Saturday, August 21, 2010


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 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 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.


  1. I totally support the motivation through thug music aspect, it's the best music to run to, and I've also used to hype me up before writing.

  2. Yes it kills me how eclectic you are and how hood your music is.....loves it though...:)