It's Been A Long Time

...since I wrote something

Yep.
I wasn't bullshitting this time
Ain't ya proud?

...it's hard to be a man when there's a gun in your hand

For some reason, that line stuck to me more than the others. Maybe I thought it was poetic.

Or maybe...
Nah (ie don't read suicide haha please don't)

Anyway it's been an interestingly down weekend. I need to soak in the sun. I feel that yearly beach yearning. Gonna make it happen, that's my word...

~Fin~: A Really Short Fiction

Tuesday April 8th, 2008
7:43am

They say the everyday grind will eventually kill you. I used to smirk at such a ridiculous notion, but today? Today I am a believer as my hand is suddenly cold and stiff. I try to move my fingers to bring back some sort of circulation, but it is proving to be an exercise of futility. Here I am, on the back of the BXM9 heading to my sale associate position at Green-Taylor Publications in Chelsea. Sitting here realizing I am losing this fight to remain conscious as I glare at the water by the FDR. Failing to form a call for help, I try to replace my fear with false courage. Like a bad pun, I’m scared to death.

I have so much to do, to see, to accomplish, but God has a sick sense of humor as Depeche Mode once sang. So sudden, no chance to prepare myself, but when has death decided to play a considerate host to the after-life. Is there an after-life? As much as I dismiss the Bible, I find myself mentally praying. Maybe it was one last plea. Why would God want to help someone who doubts He even exists? I decide to not continue my act and just give in to whatever is about to happen.

On my iPod Touch, the current song selection rests on a Nine Inch Nails song that would be perfect for this send off I didn’t expect nor want:



staring at the sea
will she come?
is there hope for me
after all is said and done
anything at any price
all of this for you
all the spoils of a wasted life
all of this for you
all the world has closed her eyes
tried faith all worn and thin
for all we could have done
and all that could have been

ocean pulls me close
and whispers in my ear
the destiny I've chose
all becoming clear
the currents have their say
the time is drawing near
washes me away
makes me disappear

I descend from grace
in arms of undertow
I will take my place
in the great below

I can still feel you
even so far away

And with my eyes close
My breath slowing
My face calm and at peace
Slightly slump my body and take in the final ray of light I could feel on the back on my eyelids. And with my last thought, she appears, punctual and exact. Stacey. As much as I was fooling myself, as much as I didn’t want to admit or realize she was the woman I was in love with. Miscommunication and outside interferences caused us to part on not so friendly terms. I find myself mouthing these words: “What have I d…”

I can still feel you
even so far away

Dear Elderly People

Move to the side and let me through
Step to the rear like Grand Puba is arriving and let the quicker people get on the bus.

I swear these elderly people do not realize the importance of time and speed. Congestion pricing? Sheeeet we need a fast lane on the sidewalks, my nig. I respect like 75% of my elders, but come on


*also if I'm turning and you're crossing the street, please put a pep in your step. I'm not getting the car fucked up because you want to enjoy the sunshine. STEP IT UP! Your slow ass probably lost me a parking spot. This is for everyone.

**also if you and your friend are sitting together on the bus, right? And your friend gets off before you, DON'T FUCKING SIT ON THE OUTSIDE ESPECIALLY IF YOU'RE SITTING UP FRONT. Don't you practice time management at work? You know you can use that skill in real life, right?

I need a drink...

1L2U,
Prov!?

Affected by the E Gee Oh

After starting a few writing jawns, I noticed I favor first person instead of the typical third. I might have a few reasons why:

-Since I like to observe people (which I've been slacking on lately), I would rather write from that aspect.
-To me, it's way easier than third person. Like seriously do we really care about the other person's background?
-I flirt with the idea of writing a screenplay and ten times out of eleven ain't nobody really caring about the other person's thoughts.
-Mofo, I was a poet/spoken word artists this how we talk haha.

So yeah...that's basically it. Oh and Betsy is now Bekka, sister of an illegal drug dealer in East Harlem. It *might* be sent to 50 Yrs From Now, but we'll get to that when we get to that.

Naimean?
-Prov!?

WTF, yo, WTF?

Why is...
When I'm unsober...
I get the most fucked up news?

Never fucking fails...
Never fucking falls...

Keep my father in your prayers

Betsy*

petite
hispanic
black curly-wavish hair
small closed to the skin nose ring
tongue ring (with a dice as the head)
glasses (almost like bifocals)
smokes Nat Sherman Naturals Mint
carries a .22 in her sidebag along with:
-lipgloss
-maroon lipstick
-a copy of "Don't Worry, Make Money" and this month's "Vibe"
-a small pack of Trojan Lubricated and a small of pack of Trojan Flavored
-a small bottle of KY Warming jelly
BX tat on back of shoulder

Oh...in case you're wondering, this is an idea for a character. Don't ask for what, but one day it might all make sense.

1L2U,
Prov!/