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.