human quality

often when someone i've pretty much written off as 'asshole' does the littlest thing to remind me that they're human, i somehow find myself accepting them as human. thanks for the chocolate necco's.

note: a shower stall

when showering in a shower stall where the temperature of the water is dependent upon the direction of the handle (found appropriately at elbow height), always be sure to turn in the direction of the hot (counter-clockwise in my case). better for the water to scold me quick than kill me slowly with pneumonia.

worldly notes

this is something i pulled from the notebook that i wrote a few months ago. it is incomplete. i haven't often revisited the state of mind i was in when i wrote it, so i just assume post it unfinished with the possibility of completing it in the future. outrageous, outlandish poetry turns words to bloody money for the poetically poor - struggling through the standards to fit the norms of a society designed to make the rich richer. health and health care exist for the elite while the rest turn to smoke to withstand the stress of being sick of the street. streets of a world where the rich forge wars against unfortunate souls and an unexpecting envirnoment. blood for money comes thick as oil, killing seals and melting ice caps with smelters that destroy paradise. clear cutting trees becomes cut+clear that rainforests no longer reign supreme. the rain pools in lifeless fields no longer suitable to sustain life - the suits get nicer; the rich richer. nature fights back, flooding valleys and spreading disease. hiv positively aids her in the fight against negativity - sacrificing those not prosperous enough to survive; creating a viral genocide combated only through education. but where are the schools? where are the teachers? they sit in rooms lonely, with books getting dusty. the street corners call kids from classrooms. saved from the bell, their bags and books are replaced with bricks that slowly build their walls of confinement - leaving behind the schoolhouse for the jailhouse. books and bars; the only things left to befriend. no dust found on those books now for they are the only true great escape beyond the bars and back to the world. outside it's sunny and warm in the depths of winter - no snowmen are skiing this year. instead avalanches and islands of ice appear as the world melts around us. maybe there is something to this global warming phenomenon?

musicovery

what do you feel for?

the three second killers

a great video of everyone's true favourite art form: martial. these guys aren't slow. enjoy. ... and this one is for all the inventors and macgyver fans out there. i really am trying to get away from video links.

seriously def poetry

i spent some time this evening watching 3hours of def poetry on comcast's ondemand (it's comcastic) so that i could catch up on the current season. i must say that it was incredibly encouraging to see such beautiful talent beaming from so many young artists. in a time when this world seems to be on a collision course with disaster, be it natural or manufactured, it is nice to find that not all youths are completely lost of the consciousness. those like dahlak braithwaite, who has braved the stage on def poetry more than once, and others like him will be the leaders and teachers when it comes time for the revolution. we will fight with brushes, pens, and photo lens. and we will win with words, dance and our own two hands. you must be the change you want to see in the world. def poetry continues to celebrate those willing to stand up for change - i, just briefly, wanted to celebrate def poetry. ps. i am aware of my recent increase of video links in posts. my only justification is that i wouldn't link to them if i didn't find them brilliant on some level.

crash

the landing was a debacle. a wintry mix of snow and ice forced a downward spiral that left me stranded and alone; cargo scattered across miles of terrain. left to spend the night wandering over seemingly familiar landscape; slowly stopping through the snow while i gathered the boxes that had once circled the sky with me. a snowy earth mirrored a heavy sky, reflecting the same moonlit glow that highlighted the clouds; illuminating each of my cavernous footsteps just enough to lead me back to the wreckage after each outing. as the snow grew brighter, now tinted with hints of orange and pink from the sky, i began the journey from my wreckage to my home, dragging what cargo i did gather on a piece of metal from the crash. arriving at what is suppose to be called home, i lugged my duffel bag and sheet metal through the door. my home had no walls, no electricity; but it was new and full of possibility. now, with walls and electricity provided i am given the opportunity to paint myself my own world. and i'm gonna. again.

a new level of humiliation

the fox network has taken the typical american idiot to a whole new level of humiliation with the introduction of are you smarter than a fifth grader? this wonderful show pits fully educated adults against america's youth, testing their knowledge in simple math, well-known history and common, everyday science. hosted by the country's favourite redneck moron, jeff foxworthy, the show proves both that the education system in this country is working to some degree (assuming the show isn't completely rigged) and that a typical american has a lower education level than a 10year old. a new low in reality from the american public and it's producers. congratulations. posts about the landing are in progress.

clear for landing

after holding in a pattern for the past couple of months my skies are finally clear. my earth, warm and welcoming, anxiously awaits my arrival as i anxiously await another fresh start. i am packing up my life and moving to new residence; purging my life along the way. while the move will temporarily remove me from my blog, i expect the experience will bring about a post or two. i should be back sooner than later. it'll hopefully be a safe landing - leaving me grounded, happy and home.

love and happiness

news about the brain always fascinates me. check out what the albert einstein college of medicine in new york are finding out about your loving brain. such a fitting story on the day we celebrate saint valentine and whatever it is that he did.

failing a generation

check out this report unicef released regarding the welfare of the world's children. it's completely upsetting that such global powers are neglecting their youth. perhaps there are bigger battles to fight than the ones about resources and power?!?

maybe i'm crazy...

... but gnarls barkley's st. elsewhere is still a part of my regular rotation. cee-lo and dangermouse are masters of the popculture craft, fusing two completely different styles into a spark of artistic innovation producing a sound that makes you sit up and take notice. their touch extends to their album/record covers and 3music videos as well, which if you haven't seen are included below: i thought about linking the artwork to it's corresponding video but then you can't look at the close up of the art. the artwork is first, the music videos below.

crazy - directed by graphic designer robert hales gone daddy gone - directed by chris milk smiley faces - directed by robert hales

they have been nominated for 5grammy awards this year including 'record of the year' for crazy and 'album of the year.' given their competition they should win both awards and then produce a new album... possibly?!?

another random life event

i was leaving the district tonight, slightly high and content with the days events, when suddenly an array of lights and sirens from at least a dozen cops filled the road behind me. i briefly judged my own driving over the past minute to ensure that i wasn't responsible for this intense police response. i wasn't. instead of being asked to keep my hands on the wheel i was being 'belled and whistled' forward into the intersection. as requested, i moved out into the intersection where i would sit as the cruisers weaved around me and off to save the world. it was a moment later when i realised exactly what the cops were doing out. as i pulled into the intersection i was immediately joined by a rust red nissan pathfinder, sprinting from my left, that swerved around my front end and off into the distance. he was followed by the dozen cops behind me and the few that were already in pursuit of the pathfinder. i just witnessed a high speed chase. as the amazement of the situation faded i thought about how a high speed chase isn't normally something seen in real life but is rather found in your typical action flick* or the la freeway. ...adding to my list of random life events. #2,179: witnessed a high speed chase. *the action flick link was originally the chase scene from the french connection, hailed by most as the first car chase in cinema. i later changed it to the transporter simply because i love the opening chase scene.

coachella

the 3day music festival in indio, california has assembled a pretty good bill for it's late april show including a third day ending finale of manu chao with radio bemba followed by the reunion of rage against the machine. stephen marley featuring jr. gong, ghostface killah, the brazilian girls, the roots and the chili peppers round out the bill nicely.

suits and straightjackets and cashback

during a past fff, a character briefly mentioned my suits and straightjackets theory. i thought i would take a moment to broaden and bring some understanding to the theory. before i continue, i must recognise that there are two types of people other than myself. there are (1) those of you lucky enough to not have to suffer through the angst of wearing a suit as a daily routine, and there are (2) those of you who may actually enjoy wearing a suit, believing that it brings a sense of accomplishment, importance and professionalism to your career and life. it doesn't. for me and those like me, the suit isn't a choice. the suit is an inconvenient, uncomfortable aspect of a job probably hated if for nothing other than the uniform; the straightjacket. the suit, merely itchy at first, becomes tighter with passing hours, strangling every part of my body and leaving behind the pins and needles felt throughout as my fingers and toes go numb. the suit coat weighs heavy on my shoulders and ties down my arms, the pants stiffen, cramping my legs and the tie hangs like a thousand pound noose around my neck. physically exhausted from it's weight, i feel the threads of the suit begin to weave themselves into my skin - it'll bind to me forever if i don't remove it soon. the suits handle on me grows a little each day thriving on it's eventual takeover and my becoming what i hate most: a suit. the suit near unbearable, i try to divert my mind toward cheating time; fast-forwarding until i reach home where the suit tears away at me as i tear away at it. i concentrate my day on loosing track of time by avoiding clocks, playing stupid games for added distraction and daydreaming about life. it is oddly reminiscent of sean ellis's recent short film cashback in which a young grocery worker discusses life on the night shift - notice the girl sporting the penn state sweatshirt (my alma mater). ellis's oscar-nominated short is brief genius and reminded me of a fantasy i recently discovered when reading nicholson baker's the fermata, a book i will definitely read again. i highly recommend watching the short and reading the book; they are both great works of art. my recommendation must come with a disclaimer that both mediums contain adult content and thus i must insist that you ask an adult before enjoying either - and you will enjoy them, trust me.

subway: eat what?

while trekking across the city today i stopped by the local subway to fill my empty stomach. with the perfect sandwich in mind i walked into a completely vacant restaurant immediately filled with the joy of being the next, first and only person in line. i approached the counter, standing like a pro under the 'order here' sign, when i suddenly realised the restaurant was void of both patron and employee. with the faint sound of running water coming from further within, i waited patiently until my solitude began to weigh on my time schedule. with a more than friendly knock on the glass, two eyes flashed from around a corner beyond the cash register. the eyes fled briefly, rounded the corner and were then followed by the pleasant smile of a young woman. with places to be, i got right to the task at hand, sharply delivering step one of the subway process: 'foot long, subway melt on wheat.' she pulls and cuts a white roll. maybe she misheard me? 'wheat,' i restated and with a soft 'sorry' she switched rolls, pointing at the wheat for my approval before pulling it from its tray. what i soon came to realise was that the nice woman preparing my sandwich didn't understand a vast majority of what i was saying. my expeditious stop for the long awaited sandwich in jeopardy, i found myself in a panic, pointing at some meats and cheeses, discarding others. i would point, she would point and with an agreeing nod, the selected would make it's way to the bread. the finger pointing method was working well until we stalled out looking for the bacon (a key element for any truly great sandwich). after a 10minute search for the bacon, i was about ready to forget the sandwich all together and get on my way down the road when a second, unexpected employee turned the corner from the back room. the language barrier, smaller but still stifling what should be a fast process, the second employee toasted the sub after which we began working through the second step: the veggies, sauces and spices. at this point, it was not to my surprise that they were out of barbecue sauce and didn't even carry old bay seasoning; nor did they have coca-cola available (neither bottled nor fountain varieties). i paid (the unfortunate third step), waiting another 10minutes for a pen to sign off on the now cold sandwich. totally discouraged with my half hour subway stop and now well behind schedule, i left, cola-less, with my partially constructed sandwich and a sour attitude. the sourness past relatively quickly and after adding barbecue sauce and old bay from my own kitchen the sandwich was quite good. in future, i will, however, avoid the local subway in hopes of dealing with faster food.

schwaggy

in recent weeks i have come across a run of some really awful schwaggy grass. i call it schwaggy because it isn't exactly schwag, but it isn't exactly grass either. it's been a real disappointment for someone who gets maybe a few hours a day to even come close to relaxing. this strand of shitty grass has interrupted my enjoyment and relaxation on more than one occasion and has upset me enough to deliver this post. the quality of recent herb has been staggering. in the last couple weeks i have had the harshest, the most bitter and one of the most fleeting grasses i have ever smoked. 3 different grasses, each with it's own different terrible result. now my throat is sore, my mouth still tastes tart and my head, far too sober. why not just buy better herb? simply because i have a hard enough time trying to pay rent and gas my car - better herb isn't always the easiest, best solution. nevertheless, plans are already in the works to fix past spliff tragedies. with any luck these joints will be left far behind us with nothing but wonderful, smooth, long-lived tastiness in our future. goodbye schwaggy grass. here's to tasty trees. until next time, this is i wishing everyone sticky, green wishes and cannabis dreams. may all your smokes be good smokes. good night.

superme

i told you i was a superhero. i told you my uniform was under my suit. well this survey outed me. 90% will power and imagination, 90% fast and flirtatious. my secret is out. i'll save you. i am the green lantern. i have strong will power and a good imagination. i am the flash. i am fast and flirtatious. (superme is unfortunately unable to figure out how to get rid of all this empty space.)

green lantern		90%
the flash		90%
iron man		65%
robin		65%
hulk		60%
batman		60%
spider-man		55%
supergirl		55%
catwoman		55%
superman		50%
wonder woman		45%

maybe you can be a superhero too.

punk'd out

i caught a preview on television this evening of some movie starring an overly-tatted justin timberlake which made me probe the obvious questions regarding the validity of a movie willing to star everyone's favourite mousketeer. as the preview ended i sat, stunned, feeling as though i must had just been punk'd by mr. moore. it occurred to me moments later that my favorite justin timberlake moment is watching him bawl to his mommy while the punk'd irs repossess all his stuff. please be aware that i am in no way condoning the show punk'd or it's creator - the show is absolutely awful. kutcher and his clan of cronies blew their load on the timberlake episode and have never come close to matching it's caliber. their faces (token trucker hats included) plastered all over hollywood for half a second provided all the warning the rest of the 'beautiful people' needed to catch on to these pseudo-jackass wannabe's game. by the second season kutcher had become obsolete, leaving his face and voice behind for hosting purposes. the cast had to be refreshed in a desperation attempt to revive the element of surprise to the show. quickly running out of ideas and celebrities to punk they turned to us, the public, for continued 'quality programming:' punking the everyday teenage girl shopping with her friends or a random guy just trying to take his date to dinner. punk'd had suddenly become candid camera. punk'd had punked out. still punking the occasional b or c list celebrity, the cast and crew couldn't live up to the challenge they had set for themselves - punking the currently famous icons. any idiot can plan on pulling a practical joke on an everyday jack or jill, but it takes a sly hand and a conniving mind to punk those people we all want to watch cry to their mommies. a truly successful punk should be well researched, developed and then brilliantly unleashed on it's prey. why not punk donald trump by locking out his bank accounts and canceling all his credit cards? now that would be a punk to be proud of. instead the show is a nothing more than a bunch of punks who are only punking themselves. i suppose kutcher and company had two options; punk out or man up - thank you for punking out and saving us all from your shit programming.

intolerable ignorance

a co-worker of mine today said that she hopes if/when she has children, ideally 5children, that they are gay like her. for someone who isn't afraid to announce to the world that she's gay and won't hold back a second to tell off anyone who's opinion differs from her own, i was shocked at such a statement from someone i had thought to be a more open-minded individual. her ignorance was astonishing and when i called her on it, she started to tell me off when i said that 'it would be no different than someone hoping for all straight children.' she could, of course, see the wrong in that situation and had to agree with my assessment. argument won easily enough. still, i didn't appreciate such ignorance. open your mind.

traffic jam

i drive my little piece of shit car all over the pothole-encrusted streets of this city, often feeling like every suv-driving-asshole is purposely trying to slow my travels to a crawl. it seems that no matter how much time i allow myself to reach a given destination the inevitable cluster-fuck of asshole-drivers surround me with an array of break lights and quick turns (without signal). even when i beat those assholes with a series of amazing maneuvers and lightning speed the district finds a way to fuck me up the tailpipe with the usual construction zone or inconvenient detour. and of course i have found the joy of really needed to get somewhere through the rush-hour traffic only to have the road bite back and leave me changing a tire after an crater in the asphalt tried to swallow my car. the streets of dc truly are an unparalleled obstacle course even greater than those marc summers would have you and your family running on double dare. add some rain to the dc turf and you too could be slipping and sliding around town like your family through the slime. whether you have 60seconds on the clock or 60minutes to get across town, the course is designed for failure. the obstacles, be it slide and slime or assholes and potholes, will, with near certainty, always make you late to the finish line. in my travels i have to keep a tight schedule and thus always allow enough time to reach any desired destination. it's not a lack of planning or time management on my part. it is the assholes and obstacles on the road that contribute to my angst toward dc driving. if only i didn't have to share the road with all the assholes, bitches, motherfuckers and other foes that have been cursed from my lips as i race past; the streets would be empty and the driving, dare i say, enjoyable - potholes excluded. ironically the same city streets that i loathe with such passion will be encompassing me in a matter of weeks when i move further into the heart of dc. you probably think that i'll end up driving in more of the traffic i hate but the reality is that i'll be driving significantly less; hopefully placing myself minutes away from the job and several other places of interest. instead of sitting behind the wheel yelling at the traffic gods, i could be walking (taking the physical challenge) in front of cars whose drivers would be yelling about me. it sounds blissful. driving will still be part of my daily routine and the roads will still be tainted with holes. but maybe we can take all the asses and fill all the pots.

the chronicles of narnia

after all the hype while it was in theatres, i finally saw it. truth be told, i find it sad that i get more enjoyment out of a 2.5minute snl spoof about the chronic-(what?)-cles of narnia than the movie itself. if you haven't seen it, check out the skit. it's hilarious and one of the only funny things to come out of snl in the last 5years.

holiday season: just add patience

i've always held great distain for the holiday season. it has always been a time that continuously presents me with constant worry, stress and opportunity for huge error. this holiday season was no different and lived up to every expectation. it included the usual family debacle spiced up with added house guests and inconvenient circumstances. add a dash of near unbearably bad timing and an unimaginably nauseating rollercoaster of emotions and you are left with an all too familiar series of 'christmas miracles' - some of which are still turning my stomach. the unfortunate events of my sickening holiday season don't allow me look for sympathy or a sedative because i cooked up this recipe on my own and, thus, have to eat what i stewed. the harsh words, raised voices and sarcastic undertones contributed to a variety of arguments too wretched to rehash now and too bitter to ever want to taste again (like aloe). i realised, only after having more than my fill, that the cuisine could've tasted so much better if i had added one main ingredient: patience. one might think that adding some patience to the holiday seasoning must mean that i typically boil in conversation when i simply need to simmer. the truth of the matter is that i am one of the most level-headed people you could ever meet and the patience isn't to keep me from blowing up; but rather keep me from giving up. i all too often misplace the patience, or forget to add it to the recipe, and then after about 5hours of cooking up the same fight i loose the ambition to continue stirring the sauce and just let it burn. sure, it'll taste like shit, but i've lost the patience to make it flavorful for everyone and, typically, give in. if i just add patience to the mix i would be closer to the perfect recipe and creating something that everyone can enjoy. no one likes being forced to eat sour meat and i feel terrible that some had to even smell it in the air. future arguments will find me with spoonfuls of patience at hand in order to prevent distasteful concoctions and create gourmet happiness. together - we will eat fine home-cooked cuisine again.

never get busted again

former texas drug agent, barry cooper, will soon join the rest of the online-entrepreneur-millionaires by selling his video 'barry cooper's never get caught again,' designed as a how-to on successful drug possession and getting around the man. barry will teach you, the user, all the necessary tactics and diversion techniques from concealing your stash to fooling a drug dog. trained by the dea, cooper was seen as one of the best drug task force officers in the country with over 8hundred arrests. his help can be yours for the incredibly low price of $24.95 barry cooper: anti-narc - welcome to the dark side.

the godfather of soul

the hardest working man in show business. mr dynomite. soul brother number one died today, the 25th day of december, from a heart attack; the result of a fight against severe pneumonia. he was 73. now, this isn't exactly the type of thing i want to be posting about and i'm not sure how i feel about 'tribute posts' but mr james brown impacted my personal development as an artist immensely over the years. i could never talk about my influences without mentioning funk and the godfather of soul. rest in peace james. thank you for sharing your talent with the world.

sweet engineering

together we can accomplish so much more. clearing skies... thank you.

the holding pattern...

... as it was so precisely put to me the other day has left me circling turbulant skies. the circling is nauseating but not completely dreadful. the turbulance however has left me up in the air and away from my blog. there are plenty of decisions that need to be made before i come down from these clouds (each cloud banging me back and forth like a football), and it's easy to say i will be circling the runway for a bit until i navigate through some of these desicions. with air traffic control helping me realise that the holding pattern is an acceptable plan of action for the moment, i've already been able to begin plans to clear the air and start my descent. luckily, i have found some inspiration in these skies and will hopefully be back posting anytime now. sorry for my flight delay. eta: unknown.

fff #62

this is the first post coming from my new sexy laptop, and my is she sexy. that said, i've finally completed an fff. i admit that it's not exactly my masterpiece but my head was preoccupied a majority of the weekend. just the same, it feels good to fff again.

He/She ran in front of…

he ran in front of the pack; sprinting toward a goal that he had been dreaming of for what seemed like a lifetime. the endless days of training to become faster were finally about to pay off. his newly acquired speed made his feet feel like feathers hovering on a gentle wind just above the ground; the way it feels to rush down a steep hill as a child. he moved so fast that the air made his eyes water and the world around him blur. his heart and his arms pumped in unison. his chest burned. his throat went dry. he tried not to think about what tortures he could face if the wolves behind him caught up. they each wanted to reach his goal, his dream, before he did. the finish was already so close. he could hear their banter and knew they were clawing right at his heals. one of them got hold of his shirt in a last ditch effort to lead the way, but was denied by his unstoppable desire to win. the goal was within reach and his dreams were about to come true. he could see the shiny silver truck that contained his trophy and knew that if he won there would be music to accompany his victory. nearly in shock by his success he sprinted straight toward the truck, running his fingers down the blistering metal as he came to a stop by the it’s side. out of breath, he leaned against the truck briefly and listened to music that reminded him of a circus. he looked up toward the side of the truck in astonishment as the glass window slid open. a man dressed in all white with graying hair and soft hazel eyes looked out the window at him with a kind smile. “what’ll it be, son?” “chocolate fudge chuck,” he replied, pulling his 50cents from his pocket and setting it on the counter. the man filled a sugar cone full of the ice cream and handed it to him. his eyes lit up as he took the first lick. his chest cooled. his throat sighed in relief. the first one in line at the ice cream truck – not too bad for the last day of summer.

update: a friend, a hero

evidently, i have one last quick post in me before i depart from the connected world for a while. to echo a previous post, there is a video on carribeanfreeradio filmed by wendell manwarren and edited by roger roberts, himself, highlighting his triumph at the new york city marathon. check out our friend and hero: roger roberts.

obituary

unfortunately, despite every attempt for revival, my laptop has passed after a long two-month battle with an unknown cancer that inevitably lead to it's self-destruction. it is survived by myself, creator, owner and friend. it was nearly 6years old. i ask that you understand this time of mourning. i will be unconnected from the rest of the world for at least a week while dell builds a new laptop for not just anyone, but only one: me (i acted fast to help the kids forget). i'll be using this time to remember the feel of my pen as it strokes across the pages of my notebook. hopefully by the time i rejoin the digital community i'll have plenty of posts to share with my new, younger, sexier laptop.

ghana youth photo project

i gotta say that i love the power art has to change life. the ghana youth photo project was started in october 2005 by photographer jamie lloyd in nima - one of the poorest ghettos of ghana's capital city, accra. i came across a video describing the project on youtube earlier today. the objective was to give ghana's youth a chance to become ambassador’s of their neighborhood, city, country and continent by showing the world a look at life through their eyes. the project provides these children with an amazing outlet to express themselves: photography; one of my many personal favorite mediums. there are similar projects already in existence in other countries like india and indonesia; inspiring hope and creativity among the world's youth. the sad truth is that programs like this should be offered on an even wider scale. in this day of war, mass genocide, and extreme poverty, the world's youth needs a reason and a path to seek out the beauty and the truth woven within the chaos. even in this city, the capital of the supposed "most powerful" country in the world could use more programs like this one. as an amateur photographer and a believer and leader of the consciousness (the effort to better the world), trying to create a program like this one is very appealing. the dc youth photo project has a nice ring to it - now it's just a matter of lobbying for funds and support. this link will allow you to check out some of the photos taken by the children in ghana. big-up jamie lloyd for her efforts to create a better more beautiful world. more to come...

orchéstre baka de gbiné

i am always on the lookout for great music, particularly music with a purpose. recently i came across this album: gati bongo by orchéstre baka de gbiné. orchéstre baka de gbiné is a musical group composed entirely of people from the baka tribe found deep in the rainforests of cameroon. the baka pygmies spend their whole life in the same forest that is continuously being harvested for wood by several international logging companies. this unfortunate conflict of interest inspired the name of the group - gbiné meaning help. the group's first album, gati bongo, which was released this past april echoes the baka people's cry for help. thankfully, with help from the global music exchange, a charity based in the uk, all royalties earned from sales of their album are returned back to the tribe. the album is fantastic and is available on itunes and cduniverse.com. the purchase of this album will support a great cause for a struggling people. give it a listen and a purchase for yourself- help the baka save their home.

hbo would rather women play nice

i love hbo. not being able to afford it right now kills me on a weekly basis. their original series programming is without a doubt the best entertainment television in production to date. most nights, hbo shows are the only programs worth tuning in for which is why, when it's not football or comedy central, my dvd player gets nearly as much time as my television. clearly, i am a huge advocate of the hbo network; they do not disappoint - until now. i was checking out espn.com today (yes, i am a guy afterall) and came across an article that popped my hbo bubble. apparently, an ali will be fighting at the garden once again. muhammad's daughter laila (the best known female boxer in the world) is set to be in one bout of a four bout ticket, including the male heavyweight championship fight this saturday night at madison square garden. the evening is scheduled to be broadcast live via hbo late night boxing starting 10pm est. unfortunately, hbo is refusing to broadcast laila ali's bout against shelley burton simply because they do not condone female fighting. while i, myself, am not much of a boxing enthusiast, it does seem wrong that in this day and age, where we could possibly be watching hillary run this country in 2008, that a network like hbo is taking it upon themselves to sensor the world of female boxing.

friends and heroes

i spent yesterday with a sweet trini traveling to nyc to visit two thirds of the 3canal triad. roger roberts and warrenman made their way to new york from tnt so that the ever heroic roger could be one of the 37,000 running the ing new york city marathon. holding tough through the 42kilometer race, roger crossed the finish line in the 224th minute (quite an impressive time for those unaware). as if i needed another reason to look up to rr - he really is my hero and one of my best friends. congratulations roger. i am very proud of you. the near 4hour lime with the boys, complete with bonus homemade barbecue, rice and beans, and macaroni pie, was entirely worth the 9hour drive. seeing wendell and roger is a rejuvenating event. they both thankfully looked happy and healthy, even with the p-funk-role-reversal experienced between, the movie star, warrenman and myself. thanks for the lime fellas. sorry to miss stanny. biglove and blessings to all the canals.

fff#59

i had a hard time with this fff and as a result it was a bit rushed. just the same, it's still nice to be fffing. thanks to jj for the opportunity.

It was untoward what he/she said to him/her/me but worst of all was…

it was untoward what he said to me but worst of all was the tone he carried through his near incoherent mumbling. it was his “long-day-at-work, third-glass-of-gin, you-little-shit” tone again: a tone that i hated and tried to avoid at all costs. it meant i would be waking up hours later with a headache and any combination of fat lips, black eyes, chipped teeth and bloody ears. i often wished my ears could bleed earlier as a warning sign; at least then i would know to keep my distance. they never seemed to warn me on time, of course, and the stresses of the work day and the chilled sting of the gin could be felt with each individual punch which i found was proportional to the number of drinks. sometimes, when the drink count was above five i was able to find him too tired, well, too shitfaced to take out his stresses. unfortunately, tonight had only been a 3 or 4 drink night, judging by the amount of slurring, and i had to bare the brunt of it. after i came to i would normally watch him passed out on the couch, staying awake all night to make sure that if he did wake up in need of another stress relief, it would be on me and not one of my siblings. tonight would be no different, including the strict promise that i would never let it happen again. i told myself, as i had so many times before, that the next time i would battle back. i snuck away from my post at the end of the couch long enough to see what stress marks he left on my face. with my head throbbing and my right eye practically swollen shut, the blurry self-portrait starring back at me couldn’t lie and showed me a monstrosity of a man i was starting to know all too well. i tried to wash my face clean of all its color, but the soap and water removed only the red; leaving behind the blacks, blues, and purples. returning to my post just after midnight, i noticed immediately that there was an escapee from the couch’s holding cell. where was he? i rushed to the bedrooms, checking on each room to ensure the safety of the innocent. they were fine. walking back down the hall and past the holding cell, the faint smell of gin got caught in my nose and i turned just in time to dodge the bottle coming toward my head. i watched the image of a beefeater shatter against the coffee table and quickly grabbed the largest shard i could find in anticipation for combat. he came at me in a drunken, staggered rush and moments later found himself with the glass shard pressed hard against his jugular. it was time that i hold up to my promise. i pressed the shard even harder into his skin until a bead of blood developed at the point of impact. in a moment of sobriety, i watched his face go white and fill with fear. my arm went weak and dropped the now red-tipped shard. “never touch any of them, or i’ll come back for you,” i said with a certainty to let him know i meant it. i walked out the front door and collapsed to my knees in the street long enough to comprehend that i had just nearly killed my father. i’ve never gone back and hope my siblings are still alright.

catch and release

if you love seafood then you may want to get out to your local red lobster or legal seafood restaurant while you still can. the next generation may not have the luxury. recent studies (another source) have determined that fishery stocks have depleted by one-third on a global level and if current trends continue the sea fish market will drop out by 2048. experts chalk up this near inevitable destruction of marine biodiversity to direct individual acts: the pollution of the seas and over-fishing. the technological advancement of the fishing industry, in recent years, has increased the success and ease of the trade and thus increased the tendency of over-fishing. both pollution and over-fishing are problems contributing to a possibly permanent change in the ecosystem - something no one should be willing to settle for. as a species we would definitely feel the effects of such a change and it is ultimately up to us to reverse the process. it starts with a conscious effort to cut down on pollutants across the globe. of the 48 areas in the world set up to protect marine biodiversity, all have shown an improvement as a direct result of a growth in the protection against pollution. over-fishing is, unfortunately, a problem that will require more of a political powered regulation. hopefully that will come with time. this is a call to stay conscious about our ecosystem and make every attempt to take care of it. if we don't, we may leave behind a world with far less than just a lack of sushi, shark+bake, and lobsterfest.

fff#58

sorry for the disjointedness and the lateness of this fff. with no time over the weekend, i wrote it today during work and had to continuously leave my desk and this piece. when i finally went to post, blogger was down. still... it feels good to be fffing. blink... blink, blink... the tv is on the fritz again. without that mind-numbing device to serve it's purpose i'll have to resort to numbing my mind by other means; anything to forget about the day's events. the television being out would actually give me a chance to do some of the painting i had been meaning to undertake. i've had the time but it's often hard to stay motivated when your job involves relinquishing you of your soul as you relinquish people of their money. nevertheless, all i would need for a successful evening was the right inspiration and my paints. getting excited about the prospect in front of me, i light the incense, among other things, and the apartment begins to fill with smoke. the inspiration hits and sends me bouncing around my apartment like a puppy with a new toy. i strip out of my suit (it often feels more like straight-jacket), grab my paints from under my bed and turn to face the four white walls that have contained my creativity for too long and become, perhaps, the greatest irritant in my life. by night's end, those walls will be filled with greens and blues and yellows and reds - just the therapy i'll need to rest my mind and remember what it's like to feel good again. the prevalent smell of herb and incense reminds me of the countless rainy days spent pretending the rest of the world didn't exist - i was happy then, smiling at the colors in my life. after spending the next 4hours sketching the world i was about to paint around me, i grab my first brush and select a color: blue. the anticipation of that first stroke is like waiting for that fabulous orgasm after hours and hours of foreplay. i stand, wearing just my boxer's, in the middle of the white room contemplating which wall to start with when there is a knock at the door. i wonder briefly which one of my possible horrors would be waiting on the other side, turn the lock and go for the handle. the door flies open and two 12gauge-buckshot-rounds pump through my chest. the mafia must had found out i was skimming and decided to do the painting for me. the last thing i catch with my eye, is a beautiful red color splattered across one of the walls. happy with the result, i smile at the color and blink... everything fades to black.

home

home is the place in your life where you feel most comfortable. maybe it is the place where you grew up: your parent's house, your old neighborhood, or your birthplace. maybe it is the place you come back to everyday, or the place you work in. maybe it is simply the place where you rest your head each evening or the place you find your family. for me, home has been nothing more than that key that i can't quite stroke with my pinkie finger; the same key which takes you back to the beginning... ... starting over. home has never really had much to do with family or location in my life. my "home life" growing up wasn't much of a home and wasn't much of a life. i found the true meaning of homeless early on and was forced to learn quickly how to take care of myself. i was eventually able to find comfort in my friends who were endlessly willing to help and were full of support. with time i came to realise, as i've mentioned before, that my friends have always been my family and the only true home i've ever known. even then, however, my sense of home has only ever lasted a few weeks at a time and is something i haven't had a hold on in the last 3years. i write this not as a sob story (i'm too hardened to care for sympathy) but as the end of a recent revelation. i went for a weekend trip to my parent's house, my old neighborhood, my birthplace about two weeks ago. i left the district around 6am saturday with an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. my instincts, something that i've learned to know, recognise and trust, were telling me to stay in dc. my car stopped on the shoulder for the third time just before i reach sugarloaf mountain; now very aware that i should turn around and seriously considered climbing to the top to watch the sunrise before returning to my apartment. instead, against my better judgment i eventually continued on my trip and unfortunately fell victim to a disaster of a weekend that not even a fallout shelter could have protected me from, proving once again that i should always follow my instincts (it's gotten me this far). what i had realised that saturday morning that made the drive to my "hometown" so difficult was that i was in fact leaving home to go nowhere. my home has found me here. it's beautiful smile has filled my life and for the first time ever i'm not worried about it leaving. thank you for giving me a home.

what does your blog say about you?

over the past two weeks or so i've had to seriously consider and reconsider this whole blog concept. i started my own blog, with some outside persuasion, originally for the intent of using it for fff and emptying my own creative mind. however, i have found that this blog still hasn't really become my own and thus blogging has posed quite a challenge. in an attempt to come up with a solution i began to, as many of us have, scroll through the most random of blogs courtesy of the "next blog" button. what started out as a search for inspiration, in hopes that something would spark a blog post of my own, quickly turned into the analyzation of blogging in general. what i found over the course of my searches is that regardless of the content, each blog is personal on some level and thus represents its creator. whether or not the blog is meant for self-preservation, or revolution, or if it is a daily journal, a place to vent, or simply a trigger to let your twitchiness run wild; each blog becomes a look into the life of its creator. it doesn't matter if you blog about restroom signs or constant arousal; while the product may be different, we're all selling the same thing - a piece of ourselves. within my own blog, i have refused to get too personal and have thus been unable to truly embrace this space. that is changing through some recent revelations and is beginning with this post. when this post began it could have just as easily ended with an "i'm done blogging" but instead i'll dip into that creative mind that i've promised the world. in closing i would like to big-up all bloggers for providing the necessary motivation to continue blogging myself. do check this blog in the future - there is more to come.

disney sex tape (edited 10/16 6:00pm)

before my departure this weekend i came across this: "disney says "non" to mouse orgy." my guess is that disney finally figured out a way to share in some of the billions of dollars in "leaked" sex tape scandels. the online video clips have unfortunately already been removed from the internet about as fast as mark foley's screenname from the under12 chatrooms on yahoo. check it out for yourself: mouse orgy on youtube. everyone have a great weekend. edit: after previously believing that the disney sex tape had been struck from the internet, i actually found a copy in google's video archive. the real mouse orgy.

echo

in response to a close friend's most recent post i would just like to echo her call for consciousness about the issues surrounding her home: trinidad and tobago. my friends have always been my family making tnt my home too - it will be shortly. some of the people that mean the most to me are affected by these issues on a day to day, thus making the issues important to me too. they deserve a mention on this blog, just in case someone other than sweet trini actually frequents this place and could learn something. check out this website, read up the issues and then thank sweet trini for the enlightenment.

in other news...

for the one of you that may check this blog regularly, im clearly trying a different layout. i was never particularly fond of the "tictac" template although i did find the green color quite pleasing. hopefully this change in layout will help me feel like the blog is more my own and thus inspire more frequent posts. give me your input while i test run this new template.

fff #56

thanks to some not so technical achievements i was able to trick my computer into letting me online long enough to fff this week. luckily, no one was harmed in the battle between man and technology that made this possible. another great starter this week from the purgatorian: the air was redolent with... i hope you enjoy it.

the air was redolent with a strong stink that stung the nostrils the way a habanero pepper or a stiff bourbon might. the pungent smell yielded an instant headache that produced a hard throbbing with each exhale of the odorous irritant. with the moisture suddenly gone from my eyes, i feel as though they catch fire and squint for some relief. i can barely see through my dried, frosted lenses and know a prompt exit from this toxic aroma is essential. the scent pounds my head harder and with greater potency as the room begins to spin like i had indulged in too many carnival rides. losing my balance, i drop to my knees, reminiscent of a grade school fire drill, and crawl across the hard stone toward the door. gagging on the thick musky air as it hits the back of my throat, i cough in a panic, hearing it echo off the walls as everything fades to black and my chest meets the floor. not wanting to die kissing the cold tile, i reach up in a final moment of desperation, grabbing the door handle. using all of my weight to throw it open, i collapse into a pillow of fresh air on the other side and breathe easy. still weak, i struggle to pull my torso up against the wall just outside the room. allowing my sight to slowly come back into focus i stare up at the entrance of the room that nearly killed me and read the sign: women. never again.

fff#55

thanks to the purgatorian for another great fff starter. this week: "she never would have done it if she hadn't got drunk..."

she never would have done it if she hadn’t got drunk… at least that’s what i tell myself; i’ll have to be ready with a better story when everyone else starts to ask questions. i had promised to protect her at all costs: name and dignity included. she was my world; my air, food, and drink – if it came to it, i would take the fall for her. the makeshift story i’m already developing has to wait and i force it to the back of my mind in an attempt to deal with the situation in front of me. i had already sent her to bathe and needed now to figure out how to dispose of the bloody corpse. i flash to a movie clip; someone feeding the remnants of a body to a pen of starving pigs – clearly not an option. trying to come up with something practical, i hear the water stop in the next room so i light the post-shower-spliff rolled to accompany my reassurance that everything would be okay. taking my second strong hit, i walk it to the bathroom and offer it up in front of her dripping wet body. i catch a fleeting smile as she brings it to her lips. i wrap the towel around her, pulling her close and gently kissing her forehead. as i head toward the bedroom for the car keys, i tell her “dry off and get dressed. i’ll be right back.” “thank you. i love you.” “i know. it’ll be alright. i’ll be right back.” outside, i quickly survey the terrain. i sneak into the car and stealthily pull it into a parking spot closer to the house. i walk back and she meets me at the door, still damp but clothed, and hands me the spliff. i take a quick hit and hand it back. “thanks babe. you okay?” “no, but i will be.” in this dire moment, the blanket that covered and comforted us so often in the past would now serve that same purpose in a different way. i heave the blanket, weighted with its stiffening contents, over my shoulder, carry it out to the trunk and set it in. i go back for her, not fond of her coming for the trip, but knowing she wouldn’t want to stay home alone. we creep to a halt on the bridge. the water that runs beneath us has a reputation for being so disgusting that no one dare go near it if possible. the blanket streams through the darkness and hits the water with a low thump, about the same tone as my car door closing when i return to the driver’s seat. i give her another reassuring look and we return home in a silence which follows us the whole way to the couch. “i love you, you know?” “i know.” “i’ma roll another spliff.” i knew the marijuana would help her sleep. she passes out in my lap before it’s half gone. “sweet dreams, love.” i whisper, just in case she can still hear my voice. i spend the rest of the night working on her alibi and mine, wondering if the stories would hold up; knowing that if it comes to it, i’ll take the fall for her.

scars

scars are permanent: beautiful marks of glory or pain, suffering or determination; each with its own story. whether they are worn on the heart, body, mind, or soul, these marks trace the history of their bearers' lives. a map of tragedy and triumph, scars cannot be ignored or hidden. i sit alone this evening nursing my knee with ice and the rest of my being with a nicely rolled spliff wondering if my fresh wounds will leave scars that i'll remember years from now. i crashed and burned today while free climbing wet rocks in the mountains. promised photography found me, at the time of the spill, with camera in hand leaving my body as the safety between the hard rock and my promise. those closest to me know that promises are not something taken lightly so with my body as the barrier, i took the brunt of a few rocks. my head now a little filled with smoke, i ponder over the newly developed scars; some visible, some not - all scratching at the surface to mold the core. the scars are beautiful and mold beauty. my knee will heal with time, and the scar will tell the story.