Covet

Last night prior to the sandman’s arrival, my brain was taken with creating lives for the characters whose habitat is my own head. Unfortunately I was unable to capture the history they were making due the lack of options that exist to document true and false events alike when one is on his side, back, or front. I’ve heard about the “astronaut” pen, but still that would have required that I demand disengagement from the restful position my tendons, bones, and muscles were in; that would be unsatisfactory, for the solution that I seek, that I need, must allow total freedom from any travail. What on earth could you desire my young lad, you inquire; I covet the materialization of a thought-writer. The obliteration of any misleading paths demands that I state my vision for this unproven solution with the highest of clarity. Hence, here goes, a thought, and a writer.

Self

I now realized that I’ve been searching for the meaning of my own blackness. My social environments, for I’ve lived in three different cultures till now, have given me each their own definition of who I should be. I am now consciously asking the question, who am I? Shall I be what the outside world sees me to be, or sees me not, for I can be invisible to many when it is convenient for them. Should I be Haitian, should I be a “dude”, should I be an African-American or should I be a Nigger? I wouldn’t be telling the truth if the fourth choice wasn’t listed, for a very great majority of the ‘sheople’ (sheep + people) in this country will forever refer to me, or see me as that. Though that is a fact, I will not even entertain the thought of this fourth choice, for the word, the idea becomes potent only when given thought, or attention.
I have digressed; I have the potential, and the ability to be three of the four, because I’ve been all three. I was born Haitian; I’ve danced to sweet Kompa with island girls who’s warmth can’t be described, I’ve done Irish car bombs, the drinks, with girls who’ve needed two towels in the morning, and I’ve “talked” to girls who mothers were known as ‘Brick Houses’. Self-definition in the making, I am the one who’s going live within this skin, I am the one who’s going to see this face in the morning, evening, and night, hence I am the one who will choose.

Christmas

Leave it to us to make a mockery out of something so divine. The birth of the Son of God, the materialization of a divine power made palpable to the touch, the sight, the aura, the incarnation of everything that is magnificent, celebrated with mere fleeting materialistic items. For a great many this day doesn’t offer time for reflection upon the sacrifice that was made in their names; by becoming human God became mortal, with his birth, he began the journey to his death, his death for you. This idea is not comprehended by so many, and will not be pass along to such a great multitude that will, in all likeliness, forever lose the meaning of this birth, this celebration. God became like you, so that you could in turn become like him/her.

RND

I am selling dreams

What kind of king would like to be?

In your head lays valleys untamed

Without any flags penetrating their surfaces

I am selling dreams

I can help you become complete

Insufficient we are, for we are not creators

The power of the created sound

The sound born from our thoughts

Use it wisely,

Assume that love is your boat

Trust it when the storm comes

For it will see you through it

If you built it with the right substances

Truth, honesty, respect, affection

Why am I so wise on paper, So clever with the words

But can't understand her need for comfort

Could not understand her want to hear it come to life from within my lips

This love that lived in my core, only needed to show on the surface

Graze her surface, or engulf her universe with it

I have given so much of myself to strangers

and gotten so little in return for the life that showed

I am dying, the day after the next is not reserved for my preservation

I know that much, as much I as I know that I am too hold for strangers

Too ready for intimacy to pretend to care about the you that I don't know

I am different, just like everybody else

Your presence is welcome when you are not here

Yes I'll miss you later; I'd rather later

I missed her so hard when she was not in my bed

The distance drove me to love

Cause I had to hold on to the feeling o

Not had to, but wanted to feel something so strong within me

Cause it lets me know that there would be no echo within me if anyone were to scream

Emptiness was a word with no meaning to me

She made me whole

Sum'tin Switer

They looked at the made bed, and both their hearts jumped; it was going to be the place where they would leave their childhood behind, they were going to push and squeeze the innocence out of each other, they knew that, though they didn’t understand it, they knew it. The blue cotton sheets that her mother had recently bought were peaking from under the bluer comforter, the pillows crowning the head of the queen sized bed looked soft and inviting, just as she did. As she came closer he tried to wet his lips but found it harder than usual, his mouth was very dry; it was as if all the liquid in his body had travel south; his penis was like a rock with brown skin on it because of the bloody pressure coming from his pelvic zone was strong, his palms were drenched in sweat, and toes were moist from within his high-top sneakers. She put her lips on him, and to her, it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted, all of a sudden the line “sweater than ice cream” made sense to her. Sarah McLachlan had sung it so many times, she had heard it so many times, but now she was living it, and understood it fully. As they kissed, his hands explored her body, starting at her neck, and finishing on her derriere. There he rested a while, then moved to the front where the holly triangle was found. His right hand was used to the routine, though having not fully dipped himself in the flesh of another, he had acquired experiences from his older, former, “friend”; hence, he knew how to pace his fingers, how to work them, how to direct them so that the proper sounds be spoken.

Sum’tin Swit

He had taken the PATH train into the city, his heart started beating at an upbeat pace since he’d left New Jersey, and as the train got closer to its destination, the rhythm in his chest picked up in vigor.
She was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, her smile broaden as his head rolled up with the escalator. They kissed when they got close enough, and held sweaty palms as they made their way out of the subway.
She wasn’t quiet with the keys, cause she’d known everyone was out. That’s why she’d wanted him to come on this Saturday afternoon; she wanted to be herself, and had also wanted him entirely to herself.
The ferry ride seemed to have taken hours, he had time to think about what was going to happen, he had envision every motion, but he could not envision the feeling cause he didn’t know what IT felt like. Although he didn’t know, he was sure he was going to like it, no, love it.
The kissing began, while the door shut itself behind them, a nervous touch it was at first, because they were standing right smack in the living room. He hadn’t expected her lips so soon, so soft, so sweet, so near. When he realized that the rest of the house was empty, he relaxed, and with this relaxation his ‘down there’ stiffened.She felt it, so she pulled him closer at the waist while putting distance between their young faces. They had talked about it; they were made for each other, and that caused them to be ready, even at sixteen. She looked at him, he looked nervous, and she was pleased. She led him to her room, and slowly closed the door behind them, everything felt silent, everything was until the wrestling of their lips gave rise to a natural concert of ‘hmmms’.

rnd

I couldn’t understand that, I couldn’t understand it anymore, why get so excited when one whose ideas are unknown makes it way to your podium. Well, maybe that’s me; even the prospect of having random encounters with the regular stranger doesn’t tickle my pickle anymore (I got that from Theresa back in high school, I’ve been using it ever since, thanks Theresa, people have been wondering about your whereabouts). I’ve matured; I’ve graduated from the school of random excitement. I am not thirty yet (dirty yet), but I live life with the excitement and expectation level of a sixty year old, dead at twenty-five buried at seventy-five. I still got basketball though, that’s the only thing that keeps me going, basketball. The girls, well, they are all the same, the same problems, the same talks, the same needs, the same cycles, the same, all the same. I don’t know if you know this fact, but you can have a meaningful conversation with a girl by using a combination of meaningless sound. Yep, huh huh, sure, naaahhh, really, I agree- that is all you need to have a meaningful conversation by their standard. How can they be so fascinating though, does that mean that we (male population) are …, what are we? I need to get down with MC, Master Chief. We need to get together and cap some alien ass. The freaking program will take a while to convert, all the ones in the libraries must be done one by one; I can’t wait till I am on the court, I am probably going to cough a lung out since I haven’t had any physical activities in so long. Should I be stretching, maybe I’ll stretch, or will I be too excited to even stretch. This keyboard is halfway between dirty and clean, should I see it as half-dirty, or clean, or will that depend on my view of the half-empty, half-full glass. I know someone who actually talks like that, every option opens up for more options, and it’s tiring talking to the guy. Well, I don’t know him I had class with him. I can wait to

Opportunity to Control

I had my last final earlier, and the girl got off my shoulders. She was only there to make sure I focused. Yep, a temporary stamp of freedom has been slapped on my forehead, so for about twenty days, I’ll have time to go to the gym, hit the sack, knock a couple of books, catch up on the movies, hang out in DC, and meditate.

I made this bomb ass fish earlier, I swear my skills are improving; if I keep this up I won’t need a wife in the near future. Haha, I know all the ones who got upset because of that last statement; I assure you, I am joking, it was a joke, it was my poor attempt at making a ‘funny’. If you don’t believe me go in the archive, and take a look at ‘We are Screwed’, that should tell you all you need to know. So, what should my schedule be like tomorrow, any suggestions, anything at all? Actually here’s something, the first person to leave a message dictating that I do something, I’ll do it, I’ll incorporate it in my daily routine for tomorrow, there are rules though, I will not anything that’s too outrageous. Wow, a moment of my life at the mercy of a stranger, now that’s living.

Blahhh

It is cold this morning, as usual I got to the car with my jacket open, then I started thinking about this girl I used to know who’d always beg me to zip up my jacket before I got out of the house so that I wouldn’t catch something, she was cute.It’s 6:46 AM, and I am up an active. This shit should be illegal, I know you’ve heard me say it before, still I saying it again; waking up before 8:00 AM should be outlawed. I got one ‘pain in the ass’ final today, I just want to get that shit over with, cause it’s like the weight of some oversized girl on my shoulder. It’s been a though weekend for me, I’ve been feeling all mushy for some odd reason. Sunday was particularly bad, but Sundays are always bad. I believe Sundays were made to lie around in bed with someone who knows the sensitive spots in your head, and heart, guess I was missing that. I’ll get over it though, I know as soon as this test in done, I’ll feel lighter, and the gloomy, mushy me will fly away.

Class-Less

I was seating there at the table, wondering about a classless world. Think about it, a world where everyone is equal, EQUAL. I don’t even really know how to describe it cause I’ve never read about one, never heard of one, and never seen one. This is such a brand new concept to me that I am scared at the possibilities that may exist within it. Well, there’s a saying that describe the idea that every society need its ditch diggers. I ask why, why? If I need a ditch, I’ll dig it myself, and if everyone did the same, the need for having someone to be ditch digger would disappear. The first start would be no government; the moral of the citizen would be all the guidance they would need. There, I ran into my first problem, some people have morals, while others don’t, and anywhere in between. My brain is too small take on this topic by itself, help me out, chip in.

Cruelty of Reality

As their world collided together in the form of swollen body parts, it became clear to her that it was the closest they were ever going to get. This routine, that at one point made her feel alive, now held little of what comprised it. College was the place where relationships with such characteristics were given birth, and they had done that. This entity was born, had grown strong, but now was dying; she knew that, she felt it. So, as she watched him go back and forth, digging, and un-digging himself from inside her world, she made the decision for the both of them, she would burry this carcass properly; with twenty-one gunshots, and loads of flowers.

Write

My writing is constantly on my mind, I think about the ways she sets me free, allows me to be real. She has the ability to steal my thoughts, consumes them, hack into my brain and take control of my main frame. I hold her close to my heart, protect her with my life, feed her my food while I starve, cause she brings me life by being mine. Never thought I’d find her so soon in my life, I was willing to suffer the brutality of the journey, but she made herself seen before I could take any steps. I like to mold her, cause she doesn’t mind, she wants to be held, touch, felt, stroke, massaged, explained, embraced, defined, cause she is an expression of me, as I am an expression of her, it’s easy to love her, cause she is me, and I her.

Sweet Dream

Gradually making your way towards that cane
Remembering laying on wet dreams’ stain
Patches of youth juice oozing without pain
Streamlets of your dream the proof of your strain
Wish those lips were real in the morning beam
Could have swore to love in those lucid steam
It was nothing less than one more sweet dream
Now I know one thing, Mother Nature’s mean

Bang, Bang (some more)

I froze right there, not knowing where the third spider was. I didn’t move to quickly as to not aroused that female killer, my luck with the opposite sex had been running low for a while now, getting bit by a black widow would indicate my hitting rock bottom. As I stood there, debating what to do next, I felt a sting. She hadn’t waited for me to move, she had decided to be the aggressor. I automatically jumped away from the pain, into the bathtub, where the other two bitches proceeded to double up on me, before I could kill them all, I had been stung four times. From what I remember the venom of the black widow spider is fifteen times as toxic as the venom of the Prairie Rattlesnake. My ex who was found of these “araneae” had divulged this piece of information to me at some point during our escapade. It’s funny how you can find the right information in your database when it is highly urgent, for example when you maybe dying. Yes, my luck with women had run out, I was looking at the bottom of the rock. I started thinking…

Bang, Bang Cont'

…three black widows lounging in the tub. I jumped back hitting the toilet, causing the lid to slam shut. My mind started racing, demanding answers about their origin. Where on earth could they have come from, where? I then remembered Lucia finding out about Esperanza, and how she’d tell me that I’d never do it again, and that I would be sorry. The picture of her tears meeting her saliva at the corner of her mouth was still clear in my head; after all, it had only been two days since she had find out about the other woman. I never thought she would have the balls to do something like that. After my mind slowed, I started rationalizing the apparition of these God-awful things in my home. Everything pointed at the woman who shared my bed under candlelights a fortnight ago. She had the keys to the house; she knew about my arachnophobia, she thought it was cute because of her own love for those vermin. Why couldn’t she have been more traditional, why couldn’t she have just taken everything out of the house while I was at work; it wouldn’t have taken that long, since there’s so little here, but instead she chose spiders. In my naked state I scurried downstairs to find my broom, these six-legged bastards were going meet the maker today, fuck the animal right thing. I came back up, and pulled slowly on the blue curtain that shielded wet upright bodies from dry squatting ones. Two red spotted killers were looking at me, two, not three, where was the third one…

Bang, Bang

The alarm rang and I turned it off, turned it off, and went back to bed. Two hours later my eyes opened, and I felt ok. I knew I wasn’t going to leave work early today, but I wasn’t going to zombie my way through the workday either. I let my left foot hit the carpet first, stepping on the candle wax residue created from when I was dating THAT girl; the right foot followed, and a couple of minutes later I was on my feet, ready to start the day. My ass itched, so I scratched it as I made my way to the bathroom. I pushed the door open, and stepped in the little white room where the lid of the toilet almost always stayed up. Some blurry person was staring at me in the mirror, I rubbed my eyes, and he got into focus; a good-looking kid he was. I started to take my clothes off, first lifting the cotton shirt over my shoulders, then my head. After, I just let my sweatpants fall to the ground. I stood there naked, staring at the figure in the mirror; everything was where it was suppose to be, no surprises to be found. I turned to my right, and opened the shower curtain to find…