The Past Is Proof...

In 2009, I vow to be myself.

"Love me or hate me, y'all can't break me 'cause y'all ain't make me."

Happy New Year.

Don't Say Nuthin'...

I knew I was right to fear losing my muse. Nothing's worked since the 17th. Clearly that's not to say that nothing's been happening .. I've been a mess. But writing has not been forthcoming. Maybe I've been too caught up in myself to opine on much else. Who knows.

I'll keep trying.

P.S.: This Common/Afrika Bambaataa Zune ad campaign is killing me. Please stop jamming this down my throat. Though if iTunes keeps tripping and messing with my OCD by corrupting my library file and ruining my settings/organization, I will be switching. No thanks to you, though, Common.

P.P.S.: Forget Will Smith in Seven Pounds; I want to go see (and mark out for) Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler. I'm dying to see this movie, and not just on some bootleg internet site. I feel like this film deserves my money...when I get some. I hear nothing but great things, and I like what critics and sportswriters have had to say about it. As a long-time wrestling fan-turned-smark, this movie is for me. I also want to see The Spirit... looks dope.

Soul Amazin' (Steel Blazin')...

Catharsis. At least that's what my writing means to me, most of the time. And damn Miami Law for taking that outlet away from me. A lot has happened in the last two weeks, and it's put a lot on my mind. And you mean to tell me I can't even write about it in order to get even HALF of it off my chest?

You've got to be kidding me.

Anyway, twitter/twitterfox/twitterberry/twitpic has done a good job of helping me stay out there and stay connected. Enjoy the random updates on the left. In the mean time, I've got thoughts that are climbing on top of one another trying to get the hell out of my head. I bet when I get a minute to try to let them out of the cage, the moment will have passed but .. maybe not. Who knows.

I'll pull it together. Stay up.

The Man Who Sold The World...

I might to be ghost for a little while. Thanks, finals, for ruining my blogging groove.

In the meantime, enjoy some Black Jesus (shout out to Aaron McGruder and his creative genius):

Black Jesus!
Ridin' Sweet.
Steve Jobs.

Feel free to laugh... and to not take life too seriously for like 2 minutes at a time.

So Cold...

If you know someone from the D, you've probably used this video to make fun of them.

If you're from the D and someone's made fun of you because of it, I feel for you. You're probably mad. I'm mad. I can't stand it. I hate when someone approaches me singing that song. I hate that people use that to make fun of my city ... a city, clearly, with it's own fucking problems. No need for youtube to add fuel to the fire.

Damnit, T-Baby.

But in truth, crazy shit does go down on the regular. And it makes NO sense. I mean, come on. Every day, every night. We're "The Murda Capitol," "Murder Mitten," "Dirty Third," and any other nickname you can think of for a reason. Just the other night... the night before Thanksgiving, no less, two people - reportedly ages 18 and 21 - were killed outside the club. I mean, I've been at the club when there are fights.. when people have guns, or say they do.. when people have gotten jumped, stabbed, beat down.. I mean damn. Can't even get together to kick it over the holidays without worrying about who's comin' after you.

Meanwhile.. Miami, my "other" home, went murder-free for the month of October.

When I'm down there, or away from home in general, I'm bombarded with attacks against my city. We're a hell-hole; worthless; most dangerous in the country. Yes, I'm one of those people who's been asked, "you're from the D... have you been shot/shot at/robbed?" question on the regular. I've gotten the, "do you live on 8 Mile/is 8 Mile really like that?" question. I've had to bear the brunt of every negative media perception of my city ... and really, how hard is it to paint a downtrodden city as a shithole? Especially when the residents, or former residents, refuse to stand up for it?

How can I stand up for my city when some good percentage of what is said is true?

I don't know. But I will. I love it. It's home.

[Stand up for what you believe in.]

Needless to say ...

... but flying back home is not the same without you. The first time's always the hardest, right?

Worse, I need my "best friend" right now. Need. And somehow, I feel better just saying that out loud.

Somehow.

As Serious As Your Life...

Be blessed, everyone, today. Be thankful for what you have rather than envious of the things you don't. Things could be much worse than the trivia that sometimes consumes our life.

Bless those in Mumbai.

Bless the victims of terror, intimidation, oppression, famine, and life in general everywhere in this world.

Peace. Love - the wave of the future.

Give thanks. Give back.

[Never give up/in.]

Yesterday to Tomorrow...

Breakups are funny.

Well, okay. Maybe more like long, drawn out, terrible, heart-wrenching affairs. They're horrifying .. awkward .. depressing buzz-killers that can seem to drag you down no matter how far removed you are from the actual event. Emotions you believed to be suppressed can be triggered by any innocuous reference to .. just about anything [there's always a link]. And then you're stuck .. "reminiscing" .. contemplating .. just generally in some ridiculous flurry of deep ["deep"] thought that keeps you from moving throughout your day like a normal human being. You get dragged down into this quagmire of lethargy .. everything becomes burdensome, painful, and stressful. You're torn between wanting to go back and fix everything and wanting to shut it out forever. You've gotten over it, but you're still treading through it all at once. It's mind over matter, and clearly the matter is winning. And just when you think you've kicked the issue .. just when you think you're at a point where you can say "it's over" and really, truly mean it .. 4th down and goal to go from the 2 yard line, and all you've got to do is punch it in to put this game away for good ..

Your dumb ass runs 98 yards in the opposite direction and takes a knee in your own end-zone.

Safety.

Yes, in the end, that's what it's all about. Safety. Security. A sense of self that trumps all doubts and uncertainty. Now, as we've learned having lived a few decades on this earth, how you achieve that sense of self is an open-ended assignment. But there's something about a breakup that causes us to seek that security in the very person we're struggling so hard to cut from our tapestry. There's something about us .. backward-looking people. Sankofa teaches us to "go back and take" .. taking from the past what is good and bringing it into the present in order to make positive progress through the benevolent use of knowledge. But when it comes to relationships .. especially as we just begin to traverse the back side of the mountain .. we look to the past for something else. We want to use it to make us whole; to fill the immediate void. We don't learn from our mistakes [quickly] and, thus, proverbially are doomed to repeat them.

Quickly.

There's no reason for me to hold on. No reason for me to open [and re-open] [and re-re-open] lines of communication that have been severed by natural means. No reason for me to make things harder than they should be. No reason for me to acknowledge or even honor conceptual promises that, in reality, are much more difficult, consuming, and potentially self-destructive than imagined. No reason for me to .. return. This is the chance to be the change that I .. that we .. saw was needed.

So, thankfully, there was a false start prior to the snap. Five yard penalty. It's 4th down. Goal to go .. ball on the 7-yard line. Clock's ticking. Pressure's on.

How will you put it away?

Falling Behind...

So, clearly I owe you (the world) an Obama post. Obviously. What conscious, conscientious blogger has not posted about our 44th President yet... present company excluded? While that post is coming, suffice it to say that I was like an old man in a rocking chair last Tuesday night... silently reveling in the moment, crying subtly (and then weeping overtly), and in deep, reflective thought about what I just witnessed.

Amen to that.

All of that aside, I have been on a serious music-seeking mission these last few days as I attempt to reconnect with myself (once again). In my search, I ran across what may be one of the dopest conceptual albums that I have found in quite some time. It's rare that you find an album that tells a story from track 1 to track n, but man... this one definitely does, and it does it over refreshingly original beats and samples. Now, don't get me wrong. This isn't some earth-shattering, Illmatic/Reasonable Doubt type shit. It's not heavy like that. But it is FUN...and that's an element that's been missing from the game for a minute now. The artist: rapproducer 88-Keys, known for his work with hip hop heavyweights like Mos Def and Kweli ('Thieves in the Night,' 'Love,' 'Speed Law,' and 'Champion Requiem' are all his beats), as well Macy Gray, Consequence, and Musiq. The album: his debut, The Death of Adam. In his own words,

The entire album is about the power of the punani, if you will. The album follows the story line of my man Adam who passed away and basically how he died. It all started off with him catching a boner one morning, morning wood, and his life starts to spin out of control from there.

Simple, right? I mean, we all generally agree that sex is one of those driving forces that makes the world go 'round, and that it is inextricably intertwined in 92.6% of all decisions that we make... in one way or another. So, why not take that concept and make an album out of it? 88' continues:

I thought, “What gives me pleasure?” So I thought, Polo clothes, blue label of course, give me pleasure, when I’m out coppin’. Making beats bring me pleasure. Money. I’m like, “Boom! I know what gives me pleasure! Pussy!” So as soon as that thought came into my head, I’m like, “Okay. I’m scrapping all the other beats I had made for my album so far, and I’m starting with this one. This is the first beat for my album.” And I just stayed on it.

Did he ever. 14 hittin' tracks, with running commentary that just weaves this whole story together. It definitely has those, "damn, I know that feeling!" moments that you just can't help but laugh at. It's the type of album that truly can carry the "hip hop is supposed to be fun, so let's have fun with it" moniker... and it carries that MUCH better than, say, a Souljah Boy Tell 'Em cut. There's a sharp distinction between "fun" and "pure coontastic ignorance," but I digress.

How fun can this be? Peep the viral videos that have leaked explaining the back story of our beloved protagonist, Adam:

DCN 27 News Piece #1

DCN 27 News Piece #2

DCN 27 News Piece #3

Seriously!? I'm loving this. In any event, The Death of Adam officially drops on 11/11/08. Support 88' in his latest venture. Though, I'm sure that through some creative searching (or by clicking..oh, I don't know, HERE) you just might stumble across a copy prior to its street date. The Internet is some sick, slick stuff. Anyway, guests include Phonte of Little Brother, Kid Cudi, Redman, Shitake Monkey, Bilal, and Mr. Kanye West - who also serves as executive producer (don't worry, there's none of that T-Pain/"Love Lockdown" shit on here). Need I say more?

Welcome to Oz...

Oh the Detroit news media is LOVING this ...

I can't wait 'til there's nothing left to report about mayors, ex-mayors, aides, or any other politicians/politricks.

Hope Kwame doesn't turn out like this though.
Life behind the walls.

As the world turns...

Updates on the mayoral race in Detroit:

• Political consultant Adolph Mongo this morning filed a request with the City Clerk's Office to remove Mayor Kenneth V. Cockrel Jr.'s name from the ballot for the February special mayoral election, claiming that Cockrel lied when he signed an affidavit that he was in compliance with election rules. Cockrel, it has been found, owes $42,000 in fines to the city in campaign finance fees.
• Pages upon pages of illicit text messages between ex-mayor Kwame Malik Kilpatrick and Christine "Freaky Chris" Beatty were released by a Michigan court yesterday. From "text sex" to coverups, the texts - only a fraction of the many that exist on city-issued SkyTel two-way pagers - also shed light on other underhanded dealings involving the mayor and ... others.
  

The plot thickens...

Fracture...

Peace, Kwame: Former Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick

18 candidates. One defamed position.

Yesterday marked the deadline for throwing your hat into the political ring to claim the position of Mayor of Detroit. 18 competitors - some new, some old, some well-known, some obscure, some just because - filed their petitions with the City Clerk's office before the deadline yesterday afternoon. In a city that was on the rise, now devastated by scandal and bad horrendous national press, division has become the calling card of the day. February 24, 2009, Detroiters [those willing to show up to the polls] will be deciding which of these candidates should move forward into the general election to come.

18 men and women running on the 'ABK' (Anybody But Kwame) platform vying for the love of a city that is fed up with being lied to, pimped, set up, bitch-slapped, and trampled on. Some candidates will run on the theory that they should have been elected five years ago (Freeman Hendrix, Rev. Nick Hood III), some on significant change platforms (interim Mayor Ken Cockrell, Jr.), some on the belief that the ENTIRE last regime wasn't all that bad (former general counsel to Mayor Kilpatrick Sharon McPhail), some on name recongnition (former Detroit Piston Dave Bing, one-term state Rep. Coleman A. Young II), some who want to prove that they weren't just out to get Kwame.. but want his job instead (Angelo Brown, Duane Montgomery), and some just because (like Stanley Christmas, Brenda Sanders, Jerroll Sanders, and D. Etta Wilcoxon, among others).

Fracture.

My city is divided. Residents are tired. And now they're faced with 18 new and "new" faces to choose from, all of whom promise that their tenure will erase the terrible stain of the last twelve months. The question is who will actually have something to say, who will actually have a plan to DO something rather than just argue "I'm better than the last guy." Now a city that can barely rally behind its interim mayor or its disunified city council; a city that is sick and tired of its own government and is feeling the pain of decades of mismanagement; a city that was becoming proud but just had the air sucker-punched out of it must choose from a field of 18 'ABK' candidates who is best fit to run our city.

Who will come with the realness? Who will actually have a platform, actually have ideas, actually make decisions without the use of a political machine in the backgroun? Who knows the city, the issues? Who can actually BUILD upon the momentum of the Kilpatrick administration [pre-mess] and rebuild the city's image? What happens in year three, when Kwame is all but a distant nightmarish memory and the city is still "on the come up?"

The city needs coalition ... it needs cooperation. No more back-biting and deception. And the first step toward that is not having an 18-player primary. [My sincere hope is that some of these names drop out by the Friday deadline to do so. Giving people so many choices on the February ballot leads me to believe that there will be very few clear frontrunners ... at least given my sense of the city's political pulse and frustration.]

But politics are a funny game. And somehow, election season always works itself out. Though the field seems crowded, I'm not in the city right now to see how people are reacting; I'm just an interested observer from afar. I can only hope that my battered, beaten, bruised city can recover and pull itself from the toxic cloud it's been entrenched in since ... well ... for quite some time.

Eighteen? Show me the one.

Drifting...

i thought i saw the one.

you know, that one -
who draws from you
breaths you have yet to even think of.
the one who arouses your sensibilities
piques your curiosities
incites your passions
and just might turn you on.

i got excited
flustered
feverish,
ready to jump headlong
in the abyss until i took note...

same style, hair, shape;
that hint of 'sun kissed' fused with 'mid-night;'

familiar like broken records,
scratched cds
and mixtapes made off the radio
born late at night
and delivered discretely
into backpacks at lunchtime
by someone else
because you were too shy
to do it yourself

familiar like an unfinished piece...

and a smile like sunset:
not portending the day,
but rather inviting you into the night.

She even looked at me
playfully
with the same teasing stare
that called me to your aura
in the first damn place.

(i wish you weren't so beautiful.)

how dare she be
as perfect as you?

i hated her before i knew her
for making me cry false, saltly tears of
sorrowful morning
after mourning.
hated her before she could utter redeeming noun,
name,
or verb
about how she was
being,
different,
a love like none other.
before she could blow like
storm winds
against my unstable center.

before she could leave love notes
on half shower-fogged mirrors
tuesdays
while i sleep in.

before she could kiss me
every night
and wish me sweet dreams,
which she vows to see me in.

before our first anniversary.

before our last.

before she could
set me up
to let me down

because she's not you.

i left her at hello,
well,
less than,
a fleeting half-smile
passing in a crowd
by that coffee place
on my way home that day;
she could be the one,
but who may ever know.

i called to tell you
like i used to

and listen to your stories.
to hear your laugh;
to quell your anger,
calm your nerves,

to love you
like i
thought
i knew how.

but your voicemail was full.

i'll try again tomorrow.

Reconnect

There's a certain simplicity that comes with feeling like yourself. It's that brief flirtation with familiarity.. the feeling of normalcy.. a certain deja vu that occurs when you finally stop feeling further from yourself with each passing moment. Sure, you tend to look like yourself on the outside regularly .. and sure, there are some people who can tell when you're just shy of your normal greatness. But it's about that that internal feeling - the one you get when you're at home, alone, lying on your bed and looking at the ceiling after a long day and find yourself smiling, slightly, for no apparent reason - when you know you're truly content. Who knows why you snapped out of your funk.. who knows when your spirit re-descended into your skin and you were no longer living an out-of-body dream (or nightmare, as the case may be).. who knows how long the feeling will last. But it's there.

I'm there.

It can begin innocuously.. something simple, like rising before your alarm and beginning your day just a bit earlier.. and can snowball into a host of good feelings. Suddenly, instead of being a half-step behind life, you've got the jump. Everything begins to fall into place. Productivity becomes natural, and efficiency becomes the day's calling card. Soon you're feeling better not just about the immediate tasks and obstacles - which are quickly being left in a wake of positive kinetic energy - but about long-term worries and other things that felt out of order. Instead of waiting to find that missing jigsaw piece, you become the piece.. the catalyst without which absolutely nothing would work.

I am the straw that stirs my own drink.

Things begin to flow. For me, I fell back into old habits that made me feel and act like the me I used to be. Don't think of habits in their pejorative sense.. habits are nothing more than "settled tendencies or usual manners of behavior." Sure, bad habits exist; but if you look at the definition of the word, imagine just how out of whack you could be if you simply stopped or significantly altered your "usual manners of behavior".. how changing your "settled tendencies" could completely alter your character and disposition.

Who was I? Who have I been?

Falling back into those old habits has already changed how my brain functions and what things I allow to occupy my mind. I think that was 90% of the battle right there. My mind is active, slightly more active than before, thus keeping it off of idle, negative, or dangerously regressive thoughts. There's far too much ahead for me to dwell on what lurks in the rear-view. A return to my old self means a return to focus, drive, determination, positivity, and progress. Sure, there are still bothersome thoughts.. but I refuse to let them be a burden. The positives far outweigh the negatives, and I have too much to accomplish to be held back. My urge and desire to see (and be) something new is stronger than ever, but not in such a way that makes me want to forsake the here and now. No. Rather, it motivates me.. forces me to explore options and opportunities. No more paralysis. No more stagnation. One life to live, right?

It's all coming back to me. Nice to see you, again.

Birth/Berth/Earthdays ...

I turned 24 on Sunday.

Happy birthday to me.

Birthdays always feed into the attention-whore side of my personality. It's always good to feel appreciated, loved, cared for, thought of, and all of that. What better day to feel all of that love than the anniversary of that glorious day or night when your loving mother birthed you into this crazy world? Birthdays, in that sense, are not for the humble; they're celebrations of your existence, your life to that point, and the life you're destined to lead.

And then, invariably, someone close to you forgets about your day - and the world stops.

Well-wishes from everyone else lack luster. Joy turns to questioning, sadness, pensiveness. As the clock ticks closer to midnight, bringing your special day to an end, you sit there and look at your preferred method of communication thinking, "how could he/she/they forget?" Your ego takes a hit. A hit? More like a crushing blow. A sucker-punch. In short, it hurts. All it takes is a small gesture to let someone know you care, and to have someone you care about forget... hurts.

Should it? I mean, people get caught up sometimes. I have the worst memory in the world; I know I don't remember things like birthdays all that well myself. But it's moments like this that can (in some cases) bring humility back to the birthday. The advent of mass communication technologies .. social networking .. have made it easy for a million people to send you birthday wishes without a second thought. What you forget is that there once was a time when people would have to take the time out of their day to find you, contact you, and personally let you know that they were thinking of you on your special day. That being said, when someone doesn't do that for you... it makes you realize just how special the people who do, are. At the same time, it makes you realize that - even on your day - life goes on.

I could be hurt, upset, saddened by the fact that this one particular person got so caught up in their life .. their travails .. their necessaries .. that I got lost in the shuffle; or, I could accept their contrition .. take it for what it's worth .. and be thankful that they even cared to apologize when the miscue was brought to their attention. In years past, I'd hold a grudge .. but I know better. Karma is a bitch, and I've been on her bad side for many a year. I think it only right that I treat her well as I embark on a new revolution ...

So, if you're reading this: apology accepted. And no, I will not willfully forget your birthday. I care too much, no matter how much I try to act like I don't.

I suppose that was my first test of growing up. I hope I passed.

The Return...

Good afternoon, world.

Today marks the return of something I hope to be doing regularly. I haven't blogged on a regular basis in well over two years.. and in two years, the landscape of the blogosphere [since the space now has it's own term] has changed in ways I could have never imagined. Just as all things technological have changed by leaps and bounds in my generation, blogging has skyrocketed into the mainstream as a way for people to express themselves. What used to be private, shared amongst a small community of users has become global. Everyone blogs. Everyone writes to be heard.

But it is precisely that which has brought me back to blogging. Whereas I used to write cathartically - just as an escape from my life, while giving a people insight into it - I forgot that blogs are all about opinions. Everyone has one. Everyone wants everyone else to know about theirs... mostly because, well, everyone thinks they're right.

I have opinions, too, you know. And I'll be damned if I'm going to hold them inside much longer.

So I don't know what to tell you to expect if your eyes come across this. I don't even know what I expect. I have some ideas, but nothing ever stays the same for long. All I can do is hope to entertain and enlighten. I'm going through a lot, so I have a lot to release. I'm curious to see who reads this, but I'm more curious to know just how into this I will be again. With all that said...

...I'm back.