2:34 AM

Death...

I've never felt closer to you. You... Sheol... I have a special name for you today... Fetor hepaticus. Breath of the dead we call it. And you knew it. You were following his every move. With time... Accumulation. With accumulation, you carefully placed yourself in his blood. With every inhale... exhale....his aspirations grew violent. I couldn't catch his choke. I didn't know how. Liver flowing with disease following it's natural process.... You created a poisonous path aiming straight for his broken heart. His last taste of life was dark and bitter. I take a sip for him. My pallet seduces my mind. My mind releases my body and there he is... Brought back to life through me. His touch on my face is warm in my tears. My heart grows heavy with his pain. I close my heavy eyes in sleep to be released from his death only to wake again with his life on my mind. I don't know what I'd do without my hope. 

Hosea 13:14

From the power of the grave I will redeem them;

From death I will recover them.

Where are your stings, O Death?

Where is your destructiveness, O Grave?

The resurrection of the dead, an underserved kindness on God's part, is essential to mankind's happiness and to the undoing of all the harm, suffering, and oppression the have come upon the human race. These things have befallen man as a result of his imperfection and sickness, the wars he has waged, the murders committed, and the inhumanities practiced by wicked people at the instance of Satan the Devil. We cannot be completely happy if we do not believe in a resurrection. The apostle Paul expressed the feeling in these words: "If in this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all men to men to be pitied,"-1Co 15:19

Where do I start?

As usual I come back to this road... This space of links and numbers and no connecting. Back to these desperate notes I leave trailing about once a year now it seems... Which makes no sense. I assure you.... whoever reads these things... that my life is like a brilliantly ruined record. Classic, richly cracked, scratched vinyl... With 365 days a year, a slot of time in a day... I would succeed my successors in blogging post. I always show up with a story to tell. Always. Though I would like to form my next sentence with the words "I hold my peace" I am afraid that this is the only outlet I have left... I never imagined so much pain. There is no peace. Hasn't been for so long. Stuck here again. Alone. When I lay down to sleep, it feels like I have been shot in my heart and he....he in his own precious head. I wake up each day with the taste of blood in my mouth. The words... Why?? How???...are seconds and thoughts of  "If only I could have" "This isn't real".... are by the minute. My mouth is full and I cant hold this thick rage... I spew these bloody words all over the innocent. The ones who will never understand what it feels like to swallow the abyss. Watch me simmer in thought and bitter as I keep these pages blank. I don't know if I'm ready.

Words Right Out Of Our Mouths.

This issue hit me twice in one day. This issue also continues to thrive with little to no resolution causing nothing but further separation. The concept of a "mad black woman". I was going to add my own personal thoughts and opinions but this brotha said it all. 

Sub-agendas. Poison of partiality.

Spring Cleaning...

Two years ago yesterday was the last time I posted my thoughts upon this site. Two years ago yesterday I had no perspicacity as to my own deepest affairs. Today, I am completely stripped of the ideas, opinions, shoulders, and goals I previously had. Two years ago is a considerable amount of time and I have taken ONE very important step. A step away from hate. I hated myself and I did not know it until today. Two years ago I covered my hate in pretty colors, secular goals, and hidden addictions. Two years ago I said I was ready. Two years ago I thought I knew who I was… Two years ago I lied. Two years ago I still had my dad, an apartment, and a unhealthy appetite for affection. Today, I have nothing but Jehovah and bittersweet solitude. Today because of the past two years, I am not afraid to take responsibility for every action, reaction, or revolt. Today I do not fear change. I will not fear difference. I will have but one fear, one hope, and one goal. Today I desire balance, love, and righteousness. My desire for a simple life has been simply unfolding affront just as the rest of you who are growing in this "time of the harvest." For those of you who have love etch into the linings of your heart; you have/will forgive my errors, welcome me upon my return, and desire my happiness just as I do for you... As for the rest of yous... I guess you will just have to learn that life stops for none until death and Jah willing, I have many years to go so I can't give up.

"Knock, And He'll open the door
Vanish and He'll make you shine like the sun
Fall, And He'll raise you to the heavens
Become nothing, And He'll turn you into everything."-Rumi

Personal Narratives....

A personal narrative I did for speech....

Tanisha Thomas, a young woman (27 to be exact), decides that she would love to take her life up a few notches. Studying for her RN still a true culinary artist at heart, she will also explore various painting techniques, photography, as well as a few lessons in piano. Currently working for an ER in East LA, while attending school in the West, life has given her innumerable experiences creating a collage of mental and spiritual building blocks. Speaking of spiritual…  she is very much one of Jehovah’s Witnesses and is coming to a door near you. No this does not mean she claims to be anything perfect, she understands that in this world perfection is just a perfect term for God. She simply chooses to acknowledge his existence. And on that note.... Tanisha is no stranger of the underground and she keeps well hidden from anything main-stream. And while we are on the word stream, exist in her ipod a unique assortment of tunes in languages she’s pretty ignorant to; but all is well when it comes to illuminating melodies. Who could argue with that? Tanisha also enjoys long drives late in the night, the occasional cup of coffee over smooth conversation, and surprise gummy bears. Tanisha is very single. But not necessarily looking. Tanisha has no kids but when the time is right (meaning marriage) she plans on having a tribe with a man who is capable of hunting antelope and building huts from the ground up. Did I mention that she is silly? She’s kind of a little….. Well; very dramatic and kind of a weirdo in some respects. Over all, this young lady has been through a lot but one thing is for sure, she enjoys her life very much.

Coming Up!

Everything we love about cruising down Crenshaw,,, random positive daily bible messages lol....

Astro.............................

Family bonding….

As I sit here dwelling on the amazing cup of coffee (which all taste like hot dirt water to me lol) and I can not help but to reflect on how everyday owns itself. It may not be as adventurous as you would like, but it’s always filled with so many valuable lessons.  The number 1 life lesson to me is to learn the the lesson of just living. We don’t do this enough. "just live." Nowadays we're busy taking so many facebook pictures that we miss out on the actual brilliant, vibrant, life motions. With that said…. I shared a “cold one” with my mom yesterday lol… ok ok…. I know, just like us ‘N’ words lol!! But it was long overdue. After trying to persuade her for a good ten minutes, she and I went off to the nearest hole to get our “miller on”. We pop the tops and chilled on the front porch to take a load off. We elaborated on life, love, and the daily dose of “crackhead” superheroes who on occasion feels the need to use her toaster(?).  We relaxed for a good thirty minutes and with every second I have come to learn; I am every piece of her. Every layer of skin, every giggle, every struggle. I am her daughter. Definitely. Of course, this would only mean something to you (the reader) if you are aware of my relationship with my mother. Let’s just say, it could never be what I would love it to be, but… we have something, sometimes. On that note........I quote: “As we become curators of our own contentment on the Simple Abundance path... we learn to savor the small with a grateful heart.”- Sarah Ban

Anyway.... Just thought I'd share... a thought. ^-^

For the love of Hemingway.....

 All men fear death. It's a natural fear that consumes us all. We fear death because we feel that we haven't loved well 

enough or loved at all, which ultimately are one and the same. However, when you make love with a truly great 

woman, one that deserves the utmost respect in this world and one that makes you feel truly powerful, that fear of 

death completely disappears. Because when you are sharing your body and heart with a great woman the world 

fades away. You two are the only ones in the entire universe. You conquer what most lesser men have never 

conquered before, you have conquered a great woman's heart, the most vulnerable thing she can offer to 

another. Death no longer lingers in the mind. Fear no longer clouds your heart. Only passion for living, and for 

loving, become your sole reality. This is no easy task for it takes insurmountable courage. But remember this, for 

that moment when you are making love with a woman of true greatness you will feel immortal.

Love... A Different Type of Substance Abuse.

Are you tired? Strung or cracked out 99% of the time because of your addiction to the idiot you call yourself being “in-love” with? If so… This is not the place to come for help. I must warn you; due to the contents of my current inspirations, I have no good advice to offer. This is simply a result of one cup observation, 2 cups experience, and a glass of plum wine (to add an extra kick).  What initially set this very emotional state I’m in was an assignment I was given at work. I was to monitor a patient who was suffering from severe alcohol withdrawals. As I watched this young man (who is in his mid 30s) I couldn’t help but to feel an overwhelming amount of compassion for him. I thought to myself… He’s so young, and the abuse has literally robbed him of his physical youth. I then asked myself… Why do WE all do this to ourselves? We torture ourselves with the various types of abuse and in most cases it almost takes something fatal to happen before we get up and do something about it. I applied that mans withdrawals to that of my own. I have suffered spousal abuse. No I wasn’t beat upside the head… No one Ike’d me. I’m talking about verbal, emotional, mental abuse. Abuse that I continued to take because I was “in-love.”  In most cases, they had no real respect for me. They didn’t adore me as those romantic novels would profess. They were liars, cheats, cheap, lazy, nasty, stank, filth cakes. sorry… Point is >they just weren’t good people< Stupid thing is, I dealt with it. What can I say. I was addicted to loving. Addicted to turning worlds around. Addicted to making these little boys dreams come true. I was addicted. When this addiction was removed i would suffer in some sense the same symptoms... Shakiness, anxiety, depression, fatigue, difficulty thinking clearly, and bad dreams just to name a few... Not being able to bare.. i would go get a replacement which would be a somewhat diluted verson of the crap I had been accustomed to...  So knock knock… who’s there? Abuse. Abuse who? I’ll keep on abusing you if you let me!!! Great come on in!!! I won’t care if you don’t!!! =D Ok… you get the point. I have personally gained 40 pounds, trust issues, and debt because of this common addiction. Funny thing is… We women are told at Genesis 3:16 “your craving will be for your husband and he will dominate you. Sad thing is… 90% of the time, these dudes aren’t even our husbands. Let me repeat that; THEY ARE NOT OUR HUSBANDS!!!! Get it yet? No they haven’t put a ring on it and they tell you they love it. We eat those words up (notice I said words) and we carry on with the cooking, cleaning, paying bills and dealing with child support cases only to have them walk away from us in search of the chick with the green eyes and silky hair whose idea of companionship is with his wallet. Still, we continue to fight and fuss about a man who is absolutely incapable of loving us. The definition of abuse is as follows: “To use wrongly or improperly; misuse.” See that? Our love is being used improperly. Get it now? We are being misused? There yet? You should be. I should be. I am still guilty of “using”… being used. I know that all of my home cooked meals, encouragement, love, and intellect is all a big pot of whocares, but overall, I love to feed the homeless. I am tired. Sick and tired but my actions insist otherwise. I find myself constantly pursuing cavemen who beat you over the head several times a day and expect you to have dinner ready when he’s done. Whereas a real man, with his unique tribal characteristics, would find me, tie me with rope and ship me to meet his parents the day we meet.  Well, maybe not the day but you know what I mean. He would adore me, take care of the family and hunt antelope when I desire to test my culinary skills. And even after all this I have said… even though I understand how I SHOULD be treated. I go the other way. So again… please, someone, tell me…. Why do we do this to ourselves?

Bitter Sweet

In your embrace...

In your embrace... from Wildek on Vimeo.

Round of Applause.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;

Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;

His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

-William Shakespeare

Where's Your Dirty Mind??

Wh3r3'5 uR D1r7y M1nD¿ from Devin O'Brien on Vimeo.

Return to Sender.

I am getting older and frankly my dears….. > I just want to be a woman. < Freedom to express my emotions when ever the desire presents itself. Freedom to nurture all whom will have me. Freedom to paint my personality on canvases for all to explore its sometimes hidden messages. Most of all… The freedom to share every piece of love dwelling in crevasses of my heart that only surgery could expose. Now… all I need is the King to give it to right? <Sounds so simple. Who doesn’t want a young woman who is capable of running a household, hard-working/economically efficient, a cook, and a goof when necessary? Please note: I’m only listing these things because I love myself and as cliché as it may sound… I know my worth.   I have had my share of relationships in which I received parts of the qualities I desire in a man but for the most; these "qualities" happen to be non-existent swindles and were only good for a few weeks or in such instances of convenience including: 1. the plot to “take me down” or 2. the pursuit of personal  loans and homecooked meals… hey… it’s a recession right? 

So…….. Here I am filled with warm yummy greatness ready to unload a type of paradise onto an actual man and yet, he is no where to be found. Funny because the man I believe I deserve is chasing after a skank girl who has never deserved him. Or maybe… Just maybe, he’s single and madness-free; and maybe even at this very moment, he is out for a long drive. Meditating. Humbly praying for guidance, knowledge, and patience. Then I’m sure he’s listening to “stolen moments”… perhaps the smiths or even boards of canada because the only voice he wants to listen for is mine. He knows I exist and is anxious about dissecting this crazy little world of mine. yep... More than anything he wants to know me inside out. and when he meets me, he vows to take the time to get to know me. studying me like a cure for cancer, I am a major part of what he lives for. He calls back; you know... just because; for no reason; every reason and all day. We speak in substance or at times as if we were 9 and 10 again…  he always misses me. He; spoiled rotten by me… Saturday morning cartoons, bad breath and all… he loves it when I whisper in his ear using my softest sexiest voice “let me make you some breakfast baby.”  He; well taken care of continues to adore me. When we fight, I am not left feeling unloved, unwanted. He will master the art of making up with me and forgives me when I’m out of line… We float together under starry skies, laugh at each other during karaoke, and he will be the one to hold my hair if I had just a lilllllllll too much wine ;) He will admire the fact that I will watch every game with him even though I have not one clue as to what’s going on lol… and he will teach me. He will be a great teacher. most importantly.... In his house.... our house.... we will be servants of God and he will not have it any other way. We will grow old in a love forever young.

One Day.

The Butterfly...

***

The last, the very last,

So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.

Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing

against a white stone. . . .     Such, such a yellow....   Is carried lightly ‘way up high.

It went away I’m sure because it wished to

Radiant butterfly shot taken in the widow of my apartment 

kiss the world good-bye.

For seven weeks I’ve lived in here,

Penned up inside this ghetto.

But I have found what I love here.

The dandelions call to me

And the white chestnut branches in the court.

Only I never saw another butterfly.

That butterfly was the last one.

Butterflies don’t live in here,

in the ghetto.

- by Pavel Friedman

Pavel Friedmann was born in Prague on January 7, 1921. He was deported to Terezin on April 26, 1942 and later to Auschwitz, where he died on September 29, 1944.

Five Senses Friday.....

Abby Try Again does a weekly Five Senses Friday where she sits down and reflects on the last few days. She’s always encouraging other bloggers to do the same so I thought I would join in on the experience ^-^ 

Seeing:

Seeing   the unity between the cultures as we all share in the same hustle… Recycling.

Feeling:

Feeling inspired as I drive through the familiar streets in search of the something unknown. 

Touching:

Touching the knife to create pieces of bell pepper for my supper... The sharp blade slices more than just the pepper... ouch  -_-

Tasting:

Tasting the “hard work” and “foot” of a meal gone right…lol I made penne pasta tonight…

Smelling:

Smelling the lit incense gave me the incentive to write…. The chocolate chip cookies are done… Goodnight. 

No Thanks.

Forget about the "black death" and replace it with a "black friday." 

Just a coincidence i bet.... 


Step one... 

An allied Puritan and Mohegan force under English Captain John Mason attacks a Pequot village in Connecticut, burning or massacring Indian women, men, and children. This is known as the "Pequot Massacre." 

The Pequot Massacre led to the “Thanksgiving” festivities. The day after the massacre, the aforementioned Governor Massachusetts Bay Colony declared: “A day of Thanksgiving, thanking God that they had eliminated Indian men, women and children.” It was signed into law that, “This day forth shall be a day of celebration and thanksgiving for subduing the Pequots.”

(Those who are indigenous to this land we call “The United States of America” have been long misrepresented and pushed out of American history textbooks in favor of glorifying those who now rule this nation and represent the dominant culture. What kind of democracy are we when education institutions and teachers refuse to mention the fact that 10 to 30 million Natives were killed at the hands of European invasion and colonialism? What is the point of having a “free market of ideas” when selective and biased history is being taught to our children?)

(~Broken Mystic~WP)

Step Two... "Finish Them Off."


As stated by James W. Loewen, author of “Lies My Teacher Told Me,” many college students are unaware of the horrific plague that devastated and significantly reduced the population of Natives after Columbus’ arrival in the “new world.” Most diseases came from animals that were domesticated by Europeans. Cowpox from cows led to smallpox, which was later “spread through gifts of blankets by infected Europeans.” Of the twelve high school textbooks Professor Loewen studied and analyzed, only three offer some explanation that the plague was a factor of European colonization. The nine remaining textbooks mention almost nothing, and two of them omit the subject altogether. He writes: “Each of the other seven furnishes only a fragment of a paragraph that does not even make it into the index, let alone into students’ minds.” (~Broken Mystic~WP)

Why is it important to mention the plague? It reinforced European ethnocentricism which hardly produced a “friendly” relationship between the Natives and Europeans. To most of the Pilgrims and Europeans, the Natives were heathens, savages, treacherous, and Satanic. Upon seeing thousands of dead Natives, the Governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony, John Winthrop, called the plague “miraculous.”
(~Broken Mystic~WP)

Enjoy your turkey! =D

“Who controls the past controls the future; who controls the present controls the past.” George Orwell, the author of “1984”

Lupe Fiasco Calls MTV “Illuminati’s Favorite Network”

Oh snap…MTV (illuminati’s favorite network) back on the attack…why can’t y’all just chill out? Salacious banality @ the speed of light? I think I’ve been very good natured with you. I personally know several employees of your company. You guys know me as well. I’m confused. Where is the true music journalism??? where is Suchin?!! What happened? Where are the honest critiques of cultural expression? For it’s not about being RIGHT it’s about being HOT. Fame over self-awareness and virtue. Hedonism over self respect. Celebrity over cerebral. A destroying force in our culture and society just like rest of the useless vapid spectacles that pour out of our tv’s and radios.

What are we supposed to be learning from you? What is your point? Do you have a point beyond corporate sponsored distraction? Your a materialistic shell of your former self that can only identify with celebrity pageantry and instant gratification. Corporate garbage pushing plastic lifestyles and wasteful, destructive behavior into the brains of the youth of the world. So when your relevance thins in2 a whisper & the stock price collapses and you have 2 come 2 grips with the mess you made. I’ll be here 4 ya. We’ll be here. With hands full of baby powder 2 smack some sense back into your body & a warm shoulder to cry on. We want the REAL MTV back!

Apparently displeased with this article from MTV, Lupe Fiasco spoke his mind on Twitter about the network on October 21st. 

Lyrics of the day...

"Walk Alone"

(feat. Truck North, P., Dice Raw)

[Truck North]

Trapped, no shield, no sword

The unbeaten path got my soul so sore

Allured by the lust, something money can't cure

The Devil want me as is, but God he want more

Eyes closed, eyes open, great another day, here we go

like a nigga woke up late in The Truman Show

Living life without a care, mean pokerface

But I'm forced to play solitaire till I get up out of here

Move like a wanted man with a bounty on his head

Work alone, sleep alone, eat alone, daily bread

Counting till my fingers red, how you gon' judge a man

walking in the shoes of a man with a broken leg?

Flame on the trail headed for the powder keg

Last place in the race I ain't never led

Like I ain't never bled, time to get up out of bed

Serving in the army of one, it's on again

Walk alone, I walk alone, you know I walk it alone

I always been on my own, ever since the day I born

So I don't mind walking alone

[P.]

I'm in a chess match, I'm in a death trap

I'm tryna find out where the eggs in the nest at

I'm one blood when the sky turns jet black

No love in the world can correct that

I'm in a slow lane, I'm on my Cobain

I'm in the new spot tryna run a old game

I got a new chick, put out my old flame

No peace, no sleep, no love for a young beast

You can put me in a cage

You can put me in the jungle where the lion get blazed

There ain't no hell like the hell I raise

I'd die in the bed I made 'fore I lay with a love I loathe

I'm a snake in the garden of bones

I'm a loner in a world of clones

I'm the piece that don't belong, see I roam

where the the Reaper roam till they put my name on a stone

[Black Thought]

The longest walk I'll probably ever be on

The Road to Perdition, guess I'm finna get my plea on

I pray these wings strong enough to carry me on

I promise every second felt as if it took an eon

Walking like the lost boys of Sierra Leone

The trail of tears what they got me like a Cherokee on

Between the ears something I require therapy on

for the working the bone like my name Robert Dion

I go above and beyond, the duty called, truly y'all

Even though they kind of blew me off like a booty call

Asked me if I'm just another muli or a movie star

Forced to face the +music+ like a graduate of Juilliard

Walk alone, talk alone, get my Charlie Parker on

Make my make alone, shed light upon the dark alone

Get my sparkle on, it's a mission I'm embarking on

A kamikaze in the danger zone far from home