neighborhood you reside. Let's say that you live in a middle-class neighborhood and the response time is 8 minutes. A lot can happen in 8 minutes. One can be stabbed, shot, strangled, and the list goes on. I know people don't like to think about these things but sticking your head in the sand doesn't make them go away. And all of this speculation doesn't take in the possibility that you might not even get an opportunity to call for help.
Men have a place in society and it has nothing to do with just paying child support to women who decide to have children to increase their income or paying alimony for the purposes of allowing some useless societal goiter to suck the life from the members of society.

Over the holiday weekend my brother-in-law and I got into one of our many political debates. His wife, my sister, immediately intervened and attempted to quiet him. We are on opposite ends of the political spectrum and our debates are usually heated. I immediately see red when she intervenes. When did we get to the point where men can't discuss politics? How do we solve societies problems if we cannot discuss them? My mother then piped in and my blood began to boil. I posed that very question to her and she asked me repeatedly, "What problems have you solved?" I'll address that later.

First of all, problems aren't solved from the top down. They are better addressed at a community level. It's easier to kill one ant than an entire colony. But my mother and sister seem to think that the politicians actually solve problems. Well in a way they do, but not for those of us on this level.

(Some) American women have become loose cannons and they are doing more damage than good. And one day we're going to look up and this society will be beyond salvaging and we'll all be able to share responsibility-women for interfering and men for allowing them. I'm often reminded of something an ex-girlfriend once said to me after she railroaded our relationship. I was going over all of the detrimental things she'd done and after it was all said and done she said to me, "Well if you knew the end result of my behavior, why did you let me do it?" The sentence speaks volumes if you read between the lines.

American men have lost their balls. The government has given them the power to excise a man from his rightful position in society and in the family structure. She can decide for the entire family and tear it apart. Sometimes it's a necessary decision. But often times it is because she wants to shirk the responsibility that comes along with raising her family. Or, perhaps, she'd like to chase the latest stud that is giving her attention. Of course he's going to treat her better than the husband, he has a fantasy that he has to create-and she buys it hook, line, and sinker.

Even so-call Christians, whose bible tells them that a man should head his family, ignores the scriptures. Women will circumvent their husband's authority for a pair of worthless, over priced shoes. She'll literally jeopardize her family's security for a pair of shoes. It wasn't always like that, women were once our partners. But along came liberation-and now they are free to fuck up everything they touch. Sure, they're free to vote and burn their bras, but they are also free to loot the very bank account that will keep a roof over their heads to serve the consumer gods. Sadly pathetic.

This isn't an indictment on all women. But their are guilty ones out there who are turning this society into a shit hole of worthlessness. And when it's all over, we'll all be worse off for it. When did we get to the point whereby men can't discuss politics amongst themselves? And we wonder why women weren't allowed in certain quarters centuries ago. If you don't understand what's going, they don't have the sense to keep their fucking mouths shut. And the wealthy parasites who feed on our labor like blood-sucking vampires understand that the common man has no control over their mate-she is a loose cannon and, even though I have no Christian affiliation, I can see the wisdom espoused in those verses that instruct women to follow the lead of their men. If a man is abusing his authority, every man in his community should rally against him-even if it means you kill him. No society can tolerate a tyrant. Innocent people should not be abused-I don't care who the abuser is and he should be eradicated like any other cancerous cell.

As for what I've accomplished-mom, I'll have you know at the tender age of 18 I took on the U.S. Air Force on numerous occasions when I was being persecuted because of the color of my skin-and I won each time. This type of abuse continued until the final attempt in 1985 and I was 21 years old and 5 members conspired against me over a non-incident. It was blown up to be a major incident. And when the smoke cleared, I walked away unscathed. I was pitted against a tribunal who had a combined total of over 70 years of military experience, and all I had was 3 1/2. And when it was over, they were left scratching their heads, wondering how I was able to, with no legal counsel, assistance, or experience, defeat them at their own game.

At the age of 25, I assembled a group of employees and saved a fellow employee who was being unfairly accused of a crime we knew he was innocent of-and we were able to have that employee reinstated along with his back pay.

Later in life, when a company I worked for, in an attempt to fire one employee, retroactively wrote up everyone in the department for tardies that had occurred well over 12-15 months prior, I stood alone and refused to sign the documents-others began to take notice and also refused to sign. The matter silently went away.

At the same company, when our commissions were cut in half, I organized a slow down in production-we literally refused to work. A month later our commissions were returned to their original state.

My life is filled with instances where I've organized and gone against those who attempt to bully those who are considered weak and our political power lies in numbers. But how can you get the message across if you're unable to discuss it? Sadly, I don't ever see things getting better-I'm getting too old to fight. And frankly, what am I fighting for? Those who would benefit from a good struggle don't even have a clue as to what the powers that be have in store for them. As long as they can shop and party, what's the problem.

Noah built an ark once, and by the time the rest of the people got it, it was too late.

TPOKW

Thought You'd Get A Kick Out of This

2008-06-24T16:49:00.000-07:00

This is some throwback shit from the 80's-real funny. It's Jim Carey's parody of Vanilla Ice.

Cooking In Nancy's Kitchen

2008-06-23T15:15:00.000-07:00

This is my new weekly cooking show which really isn't a show at all. It's just me affecting a very bad British accent cooking dinner in my girl's kitchen-something I'll probably be doing weekly.

Matters of the Heart

2008-05-27T17:29:00.000-07:00

It seems like just yesterday I decided that loneliness would be my constant companion. I guess it was foolishly pessimistic of me to make such a brash statement at a time of extreme uncertainty. Perhaps I needed some sort of justification for the place I had found myself. I, like most, fear the unknown. And not knowing if I'd ever find the courage to move beyond the present state I found myself in was something I wanted to face bravely. Which probably explains why I took such a solid stance on never dating again. But I'm here to admit I was mistaken.

My older sister, Jennifer, and I were having a conversation one day about the joys of entering certain stages in life. I, now being middle-aged, enjoy being called 'uncle' by, and being an uncle to, my nieces and nephews. I enjoy nature a lot more than I did when I was a young man, and occasionally enjoy a drink to take the edge off what all too often ends up being a stressful day. As a young man, I was too busy doing what young men do to appreciate the beauty of nature. I didn't have nieces or nephews, and I drank mostly to get drunk and party. But with age comes moderation and I now like to take the time to enjoy the precious moments that so many of us take for granted.

When it comes to matters of the heart, I've discovered a new appreciation as well. I believe I've developed a patience that affords me the ability to savor the sweetness of those fleeting moments that mark time in one's memory bank. In case you're wondering, yes, I've found someone who has touched me in ways I've not known possible. I know that sounds like such a cliche, trust me, it is anything but.

Time provides us gifts if we choose to accept them. But we all fear aging so terribly, most of us enter into the process reluctantly; missing out on so much. Who knew romance could be so rewarding being middle-aged? I know the young believe they've cornered the market on it, but they have so much to learn about love, it's almost impossible for them to fully understand the depths of what it may offer. A true indication of this may be found in the high divorce rate. So many believe that the aging process has nothing to offer-but I believe that if you are married and be patient, time has so many gifts to offer you along the way. Instead of jettisoning your mate in search of your younger years with a complete stranger, perhaps we should all consider rediscovering our new selves with the person we are with.

My situation is a little different. The person I am speaking of is new to me. We are both middle-aged and we've somehow found a way to see the world the same way. There are probably a lot of contributing factors, but one thing I know to be true is we focus on one another. I am not saying that we see everything eye-to-eye; we most certainly do not. But we do view partnership similarly. Each moment we spend with one another seems to lay a foundation that we almost effortlessly continue to build upon. We enjoy dining with one another-it seems almost mandatory that, when we can, we do. She enjoys cooking healthy meals for me and takes great pride when I compliment her on her culinary accomplishments. I've been with enough women to know that these days, this is rare.

If we allow it, time perfects us. But all too often we fight it-longing to maintain a youthful appearance and not disappear into the backdrop of society. I being one who appreciates sometimes going unnoticed, can recognize the benefits. I know what it is like to be amongst a crowd of people and not be acknowledged-inherently, it has its own rewards and if we silence our thoughts and relish in the moments, we can begin to appreciate those rewards.

I don't know how promising my future is with my new friend-and I don't really allow myself to think much about it. What I am learning to do is appreciate each day as it comes, and celebrate it as though it is our last. I don't think I've let a day pass that I haven't told her how much all that we do together means to me. I am genuinely delighted each time she leaves a token of her appreciation somewhere I'll surprisingly discover it. It is an indication of her thoughtfulness. There is so much that could be learned from what we've naturally seemed to have discovered. The young might be amazed at how much they truly don't know about matters of the heart.

If the gods smile down upon me, I believe I would be blessed if the rest of my days could be spent like this; with her. On the horizon I can see my end, and I no longer concern myself with if I'll get there, or when I'll get there. What is most important to me is how I get there, and if my Drugh and I discover a way to travel that path together, it will be a crowning achievement on what has been the most splendid and rewarding life one could ever imagine.

TPOKW

Is America An Emerging 3rd World Country?

2008-05-21T06:14:00.000-07:00

With a war that is costing this nation over $1 billion a day, a housing market that has lost any semblance of a bottom, and oil at over $130 a barrel, I would venture to say...maybe. Months ago I wrote a blog titled, "Who Will Officially Welcome Us to the 3rd World?" and posited that we were well on our way. I'm still as pessimistic as I was then, but now I'm simply hoping that this election will turn things around-but it's unlikely.

The two (op)posing parties have the same agenda-catering to the owners of this nation-not it's labor force. If you don't own a piece of this country-a major piece, then you are going to find it difficult in the future to maintain even a substandard lifestyle. There are those who have seen themselves as a part of the establishment, and voted based upon such a belief. And it is those same individuals who are now recognizing that they too are just a cog in the machine that can simply be shut down, dismantled, or discarded at the behest of someone else.

In 1999 gas prices were $.90 a gallon. And then some of you decided to elect an oil man for President, and by doing so, we've gone from below $1 a gallon to $4, an increase of over 400% in 9 years. Does anyone else besides me see a correlation? But who's to blame? Certainly not the wealthy or the politicians. They've just done what we've allowed them to do-become what we've allowed them to become. The Native-Americans (I still call them Indians), believed that the land belonged to all. But now we all are seeing that we're being excluded from a system that we've helped to build.

The economy knows no discrimination. When you pay at the pump, you don't get a Republican or Democrat discount. There are no discriminating practices when it comes to foreclosing on someone's home. It's simple, you can't pay-you're out. Although minorities may be the first to go when companies decide to lay off its labor staff, but eventually we all feel the sting.

I have a question to pose to those of you who swore that immigrants were taking your jobs-Are they the ones sitting at the desk you once occupied at that corporate call center? Wait, I believe I have the answer to that-no. I also have a tidbit of information for you. When public sentiment was that immigration was destroying the labor market, in a way you were correct-they just used the wrong homonym. Immigrants taking jobs wasn't the problem, it was job emigration-jobs leaving the U.S. to be had by individuals in nations as far away as India, China, and as local as Mexico and Canada. Dell Computer, American Express, and a host of other corporations were able to reduce their overhead by paying an Indian worker a fraction of what they paid a U.S. citizen. During the Bush II administration, these same corporations have enjoyed tax breaks that would comparatively make welfare look like the cost of a McDonald's happy meal-all at the expense of America, and Americans.

What bothers me the most, is that everyone is silent. No one is really standing up and screaming at the top of their lungs about any of this. But I know the reason why-you see, we've allowed them to label us, separate us, categorize us...willingly. African-American; Asian-American; the disabled; multi-ethnic; white; Democrat; Republican; Independent. We were Nascar dads and Stay-at-Home moms. But do you know what they call us behind our backs? CONSUMERS. If you're finding it difficult seeing the problem with the term, allow me to illustrate it for you. Imagine a large sow, (for those of you who've never been on a farm before, that's an adult female pig), laying on her side and beneath her are a dozen little piglets suckling. The sow is the system, you're just one of the piglets. Now let's say that, for whatever reason, the sow loses her interest in the piglets, gets up and allows them to fend for themselves. Some will probably survive, most will not. People, the sow has left the building.

Look, I know this is hard to believe. How could your government do that to you? Well, for those of us whose ancestors were brought here in chains, beaten, raped, tortured, and then set free without any psychological assistance to repair the damage that had been done to our mental (and physical) well-being, we've seen this before. You're just a number and if children are forced to work in sweat-shops for pennies a day-in modern times, how is it that you would think the very same thing couldn't happen here? It's a mentality-a mindset. It's a philosophy, and all it takes is for someone in a position of power to see it as a viable solution to a problem. Yes, it's just that simple. Sure, people are going to hit the streets in protest, but understand this-you're protesting against your sow, and if you piss her off enough, you may never suckle again. They control the food supply, the water supply, and although you'll still have air to breathe, they are making sure that you'll have more than your fair share when you're forced to live out of doors.

But all is not lost. I say look to the Amish. They've lived self-sufficiently for centuries. Never taking more than was needed (over-consuming). Living and working in small self-serving communities, (communism people). Capitalism is for those who control the capital and the resources. In a truly free market it might have worked. But this hybrid economic system we have serves only a small segment of our population-and they have no intentions of sharing. We all were nothing more than just labor, and America a labor camp. And now that we've made them uber-wealthy, they've picked up like a swarm of locust and are descending upon crops elsewhere while the rest of us sort through what's left of what was once a great idea, but is now nothing more than a dream turned nightmare.

Exhaustion-Running on Fumes and From My Demons

2008-05-16T18:42:00.000-07:00

I'm tired. Really fucking tired. Why? Because I'm too stupid to go to sleep. Rest is what I need, but instead I'm appeasing my demons and blogging. Yes, I have demons. Little brown ones that sometimes manifest themselves in the form of midgets. Why midgets? Because when I was a kid, the Oscar Meyer Weiner man came to town and he was a midget. My little sister was afraid of him because she'd never seen a grown man that small before. At the age of 4 she knew something wasn't right about him. First of all, he drove into town in a giant hot dog. She cried when he disembarked. I wanted to kick his ass for making her cry, but my mother warned me that he was a little man and I was boy. And even though when we eventually squared off we were eye to eye, he could take me-she knew it. Realistically, I don't think she wanted us to fight because she didn't want to end up in the local papers for kicking the midget's ass-victorious perhaps, but lacking the glory one garners when they defeat an opponent. Sort of like when an aging Muhammad Ali was defeated by the toothless Olympic gold medal winning Leon Spinks-lackluster to say the least.

So, we let the little man leave town. But there's still that picture of me and my two sisters posing in front of old man Kirkpatrick's grocery store next to the midget. Is midget politically incorrect? I'm too tired to give a fuck. It's not like one could take me now. Besides, midgets have come a long way. Look at Wee Man. He's in a movie. I'm regular sized, I've never been in a movie-well maybe not one you'd want to see. And what about Bridget the Midget? See, she uses midget, so I guess I'm cool (not that I was worried or anything. Like I said earlier, I'll kick a midget's ass). But back to Bridget the Midget. As you may know, she's a porn star (that term is so loosely used). I've actually seen her in action but there was nothing sexual about a naked woman with two little stubby legs in the air being penetrated by a full-sized adult male. It was comical at best. And quite frankly, I don't like to mix my sex with comedy. That's equivalent to eating in the bath tub. But I watched. Not to the end...what the hell do you think I am, a freak?

Anyway, like I said before, I have my demons. They aren't always midgets. Sometimes they appear to me as women with three eyes...short women with three eyes....MIDGETS with three eyes. What the hell is it with me and midgets? Perhaps I have a repressed Napoleonic complex that needs addressing. There is that picture of my two sisters and me posing with the Oscar Meyer midget. My little sister was taller than me. Perhaps I feared never growing and ending up a 4-foot tall black midget who's only means of support was to travel from small town to small town in an oversized hot dog on wheels being threatened by little boys who would swear on a stack of bibles that they could kick my ass.

I need sleep.

TPOKW

Too Soon?

2008-05-14T03:28:00.000-07:00

When two people with a mutual interest in one another meet, millions of questions crowd the mind. I wonder what he/she is like in bed? I wonder if we'll make it past the first date? I wonder if..... If you're anything like me, you try to predict if and when it all will end. But if things seem to be progressing smoothly, we often find ourselves faced with the is it too soon dilemma.

There should be some sort of progression chart that you can refer to when you want to know if you're progressing too quickly. Of course, all situations aren't the same. Sometimes you meet that perfect person, hop in the carpool lane together, and fast track the relationship to a painful and bitter end. Sometimes things do workout. We have no way of knowing, it's just a chance we all have to take while we pursue companionship in a world full of people who find connecting difficult.

Who determines whether a couple is moving too soon? I think we can all agree that meeting someone in Las Vegas and awaking married the next day is too soon. Talk about living for the moment. I've been known to do some wild, outlandish things, but I can assure you that I would never meet someone in Vegas and marry them the same night. Perhaps sleeping with someone on the first night is way too soon, but we've all done it (I suspect). But that goes beyond the scope of a relationship and relates to some entirely different agenda.

I think we all worry that we're moving too fast but I've yet to meet the person who can produce a document that will tell us when and how we should proceed. We all seem to know when it's too soon, but I have yet to hear what the opportune time should be. The toughest one of all seems to be when you utter those 3 words that always seem to seal the fate of a relationship. Once you say "I love you", it seems like the die has been cast and you either spiral into bliss or, in the not-so-distant future, someone's going to be needing a lot of Kleenex. Hearing those words is like winning the gold medal in the Olympics. Prior to hearing them you're in training. Up every morning at the crack of dawn. You eat right and keep the snacking to a minimum. You're in great shape-destined to take the gold. And then you take the podium...center stage. Over the loud speaker you hear the American National Anthem. It is your crowning moment. You bend at the waist and someone places atop your head the Caesar wreath and then the gold medal. You've done it! The moment you've been waiting for. It's the Olympic equivalent to hearing, "I love you."

You return to your home town a hero! Everyone says they knew you could do it. Everyone says they knew you back when. Who needs to train now? You've reached the pinnacle. All of sudden, you're partying to the wee hours of the morning-everyone wants to buy you a drink....how could you resist? Your waistline begins to expand, your endorsements dry up, and the honeymoon's over. It won't be long before TMZ eulogizes you.
I don't know what it is about hearing those three words that causes us to claim victory, but we always do.

I wish I had the answer because I know that we sometimes sabotage relationships by attempting to adhere to this imaginary timeline that no one has seen. I don't know what constitutes too soon, but I know the ramifications of being too late. Think about it, can you ever arrive to work too soon? Not according to most bosses-but you can definitely arrive too late. Is it ever too soon to begin investing for your retirement? Absolutely not! If you find a financial analyst who says otherwise-fire him on the spot. Is it ever too soon to do your Christmas shopping. Arguably yes, but consider the alternative. It's 12/24/(year whatever). I'm preparing to hit the malls-they close in 3 hours. I'm so stressed that if my blood pressure was measured in dollars, it would be considered a small fortune. I'm driving like a maniac. Running red lights and cursing anyone who'd dare drive the speed limit during my time of crisis. I hit the parking lot and, just as I suspected, parking is damn near non existent. I hit one department store and I have no intentions of leaving until I've purchased everything I need. 3 hours later I emerge the victor and promise myself to never again criticize those who shop too soon.

When it comes to relationships, who has the answers? Is it quite possible for two people to meet, let things flow naturally, ignore the warnings from those uninvolved parties who seem to be trying to rain on our parade, and have a successful relationship? I think so. We have to ask ourselves, how much of that advice can we attribute to jealousy? Too soon just might be a way for someone to throw a monkey wrench into what might otherwise be the beginning of a perfect relationship.

It's probably best that we develop our own too soon barometer. We should be reasonable and resist the urge to deviate from the plan when we've been inspired to move quicker. Even still, once we've waited the allotted time, it doesn't mean we should move full speed ahead. It just means that we've gone beyond the required waiting period and we can now consider moving forward. We should also use the time to evaluate the situation, but not over think things. All to often I am guilty of over analyzing a situation and ultimately killing the spirit of the relationship. This is beginning to sound like an advice column and that was not my intent. Perhaps what I'm trying to say here is that we should make our own determinations as to what is considered too soon, and what isn't. What may be too soon for someone, may be too late for someone else.

TPOKW

Idiot Nation

2008-05-02T13:23:00.000-07:00

I heard this morning that a group of kids were arrested for vandalism the other day. Now that might not really be anything worth talking about, but if you dig deeper, there is a story behind the story. The kids got busted because, not only did they video tape their illegal antics, they posted it on youtube.

What the hell is wrong with kids these days? It seems like daily there is some teenage numbskull on the television who was busted for doing something totally ridiculous. I know most of you remember the video post of the girls who beat the hell out of that other girl for supposedly taunting them in cyberspace (white on white crime-but no one really likes to talk about that, do they?). There was the incident; the youtube post; ridiculous press coverage; and then arrests. It doesn't require a degree to figure out. In case there are teenagers reading this (which I doubt because teens don't read), you know the tape that you have in your possession? Yeah, that thing you just took out of the video camera-that's called evidence and it can and will be used against you in a court of law. Oh, and incidentally, the guy sitting behind the table placard that reads Plaintiff, and the the guy/girl sitting on the perch wearing the black robe and holding the wooden hammer, they aren't your friends, teachers, parents, or any other person that you've successfully manipulated in the past. They are THE LAW and they've seen enough idiots, just like you, who thought that they could play dumb, or concoct some oddly ridiculous story that flies with mother but couldn't fool a 5th grader. If you lined up the people who came in to court with the dog ate my homework excuse, you could wrap it around the globe 29 times.

Honestly, I don't blame the kids-I blame the parents and the teachers. A child's first bout with authority is usually with their parents, and then later with the administrative staff at school. If either of these institutions show too much leniency, complacency, or are exposed for their naivete, you can rest assured that the child will one day interface with the judicial system and think that it's as porous as their earlier bouts with authority systems. Sadly, parents and the school system are failing children. Parents these days want to be buddies with their children. By doing so, they neglect the duties and responsibilities required to raise a productive member of society. When a child can spin a tall tale and the parent(s) fail to become Ellory Queen and investigate every nuance of the story, that child has just learned that he or she can manipulate the truth and you (the parent) will be danced around the truth for the rest of the time that child is in your care. Parents have to make it difficult for the child to lie, and even more difficult for the child to get away with lying.

Once, when I was about 12, a stepfather of mine called me in for dinner. I had been playing outside all day and I went to the restroom and then sat down to eat. My stepfather asked if I had washed my hands. My response was yes. He then asked if I'd used soap. I again replied yes. He then got up, walked into the bathroom, and brought out a completely dry bar of soap and asked me why the soap was still dry if I'd just used it. Two things occurred at that very moment-#1 I realized this man was no idiot, and #2 next time I better wet the soap (kidding). Actually, what I did learn was that lies were fallible. And if you told one, it had better have been after some serious planning. If you come of the top of the head with it, someone with half a brain will be able to pick it apart. I became so impressed with his technique, I began to explore ways of lying and how those lies were easily exposed. I tried desperately to come up with a foolproof caper, and my 12 year old mind was unable to create a scenario whereby I couldn't get busted. So what did I finally decide to do? Give up lying until I could get better at it. After years of practicing honesty, I never really looked back. That's not to say that I haven't lied-but I have been honest to the point where I've lost girlfriends, and jobs-I feel compelled to tell the truth.

It doesn't help that our government has adopted a prove it mentality. When kids hear the president of the United States say things like, "I didn't inhale," or I didn't have sex with that woman, Monica Lewinsky," and both of those statements be bold-faced lies, where is their incentive to tell the truth? The rotting fish is lying from the tail to the head, why should the children be any different?

You might be thinking that it wasn't lying that got the bumbling youtube criminals busted-but it was lying. Lying and not being busted, (or not being punished if they did get busted). It bred this overconfidence in their ability to get out of trouble. They tell themselves these ridiculously childish stories that have more holes in them than swiss cheese-a pre prepared excuse that with even a cursory glance would appear to be as thin as tissue paper. But hey, come on, mom falls for it all the time. Well there's one thing mom lacks, and that's the experience of sitting all day and hearing the same tired stories from criminals who confuse judges with their blinder-wearing mothers. The judge has heard it all. In fact, I'll bet you money that he can probably take one look at a defendant and, based upon their appearance and the crime they are being charged with, predict the story that will come bellowing from their mouth. This is precisely why they insist you not represent yourself-you're an idiot and we need to appoint someone to keep you from tripping over your own two feet.

Committing a crime and then posting the evidence on youtube is intellectually equivalent to walking into roll call at the local police station and robbing at gun point all whom are in attendance...without a disguise. And if this isn't remotely apparent to the idiot who decides to post what he or she sees as his or her ticket to fame, then we've managed to create an entire nation of idiots who will undoubtedly continue to exhibit this incredibly imbecilic type of behavior no matter how many are caught. My hope is that this doesn't become epidemic because, instead of hitting the streets and doing real investigative work, our detectives will spend their valuable time perusing the posts of youtube looking for their next big case.

Wake up people.

TPOKW

MUST READ!!!!!!

2008-04-30T22:55:00.000-07:00

Everyone, please click the link below and read this essay I found on the internet. If this doesn't move you to tears, I don't know what will. It's a cold fucking world out there-yet some pull themselves up from the bottom despite what they've been through.

Please, read it.

click here

The Sound of a Sweet Song...Fading Away in the Distance

2008-04-22T22:26:00.000-07:00

If you ask me what I like most about a romantic encounter, I would tell you it is the element of surprise. When you meet someone new, it is like hearing a beautiful song for the first time. You have no idea what the future holds, but you long to have that feeling last for all of eternity. There is what Barack Obama calls the audacity of hope, but I think what drives us the most is the unknown. We have absolutely no idea what the future holds for us...if it holds anything at all.

I know the warm feeling of both hearing that sweet song for the first time and having the audacity to hope. They are synonymous. You remember where you were, what you were doing, and why. I recently heard a song that touched me in that way. I won't share with you the title...perhaps because I fear the retribution that comes with being so exposed and open to public scrutiny. But suffice it to say that for a brief moment in time, I felt that feeling again. And then I began to notice how empty life can be when you don't share it with someone special. Sure, I feel safe cocooned away in my enclave-door locked and the world on the outside. But what should be obvious to most, and what is hardcore evidentiary fact to me, is that I've all but eliminated the audacity of hope in exchange for the comfort of security.

I haven't always been this cautious. Once I dared allow myself to love someone society deemed undesirable. In my estimation, I felt that she too deserved love and who better to love her than someone who understands the devotion required to make love a successful function of a romantic schema? I allowed myself to love her in spite of what others thought. Not only did I expose myself to the perils of love, I accepted all the punishment that one endures when they choose to love someone who does not feel that they deserve to be loved. I still bear the open wounds and battle scars that one acquires when one decides to put down their sword; their shield; their armor; and dare to hope for the best, but accept the worse. And I am a better man because of it.

Love demands so much of us, and most of us fail because we don't fully understand that, unless we acquiesce to those demands, failure is inevitable. But acquiescence alone brings not the promise of success; for the possibility of love unrequited always lurks in the shadows. With so many pitfalls before us, why do we choose to embark upon the quest for love? Simply put, it is the audacity of hope, and whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, hope is audacious. But what would life be without the excitement that comes along with the prospect of risk and reward? In a word, boring.

So here I sit, writing about the possibilities associated with hope, and faith, and belief-yet, I am too fearful to set foot on that path again. I know intimately the company of failure, and I don't know if I'm prepared for yet another visit. I think that I will take refuge within the walls of my fortified fortress, while time robs me of all the gifts necessary to find that perfect love. I no longer see hope when I look into the eyes of women who look upon me with that odd curiosity that once warmed my heart-I know all too well how the story ends. Perhaps I've been here too long. Perhaps I know too much. I try desperately not to sound pessimistic, but I know that I have neither the patience nor the endurance to devote that which is necessary to rewrite the script so that the story ends happily. Such undertakings should only be embraced in the realm of fiction. But in the world of reality, at least for me, what remains are the hard lessons of my past and the pain of watching hope evaporate like morning dew at high noon. One thing I know for sure is that nothing lasts forever. But even though I may be armed with such sage wisdom, I find it ever so difficult to move beyond the walls of this prison I've created for myself. And as I watch life pass me by, I sit immobilized by the wisdom granted me by my past experiences, as the light of hope that once shone so brightly fades away into the distance, like so many of my fond memories of love.

TPOKW

The Rat Tale

2008-03-17T23:57:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I was at my mother's house visiting. There's a lot of brush and vegetation in her yard, not to mention a wood pile from a few eucalyptus trees they had cut down a couple of years ago. As most of you know, these are havens for rats. My stepfather arrived home about midway through my visit and looking out into the backyard, he noticed one of his traps had been thrown. He went outside to inspect and lo and behold, he had caught two rats in one trap. I'm a little on the squeamish side and don't care to see things like this, but he was too proud, and I didn't want to ruin his pride-filled reversion back to his hunter/gatherer days, so I went out to congratulate him.

For many days after, I wondered how such a thing could have happened. I could see it if one got caught, but two? I pondered this marvelous mystery for days, and finally, this is the conclusion I inevitably reached.

THE RAT TALE

Once upon a time, in the wooded pile lived a rat named Travis Ratus. Travis was extremely naive, and his sidekick, Buck, was equally (if not even more) naive but compensated by inventing tall tales that sometimes entertained, but mostly irritated Travis. Travis and Buck had lived in wooded pile as far back as they could remember and rarely did they venture out too far. Travis always had questions about what might exist beyond the wooded pile, and Buck always had an explanation.

"What do you suppose is out in that vast open space, Buck?" Travis would ask.
"Why there's sheer paradise, Travis. There's food as far as the eye can see, and lots of things for rats like us to do." Buck answered.
"Oh yeah, like what Buck?"
"Well there's fancy resorts-not like the boring ones here in the wooded pile, but like the ones they have in Las Vegas-European style!"
"How do you know these things?" Travis asked as a look of puzzled bewilderment invaded is whiskered face.
"You remember my cousin Benji?" said Buck.
"Yeah, that freeloader who always ate my cheese?"
"Yes, that very same one. Well I'll have you know, that freeloader is livin' it up at one the fanciest hotels on the Vegas strip. He hitched a ride on a produce truck headed for the promise land and he ain't ever looked back. From time to time I receive a communique from him tellin' me how fine the livin' is there. A little hot, but they've got pools EVERYWHERE!"
"So how come you ain't hitched a ride?" Travis inquired, a little jealous.
"One day I will. I'm just waitin' for the right time." Buck answered as he ran a paw over his whiskers and gazed up at the sky.
Just about then, the two rats were distracted by a rustling sound. It was Michelle, the finest female rat in the wooded pile. Every rat within miles was interested in Michelle but she only dealt with rats who could bring in the big cheese.
"Hi Michelle," Travis and Buck said in unison. Michelle ignored them both and scurried down her hole.
"One of these days, I'm gonna get that girl." Travis said.
"That'll be the day." Buck replied.
"What, you don't think I can?"
"Look Travis, we're bottom feeders. We rarely take the chances that Michelle's dates take. Some venture out and never come back you know."
"I guess that Paradise you brag about is just too satisfying for them to return, huh?" Travis said a little annoyed with Buck.
"Look, if you don't believe me, go ask Ol' Willard. He's been around forever-he knows everything. Maybe he'll convince you."
"If it's such paradise, why does everyone we know sit around the wooded pile, rooting for worms?" Travis asked.
"Because, worms ain't so bad. Besides, to get to paradise, you've got to cross Hawk's alley and even the fastest rat we know can't outrun a hawk. But once you make it to the other side-it's all good."
"So you say. Look, I gotta run. I'm gettin' hungry" said Travis.
"Yeah, me too. I'll see you around." Buck scurried off in the opposite direction, stop and yelled over his shoulder, "Go see Ol' Willard.

Travis scurried over to his favorite spot of refuse and began nibbling on a left over piece of lettuce and a rotted piece of meat that someone had thrown away almost a month ago. As he dined, he saw Ol' Willard, the oldest rat in the wooded pile, slowly making his way to his hole.
"Hey, Ol' Willard, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, what do ya wanna know."
"What's out past the wooded pile?"
"Funny you should ask" said Ol' Willard. "I heard from an extremely reliable source that just north of the pile, in the shaded area, is a place where you can dine on wonderful treats. Large chunks of cheese, fresh apple slices, and peanut butter."
"Peanut butter?" Travis' eyes lit up. Peanut butter was a rare treat, but a delight if you could get your paws on some.
"Yes son, peanut butter. They serve it on laaarge wooden planks" Ol' Willard answered. "Look, it's time for my nap. If you decide to venture out, bring Ol' Willard back a taste would you?"
"I'll do just that!" Travis answered and scurried off to find Michelle. Ol' Willard gave him an idea. He'd promise Michelle something no rat could resist-peanut butter.

Travis arrived at Michelle's hole and called out.
"Michelle, come out-I have something for you." But Michelle didn't answer. Again, he called out, again, no answer. This went on for 5 minutes until finally Michelle poked her head out of her hole.
"What is it Travis?" she yelled, "I'm trying to take a nap." Michelle didn't have to forage for food too often, there was always a willing suitor who would do it for her. So she slept a lot.
"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to...well, go out on a date with me?"
"On a date with you? Why Travis Ratus, why on earth would I want to do such a stupid thing. You've been dining on that same rotten piece of meat for the past month-yes, I've seen you. I only dine on the finest imported cuisine. Rotten meat is beneath me. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some very important napping to do." Michelle turned to retreat into her hole when Travis blurted out,
"I've got peanut butter!" This stopped Michelle in her tracks. She turned around slowly and with a her eyes as wide as pennies she said,
"Peanut butter?"
"Yes, peanut butter. Ol' Willard told me of a secret spot just north in the shaded area."
"What does Ol' Willard know? He hasn't been out of the wooded pile since his acting days."
"He even shared some with me" Travis lied. He was desperate and at this point would say anything to convince Michelle. Michelle sauntered up whisker to whisker with Travis.
"Look, if you're lying to me, I have boyfriends, lots of them, and it won't take much to convince them to gnaw through that narrow head of yours as though it were rope. Do I make myself clear? Now what time will you be picking me up?"
Delighted, Travis yelled out, 3:30, but then he realized it was already 4 in the afternoon. Gathering his senses, he responded,
"Ahem, I'll pick you up in exactly one hour, and please, wear your finest." Michelle turned and scurried down her hole. She could barely contain her excitement. She had only had peanut butter once before and for days after, she would lick her whiskers remembering what a pleasure it was.

Around about 4:50 pm, Travis began to make his way towards Michelle's hole and he saw Buck scurrying down a tree with a tiny bird egg wedged between his cheeks. The egg made his cheeks seem enormous.
"Where you goin' all decked out?" Buck asked as he dropped the egg from his mouth.
"Got a date with Michelle" Travis replied.
"Oh no you don't!"
"Do too. Ol' Willard shared with me one of his secrets and Michelle and I are venturing out to the shaded area for a little fun."
"He told you 'bout the peanut butter, didn't he?"
"Yeah, what about it?" Travis inquired.
"Damn that ol' rat. I was the one who told him!"
Travis' heart sank when he realized Buck was Ol' Willard's reliable source. "You told him? Who told you?"
"Benji. When he left for Las Vegas, he passed through the shaded area and saw a rat who had eaten himself to death. He was laid out on the wooden plank, eyes bulging. Benji thinks that he ate and ate until he couldn't eat no more. Funny thing was, there was still so much peanut butter left on the wooded plank. Benji ate some, and took the rest with him."
"Buck! Is this another one of your tales of paradise?"
"No Travis, not this time. Ok, I'll admit that I made up the European spa thing this morning, but Benji wouldn't lie. He might freeload, but he'd never lie."
"Well I have no choice now-I've got to take Michelle. Wish me luck, and stay out of those nests-you're gonna get caught one day."
"That's what you always say. Good luck."
Travis made his way to Michelle's hole and to his suprise, she was waiting outside for him.
"You're late, Ratus. Are you sure this is safe? I've never been to the shaded area, have you?" Michelle was filled with excitement.
"Yeah, sure. Buck and I go all the time" he lied.
"That Buck stretches the truth like it's string cheese, Travis. I don't know if I can trust you."
"Of course you can. Right this way M' lady."
Travis extended a paw and the two made their way out of the wooded pile and into the vast open shaded area. They walked for what seemed like hours. Travis felt as though someone was following him, and even mentioned it once to Michelle, but she said that he was being ridiculous.
Michelle talked the entire time and Travis began to notice that Michelle had some very annoying habits. She talked only of herself, and she snorted when she chuckled. She also had an enormous head and she made entirely too much noise to suit Travis, but he didn't have the heart to tell her. Just as Michelle began another one of her boring tales, Travis caught the whiff of a very faint, but familiar smell.
"...and he brought just one tiny piece of cheese..for the both of us. Can you believe-"
"SHHHH." Travis whispered, his whiskers twitching. "Can you smell that?"
Michelle began to pay attention and she too began to twitch her whiskers.
"Why, Travis Ratus, as I live and breathe, I smell PEANUT BUTTER!!!!"
A rat's sense of smell is is extremely sensitive and the faint smell of peanut butter was no guarantee they'd find any. But their excitement grew and Travis reached out, grabbed Michelle's paw, and picked up the pace. Travis noticed that Michelle's paw was cold and clammy and it made him feel uneasy, but now, he was less interested in Michelle and more interested in finding the peanut butter.

As they zig-zagged down the path in the shaded area, the scent of peanut butter began to grow stronger and it wasn't long before the two of them stood before a large wooden plank, almost twice their size. And sitting in the middle was a dollop of peanut butter three times the size of Michelle's exceptionally large head.
"EEEEK!!!" Michelle shrieked! "There it is Travis!" She began to scurry quickly towards the peanut butter, but Travis grabbed her paw.
"Wait, let's walk over together." Travis said.
"Let's not Travis. In fact, why don't you just go back to the wooded pile, we won't be needing you any longer."
"We?" Travis asked. Just then, an enormous rat with paws the size of maple leaves, and muscle that bulged as though someone had pumped them full of air, scurried from the brush and right over to Michelle.
"This here is Brutus, my boyfriend. Brutus, this here's Travis. He was just leaving."
"I...I don't understand." Travis said.
"Silly rat. Brutus has been tailing us the entire time. Did you really think I would date a rat who dines on rotten meat? You're beneath me Travis Ratus, now scurry on back to the wooded pile before Brutus here gets jealous."

Travis grew angry, but the bulging muscles on Brutus was enough to discourage any ideas he might have had. He was tired, hungry, and disappointed. But he knew he'd been outwitted by Michelle. He took one last look at the large mound of peanut butter as Michelle and Brutus made their way over to the wooden plank. It was too much for him to bear, so he turned and started to make his way back to the wooded pile. Just as he did he heard a loud WHAP!!!!!! that scared him so, he jumped 5 feet in the air and quickly ran for cover behind a rock. Peering around the rock he saw a site that both horrified him and delighted him at the same time. Michelle and Brutus' necks had been snapped by a large metal bar, their eyes were now bulging out of their sockets-they both were dead. Travis sat behind the rock for a while, wondering what he should do. He finally mustered up the courage to go over to the bodies of Michelle and Brutus. Picking up a stick, he poked at the metal bar, it didn't move at all-neither did they. He poked at the peanut butter with the stick and scooped up a nice chunk of it and put it in his mouth. It tasted like heaven.

He went back over to the rock and found a leaf. He dragged it over to the plank and began scooping the peanut butter onto the leaf. Not long after, he had removed all but small amount that stuck to the plank. He dragged the leaf for what seemed like hours back to the wooded pile and into his hole.

3 MONTHS LATER
Three months had gone by and not much had changed in the wooded pile. Ol' Willard was still the oldest rat, Michelle was gone but a rat by the name of Regina eagerly stepped into the harlot shoes she left behind, and there was still no shortage of male rats willing to risk life and limb to impress her. However, there were some slight changes. Travis and Buck no longer spent there days fantasizing about the paradise that existed beyond the wooded pile. After returning from his quest for peanut butter, Travis and Buck decided to go into business and supply the rare and savory treat to all who resided in the wooded pile. They were known as the Peanut Butter Hunters. Travis figured out what caused Michelle and Brutus' terrible fate and devised a method of extracting the peanut butter from the wooden plank without losing his neck. He was so successful at it that he and Buck became very wealthy rats, and they would often travel to the Vegas strip to visit Benji. Travis soon found out that most of Buck's tales were indeed false. But there was one thing he was 100% correct about, Las Vegas.

THE END

Ok, I know I have an overactive imagination-and this couldn't possibly be how my stepfather caught two rats, at the same time, in one trap. But you have to admit, at the very least, The Rat Story was entertaining.

TPOKW

Quotable Quote

2008-02-15T23:51:00.000-08:00

"I'm a man with special needs and she's a woman who understands them."

Anonymous

Fear and Apathy

2008-02-02T10:13:00.000-08:00

I guess I fake apathy, and I'm too stupid to be fearful of anything (or at least I used to be too stupid). Since I officially declared I was a writer, I haven't written anything. Is it fear? Apathy, perhaps? I don't know. Maybe it's just I haven't a thing to say. Have their been events in my life noteworthy of my acerbic prose? Possibly, but I'm not talking...at least not today.

How's my love life you ask? Thank you for your concern. There isn't a love life. I've been left with just life. Wait a minute, did I just reduce life to a consolation prize? See, I told you I was acerbic. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm bored here. I'll never pilot a commercial airliner, bang Meagan Good, or become the first black president of the U.S.A. (thanks Barack). So what's left? Wasting my life away selling crystal promotional products to mega-corporations who have more money to burn than the, say, Burundi? And do you ever wonder why they have money to burn? Because the taxes they should be paying are paid by John and Jane Q. Public. They are allowed to make these obscene profits and pay no taxes-how fucked up is that? While the little man, like myself, can't even write off the child support he pays. How did we allow it to come to this? I guess it's like anything else, those who are willing to risk it all and go for broke sometimes fall short, but when they hit, boy do they hit big. How could one have the audacity to, in a country that was founded on the principles of shaking the shackles of tyranny, create tyranny under the very noses of those who would swear on a stack of bibles as tall as the former World Trade Center buildings that tyranny doesn't exist in this country? I mean, come on, our elected officials no longer represent us, the executive branch of the government has morphed into a monarchy, and the judicial branch seems to be at war with itself. In the immortal words of Marvin Gaye, What's Goin' On?

Do I give a shit about my job? Good question. No. I do give a shit about eating, sleeping in a warm bed-inside a sound structure insulated from the elements. So by proxy, I guess I do give a shit about my job, but I'd never come out and admit it. Working for someone can kill your spirit if you allow it. I guess I just believe that my talents should take me somewhere. But I can hear that clock ticking. Too old to be a world renowned rock star. Don't want to grovel to become an actor. I'd love to get my PhD. but I'm a minimum 5 years away from that...so I guess I'll blog and write songs to ease the pain of my fear-ladened, apathetic past.

At first this entry was going to be a litany of excuses as to why I'm where I am in life. I was going to start with the failure to commit because Mr. Charlie always spoils the party excuse, but as I poured my morning bowl of cereal, my argument began to sound extremely weak. I kept seeing the faces of those who'd found success and thinking, "Why didn't Charlie rain on their parade?" Because they didn't allow him to. And if you let someone rain on your parade and you fail to commandeer an umbrella, whose fault is that? With that said, my limitations are not all self-imposed. Could I have become a commercial airline pilot? No, eyesight's too bad. Could I bang Meagan Good? This questions requires our attention. If you do the math, Meagan will probably have 10-20 sex partners in her life. That's less than .00000002% of the world's population, so, statistically, I'd have a better chance becoming president of the United States than banging Ms. Good. There are only 300 million people in this country and a decent percentage of those are ineligible because they are either felons, illegal, or naturalized citizens. But quite frankly, I wouldn't want to be the presiding puppet of the U.S.A. I'd be too tempted to dismantle the Federal Reserve Board, and we know what happens to those who attempt that feat (JFK anyone?).

So here I sit, wondering if this is what life's all about. You spend all of your time trying to stay afloat in an ocean with a constant undertow. Eventually, the ocean wins. Yet we still fight-dream-believe that we can beat the odds. All of the people I know are just treading water, and some of them not so well. So many of us are focused on the trappings of largess, because there is where we find our identity. I want to go back to the day when we lived in huts and life was simple. Sure, I'd miss my iPod, my laptop, and microwave popcorn, but I know I'd find something equally as entertaining to occupy my time. And maybe even that wish is an illusion. Maybe there isn't a time where we didn't struggle against something or someone from somewhere. Maybe to live is to struggle and our only respite in the midst of attempting to survive is the occasional bout of fear and apathy. So no longer will I beat myself up for being too fearful to take a step. After all, this world is a dangerous place. And perhaps a little apathy is just what the doctor ordered because constantly swimming against the tide can be exhausting. I guess I'll just continue to swim upstream until my fins grow weary, or until it's time to float downstream, upside down, with my eyes open and my life complete.

I Am A Writer

2008-01-28T21:09:00.000-08:00

It has taken me 44.49 years to say those words. I've been writing creatively since I was 7, but never considered myself a writer. Have you ever read anything I've written? Well you're reading this aren't you? Have I ever been published outside my blog? Yes, I used to write a column back in the 90's and I even had a (potentially) award winning article about Michael Jackson published in a small newspaper in St. Louis a few years back. I am a writer.

Writers write. And I write. I'll write about anything. Politics, romance, love (and yes love is different from romance), war, family, money-it doesn't matter, I'll write about it. Ask me about the great writers of yester-year and I'll admit with confidence that I've hardly read any of them. Who did Mark Twain read? Shakespeare, who did he read? Don't know do you? Well neither do I-which is why I don't read anything the people they read wrote, nor do I read anything Twain or Shakespeare wrote. I'm a writer, not a reader-didn't you read the title of this blog?

Writing is something that was gifted to me. It was recognized in me at an early age and cultivated by those along the way who discovered my ability to poetically express my thoughts through words. Am I a great writer? Hardly-I'm just a writer. That feels good to say-I'm a writer.

I don't know why it took me so long to muster up the courage to say those words, I am a writer. And now that I've said them, I can't stop myself. I am a writer. Will I ever finish a novel? Perhaps, I started one years ago and never completed it-but there is plenty of material to encourage me to continue. I think the very reason I quit was the very reason it took me so long to admit what I've always known-I don't like talking about myself, therefore it was difficult to admit that I was a writer. And what was said novel about? Me. About my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, my wishes, and I couldn't bare the thought of looking foolish in the eyes of those who mean so much to me. So I shelved the damn thing. But perhaps it's time to dust off the old manuscript and breathe life back into it because I am a writer.

A couple of nights ago, I watched my only brother die. Literally. I was there when he breathed his very last breath on this earth-when his heart beat for the very last time. I watched my mother, a woman whom I love more than life itself, place her hand on his lifeless body, searching for a heartbeat in a chest cavity that would no longer have one. I heard her subconsciously utter the words, "He's still warm." And in the ensuing hours, amidst all the pain and misery I experienced, what did I turn to? Writing. I wrote-emoted, expressed, shared. I laid bare all of my feelings with a momentous fervor I'd never experienced before in my life. I turned to the one thing that could provide me comfort-writing. Did I care if anyone read what I wrote? No, not at all. I just wrote and thought and wrote until I felt better. And then I wrote some more. If you ask me what I feel now I would simply tell you peace. A comforting peace I never thought achievable through writing. Sure, I've written about my life experiences before, but there is something about the finality of death, and it's affect on people that makes you take notice of things you've never noticed before. Why did my brother have to die? The answer lay silently in the thoughts and words that floated around aimlessly in my head. And when I sat down at the keyboard and began carefully selecting the letters and words and nouns, verbs and adjectives and arranging them in sentences that answered the painful questions that plagued me, I realized that I was a writer. Perhaps the greatest gift of all my brother gave me was the gift of writing. Not so much because he taught me how to write, but because in death he showed me why I should write. His death taught me that I should share my world with those who would take the time to step into my shoes and allow themselves to experience life through my written words.

I am no longer ashamed or afraid to utter those four very precious words, I am a writer. I've watched my older sister pursue her love for writing with a passion unmatched by me. She too has the gift and she has decided not to let it go to waste. I am a writer. Will the words that I write ever feed me? I don't know, nor do I care because if I did, that would make me something less than a writer-that would make me a hack. I am a writer and writers write. And from this day forward, if someone asks me what it is that I do, I will look them squarely in the eye and say to them in life what my brother taught me to say through his death, I am a writer.

TPOKW

Things Borrowed

2008-01-25T22:27:00.000-08:00

I'm 44-in 6 months I'll be 45...another 12 months I'll be 46, and so on. Last year I experienced a major loss-my wife and I separated....I lost my wife. Less than 24 hours ago I lost my only brother. He succumbed to lymphatic cancer. From where I stand I begin to wonder what really belongs to me. Is it really my life if one day I'll have to give it up? Was he my brother or was he just a life on loan to me? I mean, yes, he was my beloved brother, but what really belongs to us? Or is it that nothing really belongs to us. It's not our life; she wasn't my wife; he wasn't my brother-they were just on loan to me-things borrowed.

One day my mom called me to tell me that my brother was ill-he had cancer. It hurts too much now to discuss the details, but writing has always been my catharsis and I write now to put this all into perspective. My brother and I hadn't seen each other for quite some time-his life was his own and he chose to live it privately. But he was still my beloved brother-my big brother-my only brother, and now he's gone. My mother said that she was going to fly up to San Francisco and spend some time with him and I told her that I too would come up to visit. She left Wednesday and my plan was to come up after work on Friday. But my brother needed me sooner. He didn't say it verbally, he spoke to me in ways I cannot explain. I specifically scheduled my flight to leave on Friday. When I looked at my itinerary, by some twist of fate, my flight departed Thursday morning at 8:05 am. I was angry at the time, but now I regret being upset that I didn't get what I thought I'd purchased. Had I left Friday morning, my mother would have had to experience my brother's death alone. Fortunately, the gods, my mom, and the will of my brother brought me sooner.

I arrived and my brother was in extreme pain from the chemotherapy. We talked. Surprisingly, he didn't look too bad for a man who had cancer throughout his body. I walked through the door and his first words to me were, "Little brother!." He rarely called me by my name. As far back as I can remember I was always "little brother." My visit was brief. It wasn't long before my mother summonsed his doctor, his vitals were checked and the prognosis wasn't good. His medical team went into action trying to stabilize him. We still had no idea that he would leave us so soon. He was rushed to have a CT scan and then to intensive care. The doctors spoke to us-telling us that he was in really bad shape and that they were doing everything within their power to save him, but they didn't give us much hope.

My beloved brother died at 1:56 a.m. January 25, 2008. By his side was my mother and I. I watched as his blood pressure dropped to dangerously low levels and his heart rate slowed to a fatal 30 beats per minute. He was dying. But he was sedated and in no pain. I remember sitting in the chair next to his bed and having a wave of emotion rip through my body so strong that I could no longer contain it and I weeped uncontrollably. I was angry at myself, I'd come to be a comfort to my mother and here I was being comforted by her. My brother was dying and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. I wanted to tell him that he'd always been my great defender when we were younger-no one touched his little brother.

My mother told me that he held on long enough to see me and I love him so for hanging in there so that I could see him one last time-to hear his voice; to hear him say those precious two words to me one last time, "little brother." I promised myself I wouldn't "what if" or "if only" myself to death over his demise. I would accept it for what it was and help my family and myself heal. My brother held on long enough to give me the gift of his protective cloak. As long as I was his "little brother" I had nothing to fear. There were nights when I was a kid that I would be afraid, and I would climb into his bed and he'd always move over to make room for me. He was 7 years older than me and he watched over me and my sisters like a doting parent.

I'm going to miss knowing that I have a big brother in the world-just a phone call away. But I now understand that all things are borrowed, up to and including my own life. One day I'll have to return it to it's rightful owner. Our stay in this world is temporary and those who cross our path are on loan.

My mother and I have been comforting one another. She's talking non stop and even she knows it's to keep herself from focusing on my brother's death. From time to time she'll talk about it-she stops herself, and I encourage her to continue. One thing I do know, she is going to need me more than ever now. Fortunately I can devote the time. She told me today that I was her Ace. When her mother died, I flew out to Louisiana to be there by her side. I told her last night that we have to stop vacationing like this. I want her to know that she can rely on me come what may. It's a never ending circle. When I was a newborn, she took care of me, and now it's my turn to be her rock.

I don't want to preach to or lecture anyone. I just would like to ask everyone to take a look at the people who you've borrowed, or those who've borrowed you. Take a look at those who are on loan to you and appreciate them, for nothing truly belongs to us. Our wives and husbands, brothers and sister, mothers and fathers are simply on loan to us-and us to them. Cherish every moment.

Lamarr Marcus O'Neal
April 21, 1956-January 25, 2008

Rest in peace my beloved brother.

TPOKW

MLK & Greed

2008-01-20T10:28:00.000-08:00

Martin Luther King fought for more than just civil rights for black people. Watch below.

It's real simple people-we have to buy back America. We outnumber them. We have to get together financially and buy the country back-otherwise, they'll strip the place and nothing will be left.

TPOKW

Watch This Before April 15th-But Still Pay Your Taxes

2008-01-08T19:04:00.000-08:00

Slave Day Trading

2008-01-03T08:52:00.001-08:00

Every now and then an errant memory will pop into my head and I'll wonder what the hell were any of us thinking at the time the actual event occurred. Like the time my three friends and I were at Disneyland in Anaheim, California and we were watching this 3-girl group onstage. The girls seemed to be staring right at us as they sang their songs and we were all blown away that these 3 beautiful young ladies were showing us all this attention. It never dawned on us that we were the only people watching them, so who the hell else were they supposed to sing to? Young minds are easily led astray-anyway, that's not what I wanted to discuss. Around about the same time, maybe a few years prior, my 2 friends and I were in junior high school and one of the annual activities we'd have was slave day. Yes, you read correctly, slave day.

On slave day, we'd all go to the assembly area and we would auction off certain students (of all racial make up) to the highest bidder. Of course the cute guys and girls usually went for the highest price. There would be chains manufactured out of construction paper, and the highest bidder would retrieve their slave for the day.

I never bid on anyone (I don't think the slave would participate in the events that existed in my deviant mind), nor would I allow myself to be humiliated by being auctioned off. The day always left a sour taste in my mouth. And this morning it dawned on me, (some 30 years later), how ridiculously insulting such an event was. How could you actually have a school in America, with approximately 3/5 of the students of African descent, participating in such an awful event. Yes, I know it was in fun. But to me it would be synonymous with having a Holocaust day where we put students on trains destined for concentration camps, and conducted simulated exterminations of students in gas chambers, all in fun. There's not a Jew on the planet, not one, that would stand for such ridiculousness. So why is it that we had almost 100% participation in this event? I'll answer it for you, we're an unconscious people. I admit I didn't care for the day at all, but I wish at the age of 13 I would have launched a protest. I was a pretty Afro-conscious kid. I once challenged my history teacher to an impromptu debate in front of the entire class regarding America and her supposed unblemished war record. I summarily reminded Mr. Rhett Gray that America had just had her ass handed to her in the Vietnam war. The impromptu debate abruptly ended. Final score- Young Black Impoverished Student-1, Uninformed Propaganda Spewing History Teacher-0.

In retrospect I do know why I didn't launch a protest. First of all, I didn't really understand how systematic racism was. I thought it was based solely on individuals. For instance, Mr. Gray is a racist, but Miss Brandsberg isn't, (that's because Ms. Brandsberg was too busy being a pedophile...seriously, but that's an issue for another blog). When you slice racism up into small bite-sized pieces, it's much easier to swallow isn't it? You have this notion that you can pick and choose the people you associate with. You can work for companies where racism is nonexistent. But what the mind of a 13 year old doesn't realize is that racism is built into the very fabric of American society and the only way you can get around it is to a). leave, like so many did in the 60's when they emigrated to Europe, or b). dismantle the entire racist system.

It took years for me to accept that racism would never go away in this country; that it would always be a part of my every day living. I would always have to be conscious of the fact that my skin is dark (beautiful, but dark), and that my actions would always be judged based upon a perceived notion that black people are all lazy, shiftless, unintelligent, criminals steeped in anti-social behavior. When I walk into a department store, I'm going to be watched. When I sit down at a restaurant, the assumption is that I can't pay for the meal I am about to consume-and everyone (including myself) breathes a sigh of relief when I pay. I will always have to answer for the crimes of other blacks and the level of trust I might of earned from my coworkers and non black associates has been reduced to zero because Johnny Cochran got O.J. off, or the Rodney King riots, or the Jenna 6 were released. I will always be viewed with an air of suspicion because to be black and accused of a crime in America is as good as being guilty.

When you infiltrate the minds of young people at an early age, it's easy to get them to accept certain things in life-be those things positive or negative. Just as easily as we participated (without protest) in the slave day festivities, a young mind can be persuaded to start a business or focus their attention on the more positive aspects of life. Those early years are extremely vital. Although I didn't protest the slave day, I definitely didn't care for it. I can see the difference between some of my former classmates and myself-we definitely have entirely different views about the world. They seem to have accepted their station in life, whereas I've always raged against the machine. I've always tried to rally people to institute change. Maybe not so much in the world in general, but at least in the small world in which we live. Alas, I've exhausted myself trying to not only drag the mule to water, but also have him drink. Now, I'd like to simply walk away from it all. From the slave days; from the Jenna 6 situations; from the racist mindsets that compel white people to scream "OJ did it!" when it was the very system that they designed that freed the man.

I get exhausted when I think of how ignorant and naive the majority of us all are. Who knew that our big brains could be so flawed? How is it that in the 70's, not long after a decade of intense struggles for civil rights, that we would voluntarily participate in mock slave trading? How could this happen? We were supposed to be the successive generation to further the struggle-and there we were, participating in a mockery of the tragic events our ancestors were brutally forced into. To this day I am ashamed. Not so much because I participated, but because I didn't stand up to the establishment and tell them to knock that fucking shit off! No matter how you sliced it, this event was an abomination.

Perhaps the 44 year old me is being too hard on the 13 year old me. But if you knew me at 13 you'd wouldn't agree. I was a militant and I had my ideas and beliefs about the establishment-and often I voiced them. I remember once when I was about to whip a white classmates ass, an African-American kid intervened...on behalf of the white kid. I never looked at that boy the same. To me, he was a race traitor and at the age of 13, I decided if ever I was in a position of power, I would imprison him for his treason. Fortunately for Noble, that day never came.

It makes me wonder at times exactly what the black students of today are experiencing in school. What else have they slipped under the radar that is a mockery of our experience here in this country? What I do know is this: we've definitely been tarnished by our experience here. It has shaped us in ways we don't realize. It might not have changed our physical appearance, but mentally, we've become something other than human. And we don't even know it.

So today I am officially announcing my plan to expatriate myself. I'm not sure where I will settle, but within the next 5 years my goal is to leave the United States. Europe comes to mind, but I haven't decided. Paris or Spain would be my initial choices, but there might be a place in a warmer climate that I might prefer. One thing's for certain, I have no intentions of being buried on U.S. soil.

TPOKW?

Who Will Officially Welcome Us to the 3rd World?

2007-12-29T18:06:00.000-08:00

Before I get started, I would like for those of you who take the time to read to watch the video below...and then ask yourselves the title question.

My answer is probably no one. But one thing I know for certain is, you don't lose $2.3 trillion dollars and not feel the effects of it. The real question is, was it lost at all? Of course not. What is now taking place, and what has been taking place since 9/11 is a looting of the coffers. The current administration is lining their pockets and the pockets of their friends with your hard-earned tax dollars. When they leave office, they will leave this country in state that will make the depression era look like a picnic. When they pull back the curtain and reveal what they've been working on for the past 8 years, we will wonder how we allowed them to pull the wool over our eyes-but by then, it will be too late. They will be comfortably nestled in their air conditioned palaces in the United Arab Emirates, or Dubai, counting their ill-gotten wealth while the populace of this country settle old scores and annihilate one another in search of food, shelter, and the creature comforts we've all grown so accustomed to.

We are going to ask ourselves who was minding the store? And how did the wolves get into the hen house? I'll tell you how, they dressed up like sheep and baaaa'd their way in. Unlike Little Red Riding Hood, we ignored the large ears, big paws, and large teeth. We simply labeled them sheep and ignored the carnage-even when it was happening right before our very eyes. Enron was just a trial run-a reflection of what was to later happen to the government of this country.

When someone cannot account for $2.3 trillion dollars, someone should be sitting in jail until they can explain where the money went. I mean from the rooter to the tooter. The top guy and everyone he hired should be jailed until someone talks. When Rumsfeld made this announcement, it should have been followed by his resignation and a congressional investigation complete with independent oversight from an agency selected by the public.

Our representatives no longer represent the people. They talk at you and promise you the sun will come out tomorrow, but they have no intentions of fulfilling those promises. America will become a 3rd World country-and if there happens to be any civil unrest, Blackwater will be here to quash it, and not in a nice way. People will disappear, starve, become animalistic in their behavior and a lot of people are going to die. The anecdotal footnotes we hear on the evening news about civil unrest on foreign soil will be right at our doorstep, and most of us won't be prepared.

I urge you all to update your passports and keep a small amount of cash ($4000 or more) on hand, because just like in the depression era, when the banks close their doors, your money will be something of a memory.

TPOKW

Mama's Baby, Papa's Maybe

2007-12-11T12:50:00.000-08:00

I like to come home during my lunch hour, make me a sandwich, and watch the court tv shows until it's time to go back to work. Yeah, I know it's mindless garbage, but it's about as much TV as I'll allow myself to watch so I think I'm in no danger of having my I.Q. drop. One of the constant themes is the paternity shows. Everyone seems to be getting a gang of mileage out of them. I admit, unless he is just a total asshole, I root for the male. Call me sexist if you wish, but my support for men in these predicaments goes beyond loyalty to gender, it has more to do with knowledge.

Women know how many men they've had sex with. Simple. If a woman misses her period, unless she's a streetwalker, there's no mystery in her mind how many guys she's been within the past 30 days. If it's just one guy, unless she's Mary, mother of Jesus, there should be no question in her mind. But if she's had multiple partners, it becomes a guessing game on her part. But this doesn't give her a license to pick the one she likes the best. Sadly, prior to DNA, all a woman had to do was pick a guy out of a line-up and the burden of proof was upon him, and unless that child was a different race or the potential dad was on another part of the globe, his ass was stuck. Bottom line, there's no way for the dad to be sure unless there's a DNA test.

If a guy has doubts as to whether or not he is the father of a soon-to-be-born child, the great likelihood is, there's only one place that doubt can emanate from-the mother of the soon-to-be-born child. Sure, he can be a jealous, insecure individual suffering from paranoid delusions, but I'm not factoring in mentally ill people. I talking about those of us who function at an acceptable level of sanity. If you expectant mothers have had a sordid and questionable past, are morally challenged, or just a plain 'ho', how can you expect the man you've selected to reproduce with not to have doubt? I don't understand why women come on TV, scream and yell about the man doubting. If you're 1000% sure, (which is stupid because it's impossible-100% is the total sum, therefore 1000% is impossible), why not just sit down, shut up, and let the test do the talking? Why not just ask yourself, "Is there anything I've done in my past to cause this man to question my commitment to him?" If that answer is yes, then you have however many months left to your delivery date to go through whatever there is to go through-you've earned it. By lying and cheating, you've earned whatever animus he feels toward you. And when the baby is born, if you're so certain he's the father, now is the time you have to remove all doubt. But until such time, whorish behavior is most certainly the mother of his doubt.

There's no question who the mother of a child is, for obvious reasons. And knowing that the 'X' factor in childbirth is always the father, women should behave in a way that doesn't tarnish a man's view of both themselves during pregnancy, and the child thereafter. Women are in a tremendously crucial position to set the tone of the relationship that all parties experience for the rest of their lives. That position shouldn't be taken lightly by women. Talk about power? That is more power than any man could ever wield. A chaste and respectable woman will be the gem of any man who chooses her. She's in the driver's seat and literally controls the fate of their family. We men need to learn to respect those types of women and do our best not to harm them-lest they see no reason to behave morally.

That is all.

TPOKW

You've been hoodwinked. You've been had....

2007-12-08T08:25:00.000-08:00

We all know those words to be those of the late, great Malcolm X, one of the 20th centuries' great phenoms. I am going to borrow them for a while, (with the expressed inferred consent from one freedom fighter to the next), for this blog entry. I awoke this morning from a quasi-bad dream. I dreamt that I was, once again, breaking up with Lexi's mother. We're not in a relationship, but in the dream I guess we were. And you know how stubborn people can be in bad relationships, well this dream was no different. I don't know why I had the dream, (maybe it's because Lexi's here with me for the weekend), but I had it. This is going to seem like a complete non sequitur, but the dream had absolutely nothing to do with the title of this blog, nor its subject matter. I just needed to get that dream off my chest. The anxiety associated with another break up was overwhelming-even in my dream. I awoke exhausted.

Yesterday, on the way to pick up my daughter, I was listening to listener-sponsored KPFK, a radio station that touts itself as the voice of the people. Obviously they've never heard what the people in Orange County, CA have to say, otherwise they would specify exactly whom they are the voice of. But I digress. There was a female M.C. being interviewed who goes by the moniker Medusa. At the very end, they played one of her tracks and I liked it. Very original, nothing canned and thrown together like what's out there already. The fact that they put the track at the end of the interview was her redeemer because I was going to completely write this chick off prior to hearing her music. The interviewer asked her a question that I don't quite remember, but I do recall her responding something like this, "It's time women shine and express our individuality and take our place at the very forefront." When I hear talk like this, it's like someone has taken their fingernails and scraped them against a chalk board. I just wanted to put my hand on her shoulder and tell this person, "Honey, those are words of death." What am I saying? Read on, I'll explain.

Like Malcolm X said, she's been hoodwinked. Individuality guarantees one thing, the death of the human species. Now, I know I'm not a scientist-and although I fancy myself a philosopher, we all know I'm not. But think about it, men and women truly need one another to survive. We've gotten so wrapped up in this individuality nonsense, we've forgotten that the very basis of our existence is the family-and some sort of communal living with other families. Yes, I said communal living. Sort of reminds you of the word communist or communism doesn't it? Well it should, they all are derived from the same root word. It is sad that that intellects allowed politicians to vilify the word communist. Without much investigation, the American population allowed themselves to be scared witless about a group of people who didn't really want to harm Americans, but protect themselves from American invasion. Anyway, it is communal living which is the very basis of human existence. We have a version of it here in the U.S., but it only mimics a true community in the close proximal living of its human inhabitants. How many of us have lived in a neighborhood where we didn't know our neighbors? That clearly cannot be considered a community.

Rugged individualism is not the true basis of a decent human existence. When you have a true community, everyone is connected to the success and failure of that community. This is what makes it so unique-everyone has a vested interest in its survival. But we don't even have that in the country that we're living in-it's a global community according to the powers that be-again, we've been hoodwinked. Most of us in this country know absolutely nothing about the residents of, say Uganda-so how is it that we're a global community if we know nothing about our community members? It's another attempt at divide and conquer and the Medusa's of the world are blindly leading the charge. What is it that any individual has to say or prove that is so important that it trumps the existence of the human species? What if Medusa and her time to shine feminist get their way, but the price to pay is the discontinuance of the human race, I wonder if they would think it was worth it? Ladies, look-I know that the feminist have told you that you got a raw deal and that all men are the devil, but such is not the case. First of all, speaking as a black man, in America, black men have never been in a position to systematically disenfranchise you, relegate you to a less than status, deny you employment, etc. So we should be removed from you list of devils. I bet you not one feminist has ever considered the statement I just made. But I can hear their response already, "Yeah, but given the opportunity".... Don't be so sure of that.

Individualism makes no sense. It would be synonymous to your engine, as an individual component being more important than say, your car tires. Now perhaps it's more expensive, but one flat tire can render the entire car inoperable-one tire. So how is it that an individual part can be more important than the sum of the whole? When you have a flat, your engine is fine and unaffected-and in all truthfulness, your car can still run, but in the most inefficient way imaginable. So one part can't be more important than another-but let one part fail, and the entire unit has now been affected. The same logic applies to we humans. Their are two main components to just about any life form-a male and a female. They make a unit, and when those two units are functioning properly, things run smoothly. But start to play with the dynamics of their interrelations and you begin to undermine the basis of their existence. I just don't think most of us look at it that way. Truthfully, their are no free moves in life. Our actions have consequences. And maybe those consequences don't manifest themselves right away-maybe they take some time, but you can rest assured that there will be a reaction to your action. And this game of one-upmanship we're playing is having dire consequences. Most American women don't even want to be mothers anymore. So now where will our future generations come from? I often hear women say that they don't want to be bogged down by some screaming brat. First of all, if you don't want a brat, don't raise one. Babies don't come out of the womb brats. they emerge, test the waters, and if there is no parental resistance, a brat is born. I am the father of four-none of whom were ever brats. They were and still are pretty obedient because they knew that, when I spoke, I meant business. I took my duties as their guardian seriously and I knew that there was no way that, with their lack of worldly experience, they should be allowed to behave as they saw fit. But maybe that's what a man brings to the table which is why a couple should raise a child-both have something to offer.

I so fear that I'm speaking into a vacuum and that no one hears me. But I've resolved myself to accept the fact that we may never get back to an existence where we are in harmony with one another, and with the universe. The ecosystem has a way of eliminating that which doesn't live within the rules of the universe. There was a time when we believed we could destroy the world-we've now realized that the only thing we have the power to do is make it uninhabitable for ourselves and species with similar survival mechanisms. Armed with that knowledge you'd think we'd stop with the nonsense-but we continue with self-destructive behavior. We all look at the drug addict, the alcoholic, the bulimic, and point out their obvious faults, but there are those of us who are being equally as damaging in our behavior, and on a grander scale-we're not just harming ourselves, but the entire human race. Yes, an individual has the power to do that (just like one tire, or a fuel pump, or a leaky hose has the ability to disable an entire automobile). Sadly, most of us don't know we wield that type of power. We are not only connected to one another, we're connected to the ecosystem and to the universe.

I don't know if we'll ever wake up and realize that there are no benefactors to the rise of individuality-it only creates animosity and fosters in-fighting. Not even the wealthy 1% of the population, who truly believe that the current system benefits them, are going to benefit in the long term. They don't hide the fact that they would like to see the world population diminish. And we could probably benefit from lessor people on the planet, but their agenda to enslave the rest of us while they live lives of luxury will only be short-termed. Eventually we will find a way to make this place eco-unfriendly and the masses will wonder how they allowed that wealthy 1% to convince them to discount one another and fail to see the necessity for unity and harmony, not only amongst ourselves, but with nature. Medusa, and those like her, may one day achieve individuality, but at what price?

TPOKW

She's Not As Mad At You As You Think

2007-11-30T20:27:00.000-08:00

I have the luxury of coming home for lunch everyday from work-I live about 3 minutes away. My routine usually consists of making a sandwich and watching about 45 minutes of the court shows-you know, Judge So-and-So. Today I was watching Judge Christina and there was a young girl who was suing the father of her child for the cost of diapers, formula, etc. This is pretty typical behavior of a certain ilk, but I'm not judging, just saying. The young lady made a comment that struck me as odd. Her baby looked like a newborn, she couldn't have been more than 3 or 4 months old. During the testimony, she lobbed an assault at the boyfriend and told him, "You don't care about the baby, you never ask how she is." I thought about that statement for a few seconds because it didn't really make any sense to me. I mean the baby is 4 months old-how altered could her existence be that someone would have to ask how she is? She just got here, and she's still got the wobbly neck and eliminates waste at the most inopportune times. Common sense tells us she'll be that way for quite some time. Furthermore, is there some list of behaviors that women have that informs them whether or not a man cares about his child? If so, I would like a copy so that I could rip it a new asshole. I don't know how many times I've heard women say, "He don't care 'bout this baby, he never calls." Never mind the fact that the baby's 1 year old. Yeah, I guess there are those who would consider a man who sits on the phone with a unintelligible baby for more than 2 seconds a loving father, I consider him an idiot. Besides, don't you have something better to do with your time, like earn a fucking living? I mean, come on, your family does have to eat don't they?

But back to the "You don't care about the baby" statement. First of all, that statement was not directed at her boyfriend, it was directed at her absentee father. That's right, you heard me, her father. She, in my opinion, is expressing the feelings of abandonment that she felt as a child. Think about it, the statement makes no sense. The baby isn't even a year old and already she's written him off as an uncaring father. Not to mention the fact that she put another man's name on the baby's birth certificate. What kind of retarded bullshit is that? You put another man's name on the baby's birth certificate and I'm supposed to act like you didn't. Someone please teach women the law of cause and effect. If you list someone else as the father, how the hell am I supposed to feel all cozy with the baby? Doesn't that cast even a slight suspicion of doubt? I just don't understand some women today. I'm required to behave in a certain manner and not deviate from that behavior no matter what you do. It's the same philosophy women have about men hitting them. They can hit you all they want, but a man's not supposed to hit a lady. I know we're not supposed to, but if you hit me, next week might be when you regain consciousness because in my book, you're not supposed to hit me either. And if our government can kill innocent men, women, and children all in the name of bringing democracy to a country that didn't ask for it, I can retaliate against someone who has struck me. Am I a woman beater? No, but I'll defend myself against anyone attempting to do me bodily harm-only a fool would do otherwise.

Men, when your women says some shit to you that, for the life of you, you have no idea where it came from-know that she really meant to say that to her dad; the man that abandoned she and her mom years ago and she's been waiting to make someone pay for that shit. And here comes your unknowing ass, all in love and looking to build a family with someone whose sole intention is to make you pay for some shit somebody else did to her. When she tells you If you love me you would... those are the things that she expected her father to do, but for whatever reason, he wasn't around to do them. Years and years of anger, frustration, hurt, feelings of unworthiness and abandonment have built up inside these women and when someone of the same gender as their dad shows them any attention, she lets you have all of that pent up emotion.

Think about it. A father is supposed to protect his daughter and make her feel safe. All she has is her mother-who is just as scared as she is. They are two frightened beings in a household unguarded by a male presence. Yeah, I know they yo all of that I don't need a man nonsense-and to a certain extent it's true....'til it gets dark. That fear sets in and anxiety builds. Sure, if there was an intruder you might be able to blow his head off, but you also know that having a male present in the home is often a deterrent. If you think about some of the behaviors of, okay I'm going to say it, black women, it's what frightened people do: loud talk-unnecessary bravado, quick to anger. All of that is to mask a fear of being alone in a world that is dangerous and, to a degree, unstable. Imagine being raised in an environment where there is constant fear. When a young woman finally grows up and gets with a man, there a sense of relief and a feeling of security-and then she gets mad because she never had that growing up and in ways she can't discern on her on, is asking you where you were when she was growing up. How come you didn't make her feel this way back then when she was 8 and frightened every night because she sensed that her mother was frightened as well and there was no security to be found-just fear as a constant companion. Not the way you want humans to grow up.

If there's one thing we can take from this as men, it's we have to stick around to raise our daughters. Why, because they grow up stable and feeling secure and in turn raise better men. One of our generations is going to have to bite the bullet and take the brunt of the black woman's anger. Yeah I know it wasn't you that made her feel this way, but it's going to be necessary that you pay the price for someone else's nonsense so we as a people can flip this thing back around. I'm guilty of not wanting to hear the bullshit and pay the price too-I walked out on plenty of them in my day. But I didn't know any better. Yes, she is mad, and she's scared, and she's insecure, and she overeats because she's denied all other creature comforts. We as men have got to do better by our women. We're denying them the one thing that Maslow said that we all need to develop into fully functioning human beings (see diagram below). In Maslow's theory, the needs on the very bottom rung of the hierarchy have to be met before the individual can advance to the next level. If a person doesn't have food, water and shelter, there's no way they can feel secure-which in turn means they can never advance to a level of love, so on and so forth. And many of us today are stunting our children's development by unknowingly denying them some basic needs necessary for development.

No wonder she acts a damned fool-she can't even ascend to the level of feeling love because she's too damned scared. There's too much knowledge out there for us not to turn this thing around as a people. In the very near future, we're going to need one another more that we've ever needed each other in the history of human existence. And if we don't begin to prepare now, while we have a little free time, we may be torn apart forever.

TPOKW

Responsibility

2007-11-23T15:26:00.000-08:00

This is definitely going to be a random entry-but before you turn tail to go watch reruns of Seinfeld, read on, it'll be juicy. Wednesday night I was having a conversation with my youngest daughter's mom and she made a comment that I've heard before, but let slide. She mentioned something about all the shit I'd done to her. After I hung up the phone, I started thinking about that statement-what the hell is this bitch talking about?

I then devised a solution for this dilemma. She should write a list of all the shit I've done to her, and on the right hand side of that list write one of two words: Proactive or Reactive. I'll bet you the ratio would be 9:1 (9 R's to 1 P). I think what she, and most people fail to realize is sometimes you unthinkingly do or say things that set other things in motion. You don't recognize what you've done to precipitate the reaction, because most of us walk around mindlessly just doing shit. It often reminds me of a phrase I used to use when working in the music studio with friends: Like in a nuclear facility, there are no free buttons. You can't just go randomly pushing buttons in either a studio, or a nuclear facility without something occurring. Now of course the consequences of doing so in a nuclear facility are far more dire than doing so in a recording studio, but I think you get what I mean. If you don't, let me break it down to you in it's simplest form and then we'll work our way back up to the more complex.

Let's say you're sitting in your living room watching Living Single reruns, eating bon bons, and curled up in your favorite blanket. It's about 5 p.m. and you had the day off. All of sudden, the lights, T.V., and every other electrical appliance in your home ceases to function. First thing you do is peek out the window to see if anyone else lost power. You see the familiar glow or your neighbor's T.V. through her front window, so you know it's not a community problem-you power's been cut. You pick up the phone and dial Southern California Edison (or insert your local power company here) and you ask them if there is a problem. The rep politely replies Not on our end. But in the same breath she informs you that, since you didn't pay your bill, well, your service has been suspended, (I like when they use that word-it seems so courteous). Now you commence arguing about SCE's billing system-BUT WAIT!!!!! Did you pay your damn bill? What was that? You were going to but your boss didn't give you time off to go on that skiing trip so you shopped your ass off to make yourself feel better and figured you would postpone making the payment another 60 days. I have one question: Is there anything you've done in this scenario to precipitate the suspension of your electricity? AHH-AHH-AHH-wait, nothing about what your boss did, or about the power company, this question is directed at you and is solely about you. What was that? A little louder-did I hear you say you should have paid your damned bill? I thought that's what you said.

Now if this scenario was on my ex's list of offenses, she would have to scribble reaction. SCE reacted to you proactively not paying your bill. Are you all with me here? Good, now let's get back to my ex's imaginary list.

It would probably read something like this:

1. Cheated on me (R)
2. Tight with money (R)
3. Impatient (R)
4. Mean (R)

And I'm sure there are more but I don't want to bore you. The (R) would indicate the offense was a reaction on my part and not a proaction.

CHEATING

Ahh yes, a lady's choice. This is the one that women just love to tout as an irreconcilable offense. But let's take a closer look. Were you fucking your man or giving him the attention he needed from you? Or did you use your pussy as a weapon against him? Ladies, I'm going to highlight a well-known fact here. If you won't fuck your man, unless he's Quasimoto of hunchback fame, there is an entire community of women out there just waiting to fuck him for you. And I guarantee you some of them are either related to you, or shop with you, or party with you-you get my drift. I am going to say this publicly, lest someone one day says that they have not been warned: If I'm dating you, and you choose to use your pussy as a weapon, I will neutralize your attack by fucking somebody else-don't take it personal because I won't take it personal if you refuse to fuck me. Now if you're ill, having social, sexual, or mental difficulties I understand and the rule does not apply. But if you're being spiteful because you didn't like a comment I made, you'd better be prepared-I'm back into my hunter/gatherer mode.

This is a major difference between men and women. A man will fuck you even if he's angry you-to him it's like refusing to breath because you don't like hot days. If he's decided not to fuck you, you can pretty much figure he's done with you and whosoever you decide to fuck at this point, matters not to him.

TIGHT WITH MONEY

Your honor-guilty as charged. But why am I tight with money? Because you have to put money away for those times when the transmission goes out on your car, or you lose your job unexpectedly, or someone falls ill. Money is the lifeblood of this society and without it, you pretty much can wrap it up-you're done. Spending it frivolously will have you like the individual in the previously mentioned scenario. Besides, you don't need those new shoes anyway, you've got a closet full of them.

IMPATIENT

I stand accused. And that's because when I'm ready to do something, I'm ready to do it. Case and point-a couple of weeks ago, my ex and I took our daughter to her school's Fall Festival. My ex knew I would be at her house around 1 pm. When I arrived, I waited at almost 2 hours before we walked out the door. Now mind you, none of this was my idea-it was her idea to take our daughter together as caring parents-how could I refuse? But at least be ready when I arrive. If you know I'm impatient, why test my impatience? Secondly, the very next day when I was bringing my daughter back to her house, I told her I would have her back around 3 p.m. I get a call around 2:30 informing me that no one would be home 'til 7 or 8 p.m. Now, mind you, I'm already on my way. Why wasn't I informed of this the day before when we discussed when I was bringing her back? Or maybe a few hours earlier? I believe I've justified the (R).

MEAN

Most people who know me personally know that, by nature, I'm a kind and warm-hearted person. But make no mistake, I can be meaner than a rattle snake on hot desert sand if you push-and you really don't have to push too hard. My ex has pushed me and sometimes without realizing she's pushing me-because like I mentioned earlier, some people go through life unconscious of the moves they make and the consequences of those moves. When I interface with people like this, I usually make concessions. The only problem then is, if the consequences haven't occurred because I've preempted the action, I'm painted mean. Once my ex told me that I was stingy. My reply to her was, "Yeah, and you're broke-you decide which you'd rather be." I know it sounds harsh and I'm such a bad man, but my responsibility is to make sure that my family has all of what it needs-now and in the future. And if that means I have to be stern and frugal, I'd rather be considered mean and stingy than to sit at home wondering when SCE is going to turn my lights back on.

In a lot of ways I'm a no-nonsense guy. I like to have fun like the next guy, but not the expense of food, shelter, and necessary amenities like electricity. Have I been irresponsible in my day? Yes, there were times when I fucked around and didn't pay bills on time-but I never complained when my shit got cut off, because I distinctively remember tossing that final notice in the trash the day it arrived in the mail. So who's really to blame? Hell, they even sent the notice on bright pinkish-red paper, how could I miss it? And the excuse I usually get is, "Well, you even said that you were irresponsible at one time. Give me time to correct my mistakes-like you had." Let's say your traveling down the main thoroughfare in your fair city and you cross over into the path of a semi truck-how much time would you like to correct your mistake? If you're aware you're making errors, why prolong correcting them? This is what my mother refers to as trifling. And it's also what sometimes makes me unpopular with women I date-I will highlight an area that is in need of correcting-and I hope you will do the same for me. Because I hope you're not telling this to berate me, I hope you're telling me out of love and the want for the both of us not to have to dig ourselves out of a hole.

As I mentioned in my opening, this was going to be random-I guess I'm just venting. But hopefully you've all gleaned something of use from my rant.

TPOKW

The Pu**y Hunt

2007-11-11T19:53:00.000-08:00

I was on my way home today from a weekend with my youngest daughter and I began to think about the beautiful bond that she and I have. I had deep reservations about becoming a father again, but that was 6 years ago and I have an obligation to be a father to her-no questions asked. But it's not a one-way street, spending time with her is more rewarding to me than words could ever express. But I can't help to think that if I was the pussy hunting type, I might not take my obligation to her so seriously.

Some of the men that I know, and some that I don't but hear in conversation, are truly on the hunt for pussy. I'm not saying that I haven't been in my day, because God knows I've hunted (and captured). But there was always a caveat-if you were someone who proved themselves to be a decent human being, there was always a chance that our encounter could evolve. In fact, some of my casual tryst did evolve into relationships-some of them even long-term. I never looked at a woman as just pussy-I was always prepared to take her in her entirety. I've slammed black women in the past about their present behavior, but it's time to speak to black men. I don't know what came first, the attitude of black women, or us reducing them to just pussy. Who doesn't want to be loved in their entirety? And if pride is to be found in the hit & run, why wouldn't we as a community end up where we are now? Black women raising our children alone. It isn't fair to black women, nor is it fair to our children. And as quiet as it's kept, it's not fair for black men to do this to themselves.

I liken this whole thing to a relay race-once a runner completes his leg, he passes the baton to his teammate and then he runs his leg until the race is complete. But when runners drop the baton, the entire sequence gets out of whack. Now I'm not excluding myself from this chastising. I too am guilty. Seeing my kid on the weekend and during holidays doesn't cut it. I witness the anguish in my daughter every time I walk out that door-she cries and sometimes has to be restrained in order for me to leave. Not only does that hurt me, it has to be destroying her inside. Not only does her mother and I not see eye to eye, we don't even use the same body parts to see. But I would seriously consider reconciling with her for my daughter's sake. I would make that sacrifice-I know it would be a miserable existence, but that would be a suffering I would deserve. My daughter doesn't deserve this pain.

I know I'm breaking ranks by saying this, but we men have to grow up and stop reducing women to just pussy. And we wonder why they walk around with their asses and titties hanging out-that seems to be all that we're interested in. I'm not saying all of us, but we all know that there is a badge of honor bestowed upon the ones that get the most pussy. That is such an adolescent view of manhood and I wish we could do away with it.

I can honestly say that I wasn't on a pussy hunt when my daughter was conceived. I had been in an off and on relationship with her mother for almost 8 years. But if I had a chance to do it all over again, I would have married her the moment she told me that she was pregnant. To hell with whether or not we got along. What happened to the men that manned up when a child was conceived? Back in the day, you dropped out of high school and got to earning a living for your family. I know that opportunities for drop outs are far less these days, but I was a college graduate when my daughter was conceived. If I had a chance to do it all over again, I would do it differently.

To the men out there (and you know who I'm talking about) who stuck by and through all the madness to be a father to your children, I commend you. Those of you who put your petty personal wants and needs aside to be husbands to your wives, parents to your children, and upstanding members of your community-I wish we could bottle and sell whatever it was that kept you in place-even when you felt that you weren't being appreciated by your mate, you stuck it out.

Sometimes I wish I was half the man.

TPOKW

Introducing...The One

2007-11-11T19:38:00.000-08:00

A Lesson for Those Who'll Listen

2007-11-09T12:03:00.000-08:00

Last night I received a phone call from my soon-to-be ex-wife and that's usually the case when I begin thinking about how she's doing-she always calls. I allowed her to express herself a bit more last night-normally I don't allow the conversations to stray past 2 or 3 minutes. Other than the veiled references to suicide, I was glad I allowed her the opportunity to get things off her chest.

As most of you regular readers know, there was an incident shortly before our break up that landed me in the slammer for 4 days. She threw a dinner plate at me causing a deep laceration on my back, and I did what any attacked individual would do, retaliated. Right decision in the animal kingdom, wrong in a world of individuals who consider themselves above the rest of life forms. While locked up, my wife took a $5400 check belonging to me, found a way to cash it and kept the money.

I had but one question for my s.t.b. ex-wife: didn't you realize everything you did subsequent to hitting me with the dinner plate almost guaranteed there would be no reconciliation? Her response to me was, "I thought you would forgive me." For the past 16 hours, I've pondered her response. I don't know who's at fault for her believing I would forgive her. It is hers for being foolish enough to believe that harming people is forgivable? Or is it mine for setting unrealistic expectations by forgiving so many of her past transgressions?

Here is where forgiveness gets tricky and why it should not be toyed with. The forgiver is placed in a position whereby if he/she forgives the first transgression, they open themselves up to being transgressed again (because the transgressor might believe that forgiveness is the order of the day). If the forgiver decides not to forgive and separate from the would-be forgivee, they might overlook what might have been an obvious mistake on the part of said forgivee. Either way, it is the forgiver who is always the individual with the most to lose. The would-be forgivee gambled when they decided to transgress, and deserves to be in a position to lose something. The innocent always pays the higher price.

This is why I try to live by a philosophy and have done so for many years. I believe wholeheartedly in First do no harm. That basically means that I will never harm you if you do not harm me. But I believe I am in need of modifying my mantra, Never do harm. With my first belief, I always allowed myself the luxury of harming you if you harmed me. Doing so meant I stayed in contact with you, otherwise how else would I be able to do you harm? With the updated version, immediately when I am violated, you are jettisoned from my life. I'll never have to do you harm, and you'll never be in a position to harm me again. I know this sounds all Zen and flowery, but don't get it twisted-I will harm someone if they make me. And the membrane between someones safety and someone being harmed is extremely thin. My advice to people is not to toy with it.

In some ways, I feel so responsible for where my wife is today. Had I just left in the beginning when things went extremely south in the extreme beginning, she wouldn't be in so much pain. But in a macabre sort of way, I knew that her pain would be severe when we separated, and I did nothing to spare her-even though I knew leaving her in the beginning would have done just that. In some ways she deserves it because she was given so many opportunities to make our marriage a success. I, in no way, feel that I have an obligation to teach her a lesson-that is not what this is all about. I've separated and will be divorcing her for my own protection and sanity, not to cause her pain. Quite frankly I wish she would find someone else and move on. I wish she could forget about me and not be in such a miserable state-for her own sake. I don't need her to suffer in order for me to heal. My healing is an independent process and I am happy to report is progressing smoothly. I know that I did my best, I know that's all anyone can do and when you can't do anymore, you move on.

I hope that she makes it through this and learns that forgiveness is not to be toyed with. It's not a get out of jail free card. It should be reserved for those situations when you've made a seriously grave error in judgment-not for premeditated acts of aggression with the hopes that someone with a good heart will show you sympathy. And I hope the message hits home for those of you reading too-forgiveness is divine, but not required.

TPOKW

P.S. I still love her.....

The Good Book

2007-11-04T06:06:00.000-08:00

It's approximately 6 a.m. on the west coast and many of our people around the world are either preparing to attend one of many religious congregations around the globe for spiritual enlightenment. Be you Christian, Muslim, or Jew, black people have always been beholden to a higher power. Most of us draw strength from what is referred to as The Good Book. Well this morning I was awakened with a message that I thought I should share with you.

At approximately 5:18 a.m. I heard what sounded like the ring of a cellular phone-but it wasn't. I keep my phone on vibrate, and I live alone. As I lay in darkness trying figure out where that sound came from, the following message popped into my head.

Let's say we were playing a game of Monopoly, the popular board game invented by Milton Bradley almost a century ago. As we all know, there are rules to the game, and many of us can play the game without consorting the rule book. We all know you must own three properties of like color prior to buying houses, and there are a certain amount of houses you must purchase before you are able to purchase hotels. Common knowledge when it comes to Monopoly, correct? I knew you all would agree with me. Let's say we are playing Monopoly and someone decides to play by a different set of rules that gave them an advantage, what would you do? Most of us would either quit in protest, or begin to modify our style of play to level the playing field. This is a simple board game, and it wouldn't take long before we adopted a new agenda in order to remain competitive. So why is it we haven't done the same thing in real life? We've been living according to a book, told to us to be the word of God, for centuries now, and no one else is playing by those rules. In fact, some black people have convinced themselves that they are abiding by the book, when in fact they are not-and that is worse than abandoning the book altogether.

We all need spiritual guidance to a certain extent. But if you look at the religious congregations in our neighborhoods (especially the ones in major cities), some of them are the epitome of opulence. They profess to be pillars in our communities, but pillars of what? They haven't managed to rid our communities of drugs, prostitution, gambling, child neglect, gang violence. They profess to be the way, but they are about as effective to the ills of our community as penicillin is to HIV. Yet we migrate to them every Sunday morning to be administered a placebo that not only hasn't healed us, but has done us far greater harm than it has ever helped. We've been paralyzed by the message and rendered useless by the Good Book.

Rarely do you find me in one of their houses of worship, but I recently, out of love for my family, attended the baptism of my 6 year old niece. During the ceremony, I noticed during the multi-media presentation projected on the jumbotron, several quotes from several different versions of the bible. I found this to be strikingly odd. There's the King James Version of the bible, the New King James Version, the New American Standard Version, and the list goes on. Why the need for so many versions, and which now is to be considered the good book? In my opinion, they are all interpretations of the word of a God none of us has ever seen or heard. Yeah, yeah, I've heard the bullshit about he's known through his works, but why does He choose to be so ethereal and mysterious? It sounds like cruel and unusual game. In my summation of this whole religious fiasco, here's what I've gathered: There's this God who creates all the heavens and the earth, by himself without assistance from man. Then he creates man, and now needs him to help him spread his word. Never mind the fact that I have this ingenious system of passing down genetic traits, I am going to have you exist for centuries without knowing or spreading my word until you can devise this thing called a book to spread my word with. Huh? Come again? That makes about as much sense as me creating you without feet, and then one day you devise a pair, and me, God, give you a pair of shoes and say, "I've been holding these for you until you found a way to make feet."

Furthermore, I'm going to surround you with so much death and destruction, AND subject you to all sorts of abuses and then tell you that it wouldn't happen to you if you walked with me. Or, this is my way of showing you my abilities. That doesn't sound like the God with the angels and the harps and the like to me. That sounds like that other guy with resort south of heaven that is hot like Arizona, but hotter.

God has no use for man-made books. There are no books needed for the changing of the seasons; no books needed for the ebb and flow of the ocean; no books needed for the cycle of life-it all happens without the need of a good book. And wouldn't the notion that there is a good book indicate the fact that there's also a bad book floating around somewhere out there. There have been so many historical translations and edits to the supposed word of God, most of which have been altered to serve the needs of a certain unsavory ilk. It was said that King James had a scripture removed because he felt that it was the very scripture that promoted the death of his mother, Mary Queen of Scots. Now if he's adding and removing scripture based upon personal preference, how close can this be to the word of God?

It seems as though, in this day and age, we would have come out of the foggy haze that has seemed to have clouded our God-given common sense. If this is the same book that the raping, murdering, thieving, slave masters read and quoted daily...how holy can it be? Or maybe it is holy in it's edited state. Maybe no one is using it as a rule book any longer. And if this is the case, why do we pretend to do so as well? Let's cut the fucking shit and call a spade a spade. If you're drinking yourself into a stupor and fornicating like rabbits Saturday night, and then stumbling your worthless ass into church the next morning thinking that you're making amends for you unrighteous behavior, you're not fooling anyone but yourself. If there is a God, do you think he's going to give it shit that your blasphemous ass was in church Sunday morning when you were in an orgy Saturday night? If I were He, my answer would be no. Am I against drinking, fornicating, and promiscuity? No, I've probably at one time and in one form or fashion participated in it all. But I'm against those who straddle the fence professing to be one thing but practicing another. Furthermore, you have no concern for your community. You are just there (in church) to make amends for your frivolousness. Wait, wait, wait-wait a fucking minute. It just hit me. The purpose of the Church is no longer to help the community-it's sole purpose now is to make you feel less guilty about your wanton behavior. Ahhh, it makes sense to me now. No wonder the church hasn't been effective in curing the communities ills, it's like a personal bank account whereby customers go in to manage their diminutive accounts, ignoring the fact that the combined total of those accounts yields more power than they do existing individually. Ok, so then the assertion I made once about curing the ills in the black community was correct. I would get rid of about 10 percent of the population. Take that to mean whatever you wish, 10 percent of you would be gone-more if was necessary. Because you're only out for self and your community as a whole means nothing to you.

The Roman Catholic Church once fell under scrutiny for selling passes into heaven. Yeah, imagine that, man turning passage to heaven into a e-ticket ride at Disneyland. This whole thing disgust me in the worst of ways. My hatred and contempt for its very existence burns a hole in me the size of Tokyo. Professing to be pious while you mislead, murder, torture, and abuse people conjures up feelings inside of me that are indescribable. And to know that, at this very minute, millions of you sit in silence listening to worthless banter about changing your ways and honoring God, when the messenger is corrupt, and what you intend to do with the message is even more incorrigible causes me to weep for humanity. And you wonder why "God" off's so many of us throughout the history of the bible-we just can't steer clear of our sheep mentality. We refuse to use the brain God gave us to know when we've deviated from the path.

If there is a good book, we'd never see it-and if we did, we wouldn't know what to do with it anyway. It would probably contain too much information that would cause us to have to do something that resmembled personal reformation, and who has time for that? For the sake of my children and, hopefully one day, my grandchildren, I hope that the eyes of the masses are opened and we dispense with the idol worship and get back to the root of true religion. Our lives weren't meant to be lived so meaninglessly.

TPOKW?

Footnote-In my research for this posting (yes, I do research sometimes), I discovered that the latin version of the bible used was called the Vulgate. The word seemed too close to the word vulgar for me to ignore the similarities so I looked up the two words and this is what I've found.

Vulgate |ˈvəlˌgāt; -gət| noun 1 the principal Latin version of the Bible, prepared mainly by St. Jerome in the late 4th century, and (as revised in 1592) adopted as the official text for the Roman Catholic Church. 2 ( vulgate) [in sing. ] formal common or colloquial speech : I required a new, formal language in which to address him, not the vulgate. 3 ( vulgate) the traditionally accepted text of any author. ORIGIN from Latin vulgata (editio) ‘(edition) prepared for the public,’ feminine past participle of vulgare, from vulgus ‘common people.’

vulgar |ˈvəlgər| adjective lacking sophistication or good taste; unrefined : the vulgar trappings of wealth. • making explicit and offensive reference to sex or bodily functions; coarse and rude : a vulgar joke. • dated characteristic of or belonging to the masses. DERIVATIVES vulgarity |ˌvəlˈgaritē| noun ( pl. -ties) vulgarly adverb ORIGIN late Middle English : from Latin vulgaris, from vulgus ‘common people.’ The original sense was [used in ordinary calculations] (surviving in vulgar fraction ) and [in ordinary use, used by the people] (surviving in vulgar Latin and vulgar tongue ).

For those of you who may have difficulty grasping the point, I'll make it clear to you-those in charge of instructing you about God looked down upon you. The text used to instruct you about religion was edited for your consumption. How much of your best interest could they have taken to heart if you were considered beneath them. If you question any of this, look at how the Roman Catholic Church treated the indigenous people of the Americas when first they arrived. Wake up people.

The Man Who Copied

2007-11-03T00:13:00.000-07:00

Okay, those of you who know me know that I am a closet hopeless romantic. My tear ducts have been known to become active during a good movie. Like most men, I have the tough exterior that makes you think I eat pig iron for breakfast and urinate molten steel-but in reality, I'm a softy when it comes to a good love story. And since I'm uber-single these days, my Friday nights are usually spent perched in a chair in front of ye ole big screen, alone, with a bowl of popcorn and a Blockbuster rental. Well tonight was no different. Well, actually, it was. I'm known for my love of just about anything Brazilian. I love Samba and Astrud Gilberto. I listen to real Brazilian samba in Portugese and I don't have the slightest clue what the hell they are singing about, but the spirit touches my soul at its very depths. Tonight, I took a chance on a Brazilian DVD titled, O Homem Que Copiava (The Man Who Copied), and did I strike gold!

It was a little slow starting out-I don't know how much excitement you can generate around a 20 year old photocopy machine operator, but as the movie progressed, they managed to get a beautiful love story out of it all. Without getting all Two Thumbs Up on you, I would give the movie the all 20 digit's up! The characters are well developed and vibrant in their own way. The main character, Andre, is, as I mentioned before, a photocopy machine operator. I don't think I have to illustrate for anyone how mundane an existence that must be. We've all, at one time or another, made a photo copy of a document. And we all know it's as about as exciting as folding clothes. Well, poor Andre has to eek out a living doing just that. The only excitement to his job comes in the form of Marinês, his hot Brazilian co worker who professes at one point in the movie that she doesn't wear panties. Now I don't know if this was by choice, or if it's because of financial constraints-either way, Marinês is fucking hot and the thought of her not wearing panties caused quite a stir in my nether-regions.

Anyway, Andre too lusts after Marinês, but his heart lies with Silvia, the young girl he spies on with binoculars (that incidentally took him one year to save for), from his apartment across the street from hers. Both love birds live with a parent; Andre, with his mother, whom you don't get a good glimpse of 'til the end of the movie, and Silvia with her father, a perverted excuse of a man who steals money from her purse and peaks through the key hole at her while she showers.

Lastly, there is Cardoso, the self-proclaimed antique dealer and wanna-be love interest of Marinês. When we are introduced to Cardoso (he caries around a cell phone that I don't think works), he seems to be the stereotypical big fish in a little pond, but we later discover his career in antiques is about as legitimate as Fred Sanford's.

I won't go into a complete review of the movie, but suffice it to say that there are twists and turns that will have your mouth gaping and your hands itching to applaud. American critics didn't receive it with open arms, and I might have a few theories explaining why. #1-if you don't come from a poor country, it's difficult to understand the motivation of said residents. #2-the lead character is as dark as I am-his love interest isn't-'nuff said. White America isn't too comfortable with humans possessing differing skin tones hooking up and I'm sure this rubbed a few white men the wrong way.

Nevertheless, I found the rental quite entertaining and would rank it amongst my top 40 all time favorites. The only problem with a rave review is that it sets ultra-high expectations and rarely can a movie, or any attraction, live up to the expected excitement level that can be created in one's imagination. But I recommend you all check out the movie, it's a glimpse into where most of us live, whether we care to admit it or not.

If you don't like it, I'll gladly refund the money I spent on the rental (read that extremely careful-it ain't legalese, but it's close).

TPOKW?

War Chest

2007-10-29T12:11:00.000-07:00

I was on my way home for lunch today and I popped in an old Kanye West cd to entertain me all of the 3 minutes it takes me to get home from work. As I listened to Kanye and his hip-hop-styled bravado, I couldn't help but think when he would be next. For some odd reason, America loves a rising star just as much as she loves a falling one and it will only be a matter of time before Mr. West is no longer on the giving end of the media's attention and is transferred to the receiving end. Practically every media darling, at some point, ends up a media disaster. Poor Britney Spears, if she sneezes more than twice it makes the news.

Black celebrities have been on the receiving end a lot lately. From Michael Vick to T.I.;Michael Jackson to Oprah Winfrey, the attacks seem endless. My hope is, all of these artist and celebrities have built up a war chest to help them through tough times. There's a line in one of Kanye's old songs where he talks about going to Jacob the Jeweler as soon as he got his first advance because he wanted to shine. I can understand wanting to spoil yourself when you get a little money-hell, even I like to reward myself when I get paid, but my hope is that the allure of the fancy cars, houses, and jewelry does not trump the need to protect yourself when the invaders hit your beach front. And make no mistake, they're coming. The object of the game should not be just to get rich but to remain rich. And to do so, one must have a war chest-funds socked away to get you through a full frontal assault, regardless of where it comes from. And I have to reiterate, it will come. Dionne Warwick, Wesley Snipes, Mike Tyson, Sean Combs, all have had their turn in the hot seat. All of them have racked up attorney fees that dwarf what most of us earn in a lifetime.

This country loves a good scandal-because secretly I think most of its citizens are envious of the success of others. It's the crab in the bucket mentality. We love to hear the worst there is to know about the private lives of celebrities. The raunchier, the better. There's no question that some of these idiots deserve the negative attention, but most are just caught up in tabloid journalism that could not exist if Britney Spears wasn't improperly raised as a child-or if Mike Tyson would take his medication regularly. These rags are like a monster with an insatiable appetite who won't leave Tokyo alone. And our need to see someone tumble from an imaginary pedestal fuels the fire.

Suffice it to say that the only solution is that consumers stem their desire for such nonsense, but they don't call them consumers for nothing. They aren't thinkers, they aren't producers or doers, they're consumers-mindless gluttons who will devour anything placed before them-and we've all been there at one point in time (most of us are still there). But this post was not supposed to be an indictment on the media, it was supposed to be about the necessity to protect yourself when you are on the receiving end of a negative media campaign that may surround a law suit or criminal charges. Anyone around a celebrity who is worth anything would strongly advise that individual of the need to build a handsome war chest so that when the animals attack, like the spinning records of a top-shelf DJ, you life doesn't skip a beat.

TPOKW?

The Man I Am

2007-10-28T22:41:00.000-07:00

Probably one of the most elusive definitions known in modern times is the definition of man. Sure, we can define him anatomically, but what is the true essence of today's modern man? That question might be a difficult one to answer in a broad sense-and even if someone were able to successfully answer it, I'm not all together sure they would be able to describe me to my satisfaction so I will attempt to describe man as he pertains to me. Afterwards, if anyone would like to add or subtract to my definition as it pertains to them, this is an open forum-feel free to do so.

As a man, I believe and subscribe to the mantra first do no harm. I believe the definition lies within the statement, but I'll elaborate for the purpose of clarity. I believe that I have no right to harm those who have not tried to harm me. I have no right to disturb, alter, or negatively influence in anyway, the innocent. That includes members of the human family and animals. It encompasses organizations and entities that I am a member of, or affiliated with, in any way shape or fashion. Churches (which I wouldn't be caught dead in-wait, I might want to rethink that), places of employment, political institutions, all fall into this category. However, if at any time in the span of history, you've attempted to harm me in anyway, I reserve the right to destroy you, your associates, or any one linked to you. That is not to say that I will exercise that right, but once you've harmed or attempted to harm me, you've opened a door that you cannot close. My demise will not close that door-my offspring will carry my sentiment to their graves.

As a man, I believe that love is the ultimate in civility and humanity. The love that I have for my child is no different than the love I have for my mate. The boundaries of our interactions may differ, but the love is the same. It is the same love that I have for all of humanity and I choose to express it freely. Universal love is what we all should strive to achieve. But love also has a dark side. I love humanity so much that I would take the life of my own child should that child be a threat to humanity. I have no right to bring forth a seed and sacrifice all of humanity to spare one spoiled seed. It's is my duty to the world to protect it from threats-no matter where they emanate from. Harsh? Perhaps. Necessary? Above all things, yes.

The greatest joy I as a man can ever know is the joy of knowing I've pleased my woman. And if that pleasure is reciprocal, a cycle begins that only death can put an end to. As a man, the love of a good woman is above all things. Her protection and safety I take serious and will never abandon my responsibility-even if it costs me my life.

As a man, I am the protector of my family and my community, for they support me and comfort me in ways no other can. Drugs, alcohol, lust, nor avarice can separate me from that which has the ability to fulfill me completely.

Of course there is plenty more, and I won't attempt to bore you with the details. Sadly, we live in a world where the values I've mentioned have been completely lost amongst the masses. But imagine what a beautiful world this would be if only we could find our way back to these beliefs.

TPOKW

Alone

2007-10-26T22:25:00.000-07:00

My middle daughter, who is now at the beautiful age of 16, has always shown concern for my pension for ending up alone. As far back as I can remember, whenever I announced that I was no longer with one of my temporary mates, she expressed fear because I would be alone. I would always smile to myself, not fully understanding what there was to be afraid of. Well, once again, I find myself alone. Alone is a lonely word, and it conjures up images in our mind of despair and sadness, but I find being alone a solemn undertaking. How else can one be completely alone with your inner-most thoughts? I don't fear being alone. I can't say that I like it much, but being alone makes you appreciate people and I think that we could all benefit from the rediscovery of the beauty of one another.

I remember when I first moved into this apartment-I found myself quite lonely. I was used to the sounds of children playing; a television or radio blaring loudly off in the distance; a casual telephone conversation that didn't involve me, but became the part of an auditory fabric that I'd normalized and grown accustomed to. But here, there was only silence. No television, (I found the sound annoying in this vacuum), no children playing, no other voice but my own, and I was so afraid to hear what I might say to myself-so there was only silence. Sometimes silence can be deafening and your desire to silence the silence becomes great. But we all know that the mere notion of silencing silence borders on insanity, so we remain quiet and find ways to cope. I found ways. They weren't always the same-they varied. Sometimes I would just sit in a chair, staring out the window, and allow the silence to consume me. I struggled against my urge to make it go away. I wanted to become acquainted with it in a friendly manner. But silence is neutral and it does not care whether you appreciate it or not-silence just is. In fact, silence wouldn't know how to interpret your appreciation or your disdain-it simply does not know to care. So what does my opinion matter? It doesn't. The only thing one can do is become one with silence-a synergy that strips you of your desire to break it's hold on all things audible. You simply surrender and then it becomes the auditory fabric that you become accustomed to.

What I miss most being alone, is the warmth and comfort of the human touch. It's not that I couldn't force myself into physical contact with others, it's just that I want to it to emanate from a natural place and not from a place of desperation. I want to be at one with my environmental silence and not fight it by forming unnatural alliances with those whom I might detest, but fear being away from. The paralysis of my analytical mind has always afflicted me. Still, I sometimes long for my bed not to be empty; for that casual touch at those most unpredictable moments in the middle of night that reassures me that I am alive, and loved, and capable of loving. The absence of human touch can sometimes be torture and the longing for relief constant. Still, I somehow manage to find comfort in it all. Or perhaps that is what I tell myself so that the bleakness of my situation isn't so daunting. Who knows. We do whatever it takes to survive.

One thing that I know for certain is I've developed a special appreciation for the human connection. Being alone heightens my senses and makes the slightest connection feel so alive and real. Holding someones hand sets off waves of emotions that remind me of my teenage years. I've become so hypersensitive to the human connection that the mere thought of sexual contact becomes completely overwhelming, and the journey back to that level of connection becomes a slow and methodical process. Why hurry? The journey alone is so exhilarating. There's truly something to be said about depriving one's self from the complete and utter satiation of your every desire. Spending too much time in that realm can quickly become mundane and the only true remedy is deprivation. But so many of us believe the answer lies within satiating ones appetite even more, which explains why so many of us suffer from obesity or die from overdosing on drugs.

I must admit I have a profound fear of being controlled by those desires and the need to satiate them continually. I fear losing myself in the midst of addiction never being able to find my way back to the person I once was. It's not so much a fear of change, but a fear of what I may change in to. I think that was why, for many year, I could not smoke marijuana. The idea of wanting to be in an altered state of consciousness all the time was frightening. Once I convinced myself that infrequent trips to that altered place wasn't so bad, indulging from time to time became an accepted practice for me. Although I don't do it often as I once did, I allow myself the freedom to do so.

Alone and lonely seem like such close companions, but I believe I've found a way to be one and not be totally consumed by the other. Alone describes my physical state-lonely would describe my emotional. Could one exist without the other? Quite possibly. There are those, like myself, who can be alone and not experience loneliness just as there are those who can be amongst a crowd of people and be lonely. In fact, I've found it quite easy to be amongst a crowd or group of people and feel lonelier than I've ever felt in my life.

I know that human contact is necessary and that I thrive in every way imagineable when I know that the comfort of another is there for me. But I also know the feeling of powerlessness that consumes you when you crave that comfort and are denied it. Sometimes that's worse than having never experienced it at all. I don't worry so much that I'll never feel or experience it again. I think I worry that one day it won't matter to me whether it's there or not, and I will find comfort only in my isolation. That, to me, would be a fate far worse than the dismal feelings of loneliness that keeps me company from time to time, letting me know that, although temporary, the slightest touch from a comforting hand can erase months of loneliness in the blink of an eye. I guess hope springs eternal.

TPOKW