...Like two palms
Clasped
Fingers interwoven
Residents of the same body
Yet mutually exclusive
So they meet in the middle
Like the compromise of
Mature love
With the clinging passion of
young love
And the familiar comfort
Of real love
The consummate dichotomy:
Orginal love
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Balance....B****es!
I went to bed early last night in hopes of getting up and having a productive day. It worked the day before, so I thought it was worth a try. But when I woke up this morning, prepared to tackle this infamous book proposal. I found that my good night's sleep and good intentions weren't enough to combat the flood of emotions that met me as I read the book proposal outlines. Scared wasn't the word. I felt paralyzed. I stared at the screen in disbelief as I imagined the space between me and my NEW YORK TIMES Best Seller widening. The agents wanted overviews, and biographies, and sample chapters, marketing plans, run downs of competitive titles. It was overwhelming, so I procrastinated. First it was breakfast. Cheese eggs, toast, and bacon. Then television. Judge Mathis and the limited selection of cartoons I could find on PBS. Shout to Comcast for this bs basic cable package that is really just local TV and the Home Shopping Network. Unfortunately, I didn't need a cubic zirconium broach or a magic flat iron, and I wasn't interested watching talking trains or singing dinosaurs. The light at the end of the tunnel, Facebook. After all, Facebook was my favorite distraction. Beautiful, Facebook with endless opportunities to stalk and post and completely ignore any semblance of adult responsibility. Surely, this would keep me busy for a few hours. The only problem was it was early and all my very mature adult friends were at work. The postings were sparse. Plus it was Friday morning...so there were no provocative club pics for me to peruse or even any catchy limericks I could comment on. No...i couldn't avoid it anymore. I had to work.
I knew the first step was to turn the TV off, next I retrieved my iPOD from its case and locked my playlist on, DJ KHALED's, "All I do is Win." Soon the words came pulsing from my fingertips like they were extensions of me. I settled into my couch, with a glass of Cabernet. Yes, I drink in the morning. Don't judge me, I am an artist dammit. Lil Wayne has syrup, I have Cabernet. I digress, a few years ago, I tweeted that I ALWAYS listen to music when I'm writing. My reasoning is that it keeps my mind busy so that I can be the vessel I need to be. It's like the music completely occupies my left brain leaving my right brain free to play in S p a c e. People laugh at me when I say that sometimes I read things that I have written and I do not even remember writing them. No doubt, it's because as my fingers are typing my mind is wrapping itself around the lyrics of my favorite songs. So, I listen to music, we covered that. But what surprises me is the type of music I am attracted to. (Hanging head in shame) I loooove...... absolutely love offensive gangsta rap. And not the good kind, like NWA. No, I like the hood, trap shit. The kind you would be ashamed to admit you know that words to. Classic strip club music. WAYNE on the verse and DRAKE on the hook type music. GUCCI, WAKA FLAKA, RICK ROSS, etc. Yesterday, I think I listened to WAKA FLAKA, "No Hands" 50 times; all the while my fingers typing furiously about ego, S p a c e, destruction and a bunch of other lofty spiritual topics. I chuckle to myself when I think about the dichotomy of it all. Here I am writing words to improve, inspire, and elevate-simultaneously- reciting the lyrics to TREY SONGZ and GUCCI MANE, "Beat it Up". I toyed with the idea that most of these songs talked about luxury and leisure and ladies, perhaps I would just using them as an escape from my not so luxurious life. Sure, this was a possible, but then I thought that maybe my affinity for trap music was about something more...spiritual. The book I am writing is called S p a c e, and for all intents and purposes its a spiritual text. I have a lot of fun writing the book, I laugh a little. I cry alot. But in the end, its a labor of love. However, it requires me to be polished, to channel the energy of my highest self. To allow myself to be a vessel of the universe, and become one with universal consciousness. It feels great. But just like you would be ignorant to light if you had never experienced darkness. I needed balance. I craved it. We all do. The masculine desires the feminine. The day fades into the night. It is the presence of all things that make us dynamic as humans, not the dependence or over exaggeration of only the things we deem as GOOD. Sure, I could listen to Bach while I wrote or even pop in recordings from my favorite metaphycisist, Deepak Chopra. But would I feel the peace I feel, or write with the ease that I do, when I'm being serenaded by NICKI MINAJ?. I don't know. Chances are I may never know. My mama told me, that if I ain't broke, don't fix it and with this book deal holding the promise of a brighter future, one that MAY actually include luxury and leisure, I don't have time to be experimenting with my "fit." I have to do what works. But what I do know is this, as a human beings we are flesh and energy. Mind and Spirit. Each mutually exclusive yet interdependent. If the unseen energy that beats your heart were to stop flowing, your flesh could not survive, conversely brain death doesn't equal complete death.
As humans we encompass the tools for infinite good and infinite evil. Life is about balance...so until my last breath you will find me sitting in the middle of the see saw, a pen in one hand and a Jeezy CD in the other.
I knew the first step was to turn the TV off, next I retrieved my iPOD from its case and locked my playlist on, DJ KHALED's, "All I do is Win." Soon the words came pulsing from my fingertips like they were extensions of me. I settled into my couch, with a glass of Cabernet. Yes, I drink in the morning. Don't judge me, I am an artist dammit. Lil Wayne has syrup, I have Cabernet. I digress, a few years ago, I tweeted that I ALWAYS listen to music when I'm writing. My reasoning is that it keeps my mind busy so that I can be the vessel I need to be. It's like the music completely occupies my left brain leaving my right brain free to play in S p a c e. People laugh at me when I say that sometimes I read things that I have written and I do not even remember writing them. No doubt, it's because as my fingers are typing my mind is wrapping itself around the lyrics of my favorite songs. So, I listen to music, we covered that. But what surprises me is the type of music I am attracted to. (Hanging head in shame) I loooove...... absolutely love offensive gangsta rap. And not the good kind, like NWA. No, I like the hood, trap shit. The kind you would be ashamed to admit you know that words to. Classic strip club music. WAYNE on the verse and DRAKE on the hook type music. GUCCI, WAKA FLAKA, RICK ROSS, etc. Yesterday, I think I listened to WAKA FLAKA, "No Hands" 50 times; all the while my fingers typing furiously about ego, S p a c e, destruction and a bunch of other lofty spiritual topics. I chuckle to myself when I think about the dichotomy of it all. Here I am writing words to improve, inspire, and elevate-simultaneously- reciting the lyrics to TREY SONGZ and GUCCI MANE, "Beat it Up". I toyed with the idea that most of these songs talked about luxury and leisure and ladies, perhaps I would just using them as an escape from my not so luxurious life. Sure, this was a possible, but then I thought that maybe my affinity for trap music was about something more...spiritual. The book I am writing is called S p a c e, and for all intents and purposes its a spiritual text. I have a lot of fun writing the book, I laugh a little. I cry alot. But in the end, its a labor of love. However, it requires me to be polished, to channel the energy of my highest self. To allow myself to be a vessel of the universe, and become one with universal consciousness. It feels great. But just like you would be ignorant to light if you had never experienced darkness. I needed balance. I craved it. We all do. The masculine desires the feminine. The day fades into the night. It is the presence of all things that make us dynamic as humans, not the dependence or over exaggeration of only the things we deem as GOOD. Sure, I could listen to Bach while I wrote or even pop in recordings from my favorite metaphycisist, Deepak Chopra. But would I feel the peace I feel, or write with the ease that I do, when I'm being serenaded by NICKI MINAJ?. I don't know. Chances are I may never know. My mama told me, that if I ain't broke, don't fix it and with this book deal holding the promise of a brighter future, one that MAY actually include luxury and leisure, I don't have time to be experimenting with my "fit." I have to do what works. But what I do know is this, as a human beings we are flesh and energy. Mind and Spirit. Each mutually exclusive yet interdependent. If the unseen energy that beats your heart were to stop flowing, your flesh could not survive, conversely brain death doesn't equal complete death.
As humans we encompass the tools for infinite good and infinite evil. Life is about balance...so until my last breath you will find me sitting in the middle of the see saw, a pen in one hand and a Jeezy CD in the other.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Not Surprised
I live in Atlanta and recently there has been some controversy about cheating on the CRCT. The CRCT is an academic aptitude test that is given to students at the end of each school year. Like most standardized tests it is supposed to help evaluate students’ cognitive ability while challenging them. The problem is, it is also used to evaluate teacher performance and determine funding for schools. This is a deadly combination.
A few years ago, I worked in the Atlanta School System as an executive for Boy Scouts of America. Although my job was not as an educator, it required me to spend a great deal of time in inner city schools. My assignment was in the WEST END of Atlanta, in the poorest cluster of schools, SRT 4. The poverty was sobering, and parental involvement was almost nonexistent. I had students in the 4th grade who did not even know their address; others whose formal residence was a garage or a storage unit. Of course the conditions of the schools were also poor. Outdated libraries. Antiquated computer labs. Old and raggedy books. Dirty classrooms. Dilapidated school buildings. Furthermore, any semblance of an extracurricular activity has been removed from the traditional school day and outsourced to the neighborhood Boys and Girls Clubs that are even filthier than the schools. These organizations are more like glorified babysitting services than they are a safe and productive refuge for young people. Inside, children are shuffled from room to room, told to sit quietly and given a snack. Meanwhile, staff eats or plays on the computer. As long as the children are quiet and not physically dying, all is good. It was uncomfortable for me, and I was only required to be there a few hours out of the day. It’s sad, but I remember never using the restroom or eating anything when I would visit my students. Everything, including the children seemed dirty and riddled with poverty. It oftentimes felt contagious. I'm embarrassed to admit how I felt about my job now, but I think its important to be honest. Especially when such a serious accusation threatens the integrity of the TEACHERS in Atlanta Public Schools.
I was raised by an educator, my cousin has been teaching for almost 20 years and I know firsthand the unrealistic expectations that are placed in the laps of teachers every day. I saw my best friend, also a teacher, have items stolen from her and be physically threatened on a daily basis. Teachers in the inner city or overworked and underpaid. When the children come to school without supplies, the teachers buy them. When young ladies are struggling with personal hygiene issues, the teachers provide products and knowledge. When a student can't attend an extracurricular activity because of transportation, the teachers drive. They have to play the role as educator and parent more often than not. The children are disrespectful and unruly. They have home lives that would bring a grown man to tears. However, even in the midst of all the challenges that both groups have to endure, they are ladled with another one. A standardized test. A test that holds the future of the students, the teachers and the schools in it. A test that requires children to sit for hours on end, without going to the bathroom or stretching or having something to eat. A test that is supposed to measure a teacher’s ability to reach his or her students. The pressure is immense. Just think, if you had taught TO the test the entire year and you still saw your students failing...again. Would you not want to help them? Would you not want them to know some success in life? Beyond that, wouldn't you want to protect yourself from inquisition? If you knew you had done the best you could and the students were still failing. This is a reflection of you. No doubt you would not want to see your career going down the drain because a few students never bothered to listen in class, or because the parents didn’t review the material at home. Sure the students should be held responsible for their education as should the parents, but the teachers and the school bear the brunt of the accountability. And there is a major difference between responsibility and accountability. I am in no way advocating what the teachers may or may not have done. I am merely pointing out that resources are an important part of the learning experience. You can have committed teachers and willing students, but if they are not given the resources they need to be successful, such as books, technology, and parental support, they will have a disproportionate chance of failing. Faring well on the CRCT can mean money to buy resources for the school and students. It can also mean personal bonuses for the overworked teachers in the schools.
So, I can understand how the benefits may have outweighed the costs, in the minds of some people. I am not surprised in the least bit. When you back someone into a corner, they may sit quietly for a while, but eventually they are going to come out fighting. I am not mad at the teachers for fighting for our children...the only way they knew how.
A few years ago, I worked in the Atlanta School System as an executive for Boy Scouts of America. Although my job was not as an educator, it required me to spend a great deal of time in inner city schools. My assignment was in the WEST END of Atlanta, in the poorest cluster of schools, SRT 4. The poverty was sobering, and parental involvement was almost nonexistent. I had students in the 4th grade who did not even know their address; others whose formal residence was a garage or a storage unit. Of course the conditions of the schools were also poor. Outdated libraries. Antiquated computer labs. Old and raggedy books. Dirty classrooms. Dilapidated school buildings. Furthermore, any semblance of an extracurricular activity has been removed from the traditional school day and outsourced to the neighborhood Boys and Girls Clubs that are even filthier than the schools. These organizations are more like glorified babysitting services than they are a safe and productive refuge for young people. Inside, children are shuffled from room to room, told to sit quietly and given a snack. Meanwhile, staff eats or plays on the computer. As long as the children are quiet and not physically dying, all is good. It was uncomfortable for me, and I was only required to be there a few hours out of the day. It’s sad, but I remember never using the restroom or eating anything when I would visit my students. Everything, including the children seemed dirty and riddled with poverty. It oftentimes felt contagious. I'm embarrassed to admit how I felt about my job now, but I think its important to be honest. Especially when such a serious accusation threatens the integrity of the TEACHERS in Atlanta Public Schools.
I was raised by an educator, my cousin has been teaching for almost 20 years and I know firsthand the unrealistic expectations that are placed in the laps of teachers every day. I saw my best friend, also a teacher, have items stolen from her and be physically threatened on a daily basis. Teachers in the inner city or overworked and underpaid. When the children come to school without supplies, the teachers buy them. When young ladies are struggling with personal hygiene issues, the teachers provide products and knowledge. When a student can't attend an extracurricular activity because of transportation, the teachers drive. They have to play the role as educator and parent more often than not. The children are disrespectful and unruly. They have home lives that would bring a grown man to tears. However, even in the midst of all the challenges that both groups have to endure, they are ladled with another one. A standardized test. A test that holds the future of the students, the teachers and the schools in it. A test that requires children to sit for hours on end, without going to the bathroom or stretching or having something to eat. A test that is supposed to measure a teacher’s ability to reach his or her students. The pressure is immense. Just think, if you had taught TO the test the entire year and you still saw your students failing...again. Would you not want to help them? Would you not want them to know some success in life? Beyond that, wouldn't you want to protect yourself from inquisition? If you knew you had done the best you could and the students were still failing. This is a reflection of you. No doubt you would not want to see your career going down the drain because a few students never bothered to listen in class, or because the parents didn’t review the material at home. Sure the students should be held responsible for their education as should the parents, but the teachers and the school bear the brunt of the accountability. And there is a major difference between responsibility and accountability. I am in no way advocating what the teachers may or may not have done. I am merely pointing out that resources are an important part of the learning experience. You can have committed teachers and willing students, but if they are not given the resources they need to be successful, such as books, technology, and parental support, they will have a disproportionate chance of failing. Faring well on the CRCT can mean money to buy resources for the school and students. It can also mean personal bonuses for the overworked teachers in the schools.
So, I can understand how the benefits may have outweighed the costs, in the minds of some people. I am not surprised in the least bit. When you back someone into a corner, they may sit quietly for a while, but eventually they are going to come out fighting. I am not mad at the teachers for fighting for our children...the only way they knew how.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Nocturnal
Most times I don’t close my eyes until the sun comes up. Although I’m usually sleepy hours before, I busy myself on the internet or with the television. I oscillate between watching old re runs of the Boondocks and Facebook. Facebook is like the perfect distraction. It allows me to quietly peer into the lives of all my “friends” without suspicion. I can silently look at their pictures, read their favorite quotes. I search until I find pictures of their families, marveling at how many people are married or have children and chuckling to myself when I see how much weight everyone has gained. I reach way back in my memory trying to recall the names of former friends or one night stands….furiously trying to remember. To connect. I just realized that at 4 am the glare from the screen isn’t enough to create a mirror. I can’t see myself, snooping, searching, and most importantly wasting the precious moments of my life. Everyone knows that I’m nocturnal but I’m sure they assume I’m up writing or looking for a job or searching for an agent….I’m ashamed when my girlfriend calls and asks me what time I went to bed and I have to say 6:30am but I have nothing to show for it. Not a paragraph typed or a sentence edited. Just the warm buzz of my computer, hot from searching and seeking out the lives of other people while mine deteriorates by the day. I have gotten so exhausted with myself, with the cycle. So I’m taking the first step to change it. My sleep habits suck. If I am up late, I am going to sleep late. And the whole day is wasted….the cycle begins again. I lay around doing nothing and then its evening again. All the talk shows have gone off, and the “responsible adults” have retired to bed…. there is just me, my computer, Facebook, and online television.
I think part of the reason I am not able to focus on writing for others is because I have no place to put the parts of me that will never make it to the book. The dark parts of me that only show their heads between 4 and 6 am. The depressed pieces that laying dormant during the day only to resurrect each evening in the form of procrastination…..sucking the time out of my days; leaving behind a lazy skin sac. A unique form a vampirism. But I will use this space to purge myself of the good, the bad and the ugly; A place to ready my mind for the work of my spirit.
I think part of the reason I am not able to focus on writing for others is because I have no place to put the parts of me that will never make it to the book. The dark parts of me that only show their heads between 4 and 6 am. The depressed pieces that laying dormant during the day only to resurrect each evening in the form of procrastination…..sucking the time out of my days; leaving behind a lazy skin sac. A unique form a vampirism. But I will use this space to purge myself of the good, the bad and the ugly; A place to ready my mind for the work of my spirit.
This past weekend, my girlfriend and I had a lazy weekend. We laid around for the majority of it. Playing games, eating Chinese food and just wallowing in our love for each other. Late Monday afternoon, we peeled ourselves off the floor, which doubles as my couch, and made a run for some movies. I chose Doubt and she chose Julie and Julia. Surprisingly, Julie and Julia was inspiring but not just because I had attempted to cook a three course dinner the night before, but because the star, Julie, seemed just as hopeless as me when she started her blog. It was obvious that she started it because she needed something. Something to hold on to, something to believe in. something to do. There is a sick monotony that life takes on sometimes. Wake up, go to work, come home, eat, and go to sleep. It sucks. But for many of us, it’s a necessary evil. We have to do it. And sometimes, even for a novice metaphysicist finding the silver lining in that cloud is hard to do. We just kind of submit that this will be our lives. We will be unhappy but the check and the societal acceptance is somehow worth it. Because there is nothing worse, in the eyes of society, than being unemployed. Well except, being single but that’s a different conversation. I recognized myself in her and realized that I needed something too. something besides my perfect loving girlfriend who is supportive and lovely. I know the dangers of being too dependent on my relationship to validate me. That is surely a recipe for disaster. I pictured the dark abyss of my situational depression sucking the warmth and rays out of her sunshine. Nope. Couldn’t risk it. So I turned to this. Blogging.
People that know me already know that I am writing a book about thinking errors and how to use the principles of universal law to transmute them. For all intents and purposes it’s a semi spiritual text. A guidebook. It’s going to be awesome. Its partner on the other hand, has a different purpose, almost purely cathartic. A means for me to release what I have held captive on my tongue for fear of intimidating or offending others and alienating or exposing myself. But more often than not, I’m constipated with what I’m keeping. I created this blog to illuminate the principles of S P A C E. the free myself from the grips of my silence.
People that know me already know that I am writing a book about thinking errors and how to use the principles of universal law to transmute them. For all intents and purposes it’s a semi spiritual text. A guidebook. It’s going to be awesome. Its partner on the other hand, has a different purpose, almost purely cathartic. A means for me to release what I have held captive on my tongue for fear of intimidating or offending others and alienating or exposing myself. But more often than not, I’m constipated with what I’m keeping. I created this blog to illuminate the principles of S P A C E. the free myself from the grips of my silence.
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