Blank Canvas

Dear Winter:

I for one, am not mad at you.

Your chilly breeze engulfs my spine

and trickles down my back.

A quick change of direction and

you are frolicking through my hair.

My eyelashes rest on your spirit

as it dances around these cold streets.

I cannot take my eyes off of you.

Your teardrops freeze as they fall,

feather like,

swirling in the air with

no identifiable direction or pattern.

They only desire movement

until they've reached the ground.

You carry with you

dropping temperatures

and something about you

makes people want to sing.

I've been singing for weeks.

Or perhaps its that

i've been singing

because winter is a season of cleanse.

Leaves fall.

Their absence bears clear silhouettes

of tempted trees ready to start anew.

Their absence brings clarity to their purpose.

And the clarity serves as a reminder

of the possibilities to come with a blank canvas.

Conveniently, the new year comes amidst you.

making space for those new possibilities.

so thanks.

by this time next year

i hope that i will have built a belief in myself again.

hopefully by then, that belief will push my fear aside

and i'll begin to paint my own canvas.

Until then, you've come to soon.

Yours Truly,

An admirer

if i ruled the world...

Ode to the Asymmetric Penis

strophe:

What are you looking at?

What? What is over there?

Were you planning on landing a plane over there?

Why are you incapable of looking at me?

antistrophe:

That vein popping out of your forehead looks upset.

You look like the prepubescent version of you

Stand up & watch where you are going

Do the job you were made for

epode:

Damn. Pause.

That shit really is Slanted.

(booing)

Free Weezy

We're just a day away now ladies and gents from the release date of our beloved Weezy F Baby and the accompanying new album. SMilE big for re-entry into society.

The best part of his latest letter: the lady

"Now I must dedicated something to the woman in the picture…

…sitting on this bed with my back against one of the four walls I’ve been confined to, all I can think of is you. Staring at you staring at me, from the picture of you that I see. I try so hard to make the picture smile. You look so serious. Seriously beautiful. You, me, we are one. Then I look further to the right and there’s a picture of “the bed by the water”… where I dream to be with the woman in the picture that still won’t smile. I sometimes talk to the picture, but it never responds. Although, I’ve been told that a picture speaks a thousands words, I only wish that this picture would speak of four… “I love you too.” That would be the perfect response to what I frequently say to it. You see, the picture of “the bed by the water” has sand in it, and the woman in the other picture has sand in her hair… put them together, and she’s there. And when I dream, I’m there with her. Shhh… quietly these four walls become that place in the picture. And the woman in the picture begins to whisper… “I love you too”… she responds!

And now she smiles. Imagination is perfect.

Dedicated to the woman in the picture.

Gone!"

FULL LETTER

http://weezythanxyou.com/2010/11/02/letter-10-the-end-of-a-long-journey/

The Underbelly Project

A Secret Art Gallery Beneath the Streets

FACT: this is the coolest thing i've seen in years

Deep in the belly of New York City lies a ghost town of a subway station, where the trains don't run, but street art thrives. For the past 18 months, 103 artists have been covertly sneaking into the space to create and display their work on the dank walls of the pit.

Combining street art with spelunking, The Underbelly Project is a real collection of works that exists four stories beneath the surface of the City. But good luck finding it.

Street artists Workhorse and PAC curated the underground exhibit in an abandoned subway station, but the exact location won't be released to the public, for fear of legal repercussions. (If caught trespassing on or defacing MTA property, they could be arrested and fined.)
Each of the 103 artists had one night to finish his or her piece. One by one, Workhorse or PAC led them to the space -- which entailed a difficult and dangerous process of waiting for the active station's platform to clear and then maneuvering through an old entrance to the abandoned tracks of yore -- where they let their creative juices flow.

http://video.nytimes.com/video/2010/10/31/arts/1248069257891/the-underbelly-project.html?scp=2&sq=underbelly&st=cse

Under

I love the new york city subway. Now you guys who are just here for the evening, the weekend, or a business trip may think I'm crazy but in all the time I've spent here its one of the places that I feel the safest. In between intermittent glances exchanged by strangers, this time is the only time when new yorkers have time to breathe. Now the air may not breath with the freshness of california's majestic coastline, but it breaths real. It breathes the blood sweat and tears of a single mother in light blue scrubs who spends her whole day nursing everyone else back to heath that she cannot find time for her own. This city breeds an infinite number of the struggling. struggling artists, struggling lovers, struggling mothers, struggling husbands and struggling brothers. Its one of the only places you'll find new yorkers with their guard down. Strangers sit within inches of each other unified in one goal. Just get me home. Underground, the perils of the rest of the world stop. You can't get us. You can't text, tweet, email, call, bbm, IM, ghat or facebook me. You.can't.touch.me. The burdens that resurface when I hit ground level are temporarily at ease. The stress is gone because for the six stops between here and Carroll street the world does not exist. And should I be so lucky to hear the, "ladies and gentleman we are delayed because of train traffic ahead of us" I know I've stolen a few more minutes for my mind to be still. Be still. Be still with an ipod that is connected to nothing and just listen. Listen with every morsel of your being. You'll hear things in that "I am old fashioned" arrangement you didn't know were there and that, for the final time will have proven john coletrain's residence amongst the best. Read. Read a real book. Pause. Look around. And the look condescendingly at the hipster elitism that resides in the 9 kindles on your car alone because you just so happen to be going into brooklyn. Feel the pages, the grainy texture of a modern library classic creased four times at the most telling places that you can't wait to get to. Ingest every word as though it is a part of your diet that you cannot be without; for missing it means you would not have made you daily nutritional requirements. Feel the authors brush strokes as he paints the image that will continue to evolve with every page. "The artist is a creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim". Oscar Wilde's starting blocks to a journey to two hundred and sixty six pages of freedom from my own skin. Damn. "Please stand clear of the closing doors". Above ground. I'm me again.

dismantled.

yeah i do. i love you. and with all of me, i stand here wanting to
beleive you when you say "I've never stopped loving you." see, since
we haven't been together i've used these words like razors cutting the
insides of my inner thighs just to make sure I could still feel. For
every word you've spent trying to bribe my confidence back onto being
there, is a depiction far from fiction engrained in my mind. so for
every word used to console me, there is an empty warehouse in Brooklyn
between my two best friends houses that collected the five hundred and
forty six thousand three hundred sixty seven tears from emotions you
chose to leave unaddressed. adjacent, there is the feeling of looking
at you, hoping youd look at me with a morsel of the pride your eyes
once held. Its sits on a shelf next to the seven days a week by eight
months coming to two hundred and forty days that i asked you to lay
next to me only for you to look at me like you had forgotten that you
loved me and walk away... every time. Next to that there are the
three thousand four hundred and fifty eight memories of me wanting you
to talk to me, to let me in long enough to remember that a year ago,
you thought you wanted to marry me. How after knowing you for eleven
years and loving you for four could you have let so many days pass
that i couldn't remember what my sense of touch felt like. why, month
after month after month after month could i not remember what it felt
like to sleep next to the man that i love. how did you not see me cry?
every day. every week. for weeks. i could not remember what it felt
like for you to take my hand in yours. i could not remember your lips.

at the end of it all i knew. i opened my soul to you and let you carry
it. i opened my chest, peeled back every single one of my ribs and
laid my heart in your hands. I have never wanted to know what another
mans skin felt like. my love is irrational. It is blind and
unrelenting. Unyielding & glaringly true. so i bear this hurt in my
words and revisit these words as they point to you. And i'm forced to
acknowledge that the only time i've been able to feel...was with you.

and still. on you. i give up. i cannot be dismantled again.

forlorn lovers, maybe

My heart is weak. I've been forced to secure beams with which structures of the stature of the colleseam were built, to reenfource the once fierce walls of my heart. Those beams now hold up the dissillusioned fears of not being wanted by the man who used to tell me he loved me. The misnomer that I, for being called something other than a woman was not of the caliber I am. Those beams have been built upon every lie and false promise that was sowed by a relationship that I poured my world into. I used to breathe for you. I am a woman who has no place for limiting love. I did not know there was a place for limits until you put them there. My heart beats plentifly. Like petals in a rose guarden, there is enough love in my heartbeats to bring a smile to each of those who stops long enough to recognize it. Its seeps difficult love, the love that once reached only knows to plateau at unconditional. There is nothing before and nothing after. It is the original feeling with its truth unequivocally stated in feeling.

Forlorn lovers. Or maybe that was just me.

why do i forget

Why do I keep testing waters that never stopped burning me? How can It be that everything you've done to destroy me I've forgotten so easily. Do if forget because of a genuine belief that things have changed of as a defense mechanism allowing me to forget what I've endured? Do I believe in people? Do I believe in me?

Blow Smoke

They blow smoke at me like I'm tryna get high from they're blunt. The hot air laiden with corporate jargon and promises of success Really have only one measure success. "how much did they like to hear themselves talk?" Their words function like THC crystallized at the bottom of dime bags and shook out to make sure inhaled. These fallible words get inhaled by unassuming youth wide eyed and capable and lift spirits or at least provide the promise of lifted spirits at a later date due to some unquantifiable success just long enough to think that shit is actually real. Until you eat your way out of the Their high. only to realize that if at least you were really high, you would have left your current mindset satisfied with the departure of hunger from your stomach. These words leave you with much less. They leave you with the idea that you may actually be a part of a structure that works but as it stands, it doesn't. Its broken and fragmented like the shattered glass on the blind street corner where your dreams were blindsided by this place that continues to rip you of your strength. The day to day deprivation of the drive and passion that once pulsed through my veins is replaced by indifference and forfeit. The acknowledgment of these newcomers is crushing. Run.

an abrupt farewell.

C'est la vie. Hoping to be reunited.

let me go

The monotony
Of life should never be
Of such consistency
You can't imagine
What you'd embody
If presented the opportunity
To be free

Tragically
I've seen my self deceased
My being taken from inside of me
Leaving a fragment
Of my "used to" me
To desire what I once used to be

I wonder
How this continues to hold me under
How I've watched my passion to plunder
Desire to blunder
Drive.to.die.

second chances

i respect it. real words really written by breezy.

...Go...

i haven't thought of you. i don't know what you did today. i don't care. i dont want your heart. at least i don't think i do...But come here. I like that there's no awkward dance around why we're here. Its instinctual. My feeble attempt to hold my ground becomes useless on touch. You can see it in my face. I know. You knew it the whole time. The momentary flash of the last time I saw you quickens my heartbeat. Then there's that unassuming chill down my back that runs up my thigh. I wonder if you'll pull my hair again this time. My skin pulsates. You throw me against that wall. I barely feel it. I feel you. Skin fused. Obsticals seem trivial. Temporarily my thoughts are only here. Go.

...Go...
...Go...
...Go...
...O...

Breath heavy. Body pulsating. Climactic sensitivity. A gaze. Eyes locked but quickly broken. The intimacy within intimacy may make it more serious.

Clothes on. Breath catching. With a smirk, "How did you get here again?". Break. Gone. Distance.

Obligations resume.

She is ...a tribute...

She is super human. She's possessed the courage to carry three men through life, loving unconditionally regardless of the trials and tribulations they'd been faced with. Her spirit is laced with hardness like marijuana splifs sprinkled with base because some middle america high school drug dealer had to fake having the toughest shit. The same splifs that trickled into her marginalized neighborhood building upon each other, like bricks and mortar, a gateway to a place where needles are filled with opiates and prescription pill bottles are stolen from the same cupboards in those middle class neighborhoods that the first splif came from. She couldn't control it. She didn't fake it. It hardened her. It is hardness of the highest kind, infused with hatred and anger yet effervescent with the perserverence of hope. Hope that was most visible when no one could see. Hope that kept pushing to provide while every breath she took was like another step to tomorrows health issues. Every weathered sigh carried the chemicals of cleaning supplies so stubbornly intertwined with nicotine from her cigarette.

Her hardness makes her unwelcoming to those who do not understand her struggle. But, Hidden within her is one of the most loving women I know. Contrary to her hardened impersonations of a woman with no need for love, she is first a mother. Like every mother, she yearns for the day where all her children are happy. She lives for the manufactured family moments she was never able to have. She shows flashes of excitement at wedding talk and would do anything to have a woman she trusts around. but she would never, ever tell you. She exudes love in her own particular way. With her use of jovial expletives she's just trying to speak freely as it is the only way she knows how. She let's no one in, until she let's you in. With consistency, she can trust. With unrelenting persistent love, she becomes a mirror. She offers her love every time she's asks "do you need anything". Every "honey" that she calls you by Actually is a privilege. Her sarcasm and humor are crude, but if you know that, you've had the pleasure of knowing her. When she giggles like a schoolgirl reminiscent of her youth and asks, "come look at my dress", you can be sure she cares. She loves. She is satisfied with the simplest of things.

She is the mother of a man I used to love. If only her love had been easier to understand when he was little.

Dear life:

I'm bored. Lets shake it up a little.

Love

I know where his hair peaks and swirls
I know where he begins and ends
I know the vine like pattern of veins leading from his hands through his biceps and body
I know every single facial hair making him the man he is
I know the story to every scar on his body
I know his facial expressions, I've seen them more than he
I know the feeling of his fingertips as they walk down my back
I know what makes the hair raise on the nape of his neck
I know the strength of his hands
I know the feeling of my lips against his neck
I know the creases at his hips
I know the sweet smell of his sweat
I know his breath against my skin
I know his scent in the morning
I know his outline in my bed
I know his lips
I know his anger
I know his passion
I know his story
I know hes fit for someone else

i don't trust you...

i want to. I want to believe your intentions are pure. your hearts in the right place. you always wanted more. but the seed of cynicism that was planted and watered has now fully blossomed into an overbearing weeping willow tree overshadowing my heart. disallowing any ray of sunlight from touching me and allowing whats left of truth to grow. the lack of rain poisons the naiveté required to truly trust another. the hope beneath that willow tree has started to wilt and soon will wash away. what's left over will take years of mending before it can be truly given to another.

Vybz of New and Old

N.E.R.D. - Killed it at the Fillmore. I'm still recovering.


Lupe - i love you. lyrically unmatched. urban intellectual.


One for fun - and he could get it

alone

he feels me. I breathe him. He kisses me. We. We Wished we had more time. We hoped the burdens of life would just pause. Just for a bit, so we could enjoy each other a little longer. We Knew we shouldn't. We Felt we should. Rational versus Passionate. Paramount passion wins. We love. verbally. physically. emotionally. spiritually. Frighteningly right. Rationally wrong. We are not ready.

but we love

a love letter to sound

What am I drawn to?
I am drawn to you
Your dramatic sound resonates relentlessly escaping brass
Trumpet shouts have never been so persuasive
Guitar strums accompany your strength
But your smoothness is what carries me.
I hear you for blocks
Resembling the first few bars of "loves speakeasy"
Yell those chords baby
Shout those blues
It's like my movements are the kick drum to your soul
Your notes carry me
Two wheels to destiny
Music breathed so deep
I go wherever my heart takes me
& I came to you
Don't worry.
I feel you
I hear you sneaking up too
The sweetness of your saxophone teases me,
Like an unconditional love I've never known
Your sweet nothings dance on my earlobes
Your complexity silences my thought
Too perfect to be tarnished by the tangible.
You move me through the streets
Instilling Grace without restriction
Allowing me the freedom of large spaces
And ease of passing faces
Your notes move me to liberation

& finally
For just a few moments
I am unburdened

try this, be relentlessly attentive to everything inside which, rises on a pedestal and level everything beside it, because what goes on inside us, in our innermost is the most, biggest goal to rise with

the lyricist

i falter

i can only tell you want i want right now. literally right this second. no this second. what i wanted to eat two minutes ago I don't even want anymore. Every time i sit down to eat with other people i don't want whats on my plate anymore. If i can;t stick to the most trivial of decisions, how could i possible be sure. Sure of anything. The only thing i'm sure of is the way i feel right now. That feeling inspires action, decision & diction.

true or false - Acknowledgement of feeling in the moment is indicative of the most pure way to act. It directs your action with truth. Consider it the materialization of truth in you.

for now, i say true (...and i prefer hesitate...)

to falter: to give way. to hesitate in purpose or action. waiver. hesitate.

He

...And I closed my eyes when he kissed me
His lips were as tender as they'd ever been
I missed him
I was in another world
We were together
I forgot where I was,
What i was doing, Where I was going
His lips grazed my forehead
A chill down my back, and the hair on my arm stood

& I knew
I was meant for him

The green light came
6 train doors open with a light so bright
It brought us back
We were here again

the work of a pediatric surgeon

Anger. Never have i been so irate by what i was reading that i had to put a book down.

.moved.

Appreciate tha Sass

From the ever so progressive NY Mag on some Urban Culture. Kudos. Plus I happen to like miss Nicki Minaj.

Music

Throwback album of the week










New School Album of the Week

Things of the Past

i live inside a spotted mind
inconsistent & unsure
dark
confident
unrelenting
bright
stubborn & alive.

my heart falters
my mind wanders
and i become more unsure of my heart

its comfortable to be
in the company of brilliant minds
walking along side
souls that see eye to eye

refreshing & pure

Wonderland - quite possibly my favorite

Laughter is my defense mechanism

She told me "Nicole, your funny."

Not because at that moment i was actually funny in the "knock knock" sense. She was refering to my ability to laugh in the face of all pain, heartache, confusion, dissatisfaction & ignorance. Most specifically she was refering to that moment, when she could see my pain in the sadness of my eyes.

For these instances, laughter has always been the best thing I could come up with. When its pure its stands on its own. When its not, only the few and far between have enough insight into me to know the smiles aren't genuine.

Over time, I've found if i laugh first nobody has the oportunity to respond to me in a way that may challenges me, hurt me, or even destroy me. Extreme emotion - i'd rather people not know about. The vulnerability created when people are able to appraise exactly what I value and exactly what hurts, shakes me to my core.

While i write this i'm not sure how I feel about that fear, but I dont know any different. In the household i was raised in, my mother was the consistant. She remains the rock. The constant success, so much so that her accomplishments have started to go unnoticed. The dependable actor. Glimpses of her vulnerability were vaguely recognlizable until recently. She has never needed help. This mindset has been ingrained in me since such a young age that i cant even imagine the first step in letting other people help. I just laugh.

Laugh at the impossibility of taking on the world by myself
Laugh at the tragic nature of the "me against the world" mentality
Laugh at the ability to hide behind my laughter
Laugh at the ability to speak exactly how i feel
As long as what is being said is stated with a smile so it does not offend
Laugh at those people for not understanding my cynicism
Laugh at the inability to trust that people are kind in nature
Laugh at the inability to communicate our deepest emotions
Laugh at the inability to embody the values we stand for

Laugh at the conquerable

Laugh in Love the first time your mind chooses to accept you heart
Laugh in family, who's words and actions will forever shape
Laugh in the presence of the most beautiful people
who can only be explained as the embodiment of a higher force
Laugh in Faith that everyday is exactly how it should be
Laugh in Beauty when its found it the most unexpected places
Laugh in Art - classical, modern, in the faces of strangers
Laugh in Men, their strength, their beauty, their love

Laugh in Truth

Mumford and Sons

On Repeat in my Soul

A worthwhile exchange

My Favorite:

"I beg you…to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without ever noticing it, live your way into the answer…"

His:

"So you mustn’t be frightened if a sadness rises in front of you, larger than any you have ever seen; if an anxiety, like light and cloud-shadows, moves over your hands and over everything you do. You must realize that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don’t know what work these conditions are doing inside you?"

Rainer Maria Rilke - Letters to a Young Poet

Knock me off my feet

a 12:57 AM special...Enjoy. Goodnight. Sleep tight.

Electric Lips

flickering candlelight
caused a ripple on the surface of his eyes
warm chocolate eyes
sweetening my wine
molasses smoke,
licked guitar cries,
and his honey sweet voice
catch in my tight curls
and his spring coat creating the sensation
hours later as i watch the sun rise from his bed
the sensation of
electric lips

buzzing and warm
thousands of nerves standing on end
from his pillow-soft kiss and sweet earth scent
a vanilla-tinted breeze
drying these drenched seets
after i spent all day avoinding his whit hot glances
averting the enerfy transfered in a cordial embrace
remembering the feeling
electric lips

how can it be
that everyone around us
didn't feel the air heating up
from the race my heart was in with itself
or maybe with his...?
either way
we both win
7AM
electric hips
electric kiss

electric
lips

-a lady of love

Sometimes I Forget Why I Love New York....

and just as that happens i'm reminded again.

A days worth of examples.

1) On the way to work (approximately 8:00 AM) as i trudge the same path to the subway i'm cognizant of the new faces that come with a new neighborhood. There's a guy i've not seen before walking his dog. He caught my eye for a sec as do most men with their fair share of tattoos but thats not why he was memorable. Literally as I walked by, his dog drops a massiveee two. like three human twos right there on the street. I hurry past but the potent scent lingers. ... Happy Wednesday...

2) I'm standing on the platform oat 145th st waiting for my chaffer...or the downtown A train, whatever you want to call it. My 6. head is tucked in a book as its too late to be starting conversations with strangers. I glance up briefly and see a decent looking man across the platform waiting for the uptown train. Avert my eyes, and i'm back at my book. I feel a tap on my shoulder. Same guy. He's missed his train and walked over to my platform to introduce himself and ask what i was reading. The standard "where are you from", "what do you dos" are exchanged. As quickly as it starts, it ends but the introduction is refreshing.

3) I'm waking across town from West 4th to my humble abode. I make it to about Bleeker and broadway and i see a homeless man strait chillin on this midsummer night (Bigups! mr shakespeare). Feet kicked up, leaned back on his cardboard couch with a hand rolled cigarette hanging off his lip. pause. with his CELLPHONE in his hand engrossed in whatever tomfoolery he was engaged in...PLUGGED into an outdoor storefront outlet. Just a regular day recharging the batteries. Please note...last time i checked, cell phones required a billing address and last i check, shelters do not allow theur tenants to use the shelter address as their permanent resident address. so, pray tell...how is this possible.

so like i said, i love new york

OTHER REASONS NYC IS TO LEGIT TO QUIT






AND SOON TO COME...





What other city could pull this off. It's the biggest street ball stage, meets the MECCA of organized basketball meets the epicenter of NY...bright lights and all.

Mys-tique Nightcrawler Rogue

Every so often in life every one of us is granted our share of miracles. Now miracles are often thought to be those things that "Wow". That one thing you've longed for as a kid you've finally achieved, an experience you could have only imagined in your dreams somehow magically presenting itself, meeting your favorite celebrity completely by chance and ending up becoming friends. While this breed of occurrences is nothing short of awesome, what about the miracles that happen incrementally? It's like they get overlooked because there isn't one specific moment they can be pinned to. How simple minded of us (or maybe its just me) not to appreciate them simply because our concept of time allows for overwhelming emotion to be more memorable when tied to one moment rather than a series of associated moments, people or locations. What is this obsession with time? (another topic for another day)

Really this post is meant to take a step back. More often then not, we are to caught up in making it through our days without making ourselves crazy that we do not get these opportunities. I'd like to take this one to appreciate a miracle.

Its happened incrementally. and blossomed beautifully. With additions always welcome, we celebrate each other. In the last two months i've had the pleasure of watching/ partaking in the growth of friendship that is the stuff that lasts for lifetimes. These women are the type who will change the world. They push you to make you better. They listen so well that they make up the few of the masses that ask the right questions. Insightful, educated questions. The questions that test you and force you to reflect. In knowing them, i have come to know myself better. I've been able to articulate out loud things that i've hidden from all my life (or at least failed to mention because i knew nobody understood me enough to even notice). They have opened my mind and made me a better version of myself. For that I am forever indebted.

Like most women, especially most women of our generation we are an enigmatic bunch. A laundry list of adjectives does not suffice in describing these women. They are strong and compassionate. Hardened by realities and driven dreams. Carriers of a cynicism that materializes in an unrelenting desire to change the world. We are simple in our desires but the complexities amongst us muddle the clarity of our paths.

They change lives (Muahha but actually they're teachers amongst other things).

I speak sincerely when I say they "get me". For the first time, no matter how hidden it is, they know when I hurt, when i love, when i'm silly, when i'm ridiculous, when i'm drunk, when i'm beyond drunk, when i need to be checked, when i need a hug and when i just need them.

this is nothing short of a miracle.

i love you. you are my heart.

OK OK OK Enough of the lovefest...point is remember the incremental miracles!

the most interesting man in the world

Urban Classics

Blockbuster, Netflix...stop lining up at my door. I get it, your in the market for an new section label and the first person you thought of was me. I've been saying this for years. The people want an urban classics section. Just imagine it in bright lights...(blue & yellow or red & white)...URBAN CLASSICS...

Just picture it...its Wednesday night, your considering an outing on the town but your not really sold. The handful of people you really give a shit about are in a similar boat but could be swayed in either direction. Your thinking a movie but you don't want an adventure or something you've never seen because that can turn into a disaster. And that would be a surprise that nobody signed up for. You want a sure thing. But then you think of the energy it takes to find a sure thing...in the store, on line, live streaming strait to your computer.

thats where I come in. URBAN CLASSICS...all classics included!

Your choices look like this...

House Party (1 - infiniti)...BAPS...The Wood...Friday (1 - infiniti)...Brown Sugar...The Gospel...Boyz in the Hood...Sister Act 2...Love Jones...Poetic Justice...Love & Basketball...Something New...Baby Boy...The Best Man...Soul Food...Waiting to Exhale...How Stella Got Her Groove Back...Major Payne...Booty Call...How to be a Player...He Got Game...The Brothers...Barbershop...High School High...

i mean can you really go wrong?

My mind wanders to him...

Unwillingly. Against all my control. Despite distraction in all its forms, my heart yearns for him. Habit makes me want him. Its hurts me to my soul...every day to work away from what it used to be. The nostalgia is inevitable. I hear the lyrics again...

"Fingertips on the small of my back

More valuable than all I own

Like your precious, precious, precious, precious dark skin tone"

Its like he never left. He's still laying there, the warmth of his arm against mine and i still hear him - "It was the sweet, sweet, sweetest thing i've know"

From time to time my I wander adding things to my mental to do list. i figure if I put enough on it i'll never get to actually dealing with how much i miss him...but i always wander right back to him. my head knows better. no going back.

can i love another?

Dazed and Confused

its 4:47 on a saturday. I've left my apartment for food once with no real intent of leaving it again. Last night lingers. A couple beer cans, a just used hookah and a half smoked j grace my coffee table courtesy of the beautiful people i spent my evening with.

I find myself at odds...mostly with myself. What am i doing? Why am i doing this? Where am I going? How do i get there? What do i believe in?

What about training for a marathon, getting a good workout in and then basically sprinting to the bar makes sense?

Why after confirming and re confirming that i'm not into it do i continue to allow you to sleep over?

Why after already deciding i was gonna tone down social life in an effort to save money did i get to the bar and immediately take out $100?

There are a whole bunch of beliefs that i thought i had. For example, I thought i believed in marriage and its representation of an ongoing love for another that you want to spend your life with. Turns out i don't really believe in it much at all:

passages for reflection -

[marriage] was the only way a female could guarantee her support and survival, and the only way a male could guarantee the constant availability of sex, and companionship. We are unlimited, eternal and free. Any artificial social, moral, religious, philosophical, economic or political construction which violates or subordinates your nature is an impingement upon your very self - and you will rail against it. We've given up liberty in out lives, all for the same thing: security. We are so afraid to love-so afraid of life itself- that we've given up the very nature of our being in trade for security. The institution of marriage is our attempt to create security...artificial social constructions designed to govern each other's behavior. We've intended marriage as the ultimate announcement of love but not constructed it this way. As we have constructed it, it is the ultimate announcement of fear"

I thought i believed that all people were fundamentally good. I still think most are but All? There is a certain kins of naiveté required to have an overarching positive belief like this rooted in nothing but hope. for me thats since gone. Once jaded, theres no going back. There is a level of ignorance and lack of knowledge that is the real inhibitor keeping people from their "goodness". This level of understanding was something i believed to be innate. Turns out, at least in my opinion, there is a learning curve.

It is nothing short of a blessing to find the few and far between that are genuinlly good, beautiful. If any of you beautiful people have any answers, i'm listening.

A wise man once told me

... So when you demonstrate your love for one person, you are doing it so in a way in which you cannot do so with another. Your thoughts, words, actions - your responses- are literally impossible to duplicate-one of a kind...just as is the person for whom you have these feelings.

If the time has come when you have desired this special demonstration with one person alone, then choose it. Announce it, and declare it. Yet make your declaration an announcement moment-to-moment of your freedom, not your ongoing obligation For true love is always free, and obligation cannot exist in the space of love.

If you see your decision to express your love in a particular way with only one particular other as a sacred promise, never broker, the day may come when you will experience that promise as an obligation- and you will resent it. Yet if you see this decision no as a promise, made only once, but as a free choice, made over and over, the day of resentment will never come.

Remember this: There is only one sacred promise-and that is to tell and live your truth. All other promises are forfeitures of freedom, and that can never be sacred. For freedom is Who You Are. If you forfeit freedom, you forfeit Self.

...for the two beautiful women who have been my sanity for months...

Fuck Lebron James. Let's talk about Chris Bosh's Haircut

Often I wonder why people knowingly choose to look (for lack of a better word) uglier than they have to. If you don't know what i'm talking about, you be the judge.

HONESTLY?!?.....That is the same man. Its the difference between "Um please don't talk to me, don't even look in my direction. I Feel like a piece of steak you're preying on" to "hello, is a pleasure to meet you".

I mean, we all knew. He was published in articles like, "worst hair in sports" & "Worst Haircuts in the NBA." Chris, what took you so long?

FFT

Atlanta's Crime Rate

Dear Atlanta Police:

We cannot take you seriously when you attempt to demand authority while riding around in one of these. If I weren't retired as a criminal i'd be pretty confident I could outrun that.

Sincerely,

Yours Truly

This is not a fucking soccer blog...

But that shit just happens to be on my mind so you can deal with it. The world cup ends on Sunday fuckers.

Two reasons i love Bill Simmons especially his comments on the world cup.

One...

Question No. 13: If you could change anything about soccer, what would it be?

I hate how teams milk leads in the last 15-20 minutes by faking injuries and taking forever to sub players. When that Ghana player had to be carried off on a stretcher at the tail end of the America game, then hopped off like nothing ever happened as soon as the stretcher was out of bounds, I thought that was appalling. Actually, it made me want to go to war with Ghana. I wanted to invade them. I'm not even kidding. That's another great thing about the World Cup: Name another sport in which you genuinely want to invade other countries when you lose.

Now obviously given my below post I was pulling for the lone stars of the African nation....but that shit is fucking annoying. You know damn well you are too big, strong and athletic to be rolling around like little girls after getting kicked in the shins by other little girls. This is the most uncool thing about professional mens soccer. I mean for christ sake...

This is the WPS (Womens Professional Soccer, assholes) compliments of the weekend and this is a more legitimate than anything I've seen in the World Cup (with maybe todays bicycle kick to the face as the only thing coming close) ... and they both got up!

Two...

Question No. 14: What's been the strangest thing about the 2010 World Cup?

To hear Germany described in such likable, underdoggy tones. Who would have thought these young upstarts would jell this fast? It's like the announcers were talking about the 2008 Tampa Bay Rays or something … if the Tampa Bay Rays had started two world wars and nearly brought down Europe.

Pure Comedy. Thank you Bill. Whats a little genocide humor to lighted up the day.

As an athlete... 4:54 on

Disbeleif

Ghana...the hopes of Africa rested on your shoulders and millions around the world prayed for the miracle. We are a people of hope who favor the upset and will always pull for the Cinderella story. As a fan of the international sport i was among in the middle of laguardia with masses willing t miss their flight to observe the magic of an international upset. You could find me in the back, nerd glasses and a bright red tee adorned "enjoy Coke" jumping from my seat every time the Blackstars shot was cleared of the line. The chance for some bigger than Obama history to be made came...and went. My chest tightened like i missed. If only that crossbar was six inches higher... history would have been made today.

Blackstars made a nation proud