Saturday, October 16, 2010


It's twenty five miles from home, and my feet are hurting mighty bad. Now I've been walking three days and two lonely nights, you know that I'm mighty mad.
But I got a job waiting for me that's gonna make this trip worthwhile.
You see, she's got the kind of lovin' and a kissing a make a man go stone wild. So I got to keep on walkin'. I got to walk on, but oh I, I'm so tired. But I just can't lose my stride.
I can hear my baby calling my name. It's as if as though I'm standing at her front door, I can hear that doggone plain. Now I'll be so glad to see my baby and hold her in my arms. Now when I kiss her lips I turn a back over flip and I'll forget these feet of mine. I got to keep on walkin', I got to walk on. Oh ho ho I'm so tired, but I just can't lose my stride. Let me tell you ya'll, I, I,..... I'm so tired, but I just can't lose my stride. Come on feet don't fail me now ~ Obama's version of Edwin Starr's Twenty Five Miles To go. He has a job to do.
"Okay Carey, whatsup?"
Well, as Shalamar said, it's The Second Time Around!
"Ooh, the second time is so much better, baby, and I'll make it better than the first time. You know I really love you. And I paid for my mistakes, yes, I did, girl. The more I try to hide my feelings, baby, this old heart gets in the way. And love won't let me wait (The second time around). Girl, with me it's better than the first 43 presidents (The second time around). Let's do it one more time, say it again. Say it... Barack Obama, Barack Obama! All that I've been through, I'll do it again just as long as you're with me (The second time around). And though others try to satisfy you, baby, with me true love can still be found"

Well yawl, since it's the second time around, it's time for me to do my thang... one mo again. Here it goes..... I've said this before, but if was right then, it's more than right, right now.
But first.... "Carey, Cary--Obama could do nothing to please the old Cobb and his kind. If Obama cured cancer in his basement on his free time, Cobb would assail him for not curing the common cold and would label him a socialist for upsetting the pharmaceutical industry. For believers he was the promised child, the haters he was Satan.How can Obama govern in this context? I for one think he has done well--amazingly well--given the environment and his legislative successes are the greatest sense Johnson. Is he just doing a poor job communicating them?" ~ Chaunceydenaga @ We Are Respectable Negroes
President Obama has a huge weight on his shoulders and so did my grandfather. At the beginning of their new voyage, each of them were up against the mighty Goliath. A formidable foe for sure. Sticks and stones could break their bones, but that was the least of their worries. In 1865, my grandfather of six generations past, was released from slavery. Since that time, there has been 28 white gentlemen seated as President of The United States. Over Fifty Three Thousand days ago, since my grandfather was released from slavery, except for approximately 600 days, there has been a white gentlemen sitting in the White House. For approximately EIGHTY THOUSAND DAYS.... 80,000!!!, there has been a white gentlemen sitting in the White House.
My grandmother is in the next picture.

Look at her, she's so proud. She made it through the hard times, and she's standing in the middle of a few good black men as they break ground for our new church. But the church wasn't about her, she was building something to pass down. She passed away a few years after this picture was taken. But if she had listened to some of the other naysay sell-out sharecroppers, the following event might not have taken place. She and my grandfather stayed strong, stayed together, pooled their resources and got off that man's property.

It's our family reunion! Grandma ironed a few white people's clothes and so did her mother, and so did my mother, but they didn't let that stop them.

My father lost his dad at an early age, but he didn't let that stop him either. In the next picture, see if you know where he's standing?

That's my father standing in front of the White House. Since 1789, there had been a white man living in that white house. Our president is now a black man. He's only been living there for a little more than 600 days. Forty three white fellas had called that place home. In their tenure, they managed to keep racism alive, and hope but a distant memory. For 80,000 days and several wars later, they've managed to build a castle in the sky for them and theirs, and yet, a few of my black friends are quick to point fingers at President Obama. They say he's not moving fast enough and he's staying mum on black issues. I wonder if my nay say friends can trace their family history? I also wonder if they've read a few history books? More importantly, I've often wondered what rewards they are receiving from regurgitating negative opinions about our president? Could it be they adore speaking in a quasi intellectual tone, while missing the fact that they are being ineffectual? Frequently, their misguided "constructive criticism" is nothing more than 10 dollar words of bubbling babble that's used to stroke an inflated ego.

My father has gone home. I miss him, but I remember his words of wisdom.

He was my little league coach and I was a pitcher. One day, a player on my team dropped a fly ball which caused me to lose my cool. As he scrambled to retrieve the ball, another player stumbled over him. The opposing team laughed and ridiculed the players to a point they both started crying. I didn't make things any better with my mean look and foolish antics on the mound. Consumed by my emotions, I threw my next pitch with the fury of a Tasmanian Devil. I hit the batter square upside his head. My father called time out and approached the mound. His following words I will never forget... "look boy, don't ever play another man's game and don't be nobodies fool. Their job is to get you mad at your players and have you act a damn fool. Don't let them see you get rattled. Go out and tell Tommy it's alright and we are going to win this game. We don't need enemies on our own team"

President Obama has a huge task in front of him. He's standing on the mound and the ball is in his hand. We don't need enemies on our own team. If someone tries to engage you in negative criticism about President Obama, stop, look and listen, and then ask them where they are going? Don't play another man's game and don't be nobodies fool.

Remember, Rome was not built in a day and 43 white fellas have played in the white house for over TWO CENTURIES! President Obama has been there less than 21 months. My grandfather didn't go back to slavery. He took the good with the bad, and kept on steppin. Step up... when someone tries to bring Obama down. It's the second time around. At a time called now, it's time to lean forward. Lets build something to pass on! The game ain't changed, so lets not rest on our bellies full of past victories.
What about a time called now!

No You DID NOT Say That To My Grandson?!

Why would a teacher tell a six year old child that there is no Santa Clause? I don't know about you, but...

Today I am doing sommething a little different. I am posting a letter I wrote to a teacher of my grandson. I have not sent it yet, so I am reaching out to see if you agree or disagree. Here it goes:


I am a father and a grandfather, and in such, my children confide in me their problems and those of their children. I'll never stop being dad. Yet, although I’ve lived a little, going through struggles along the way, acquiring bits of wisdom in my journey, I too sometimes, in my heart, and mind, sometimes humbly, yet sometimes gracelessly, have to reach out to others for answers on issues that are disturbing my soul.

Having said that, my daughter, who’s son in in your class, called me with hurt in her voice, in a sense, expressing the confusion she witnessed in her son. She was perplexed over an issue that occurred between you and her son, my grandson. See did not know how to address the issue without allowing her emotions to control her.

But first, there's a related distinction between an emotion and the results of that emotion. And, of course, there’s a beginning and ending to most of them. Some, like “surprised”, is fleeting. On the other hand, love can last forever. But today, this issue is more about the hurt, pain and harm you’ve inflected upon our family. Well, when you emotionally disturb a child or treat them in an insensitive manner, that encounter has a domino affect, which takes me to the following matter.

It’s been alleged that on 17 November 2010, you told my grandson and his classmates, who are six years old, that there was no Santa Clause. On the surface that may not seem like a cruel event, yet, at the very least it’s an unusual action by a professional who should understand, regardless of their own personal views, that is not their call.

More importantly, do you understand the joy you’ve taken from this child, and his possible sense of loss? Not to mention that you’ve now put his mother in a position of being a liar. What right do you have to do such?

I believe it’s paramount that you understand that for several hours of a day and several days of the year, you hold the emotional wellbeing of young impressionable children, who, hopefully, look up to you and “should” respect your every word. Consequently, if the allegations are true, we now find ourselves at the aftermath.

Based on the previous issue and compounded with another recent issue involving my grandson, Carey B, I am left to wonder if this is an isolated incident, or do we have bigger issues that other parents should be made aware of?

As I understand it, you told Carey and his mother that they should bring his birthday treats on 5 November 2010. They worked late into the night preparing brownies for Carey’s personal day of joy. Much like Christmas, children look forward to those days in which they can share their happiness. On the morning of his special day, his mother remembers the smile on his face as he walked into his classroom with the pride of a lion. Unfortunately, that afternoon, upon her return to his school, she saw her little boy sadden and with tears in his eyes. He had been told, by you, to take his brownies back home because there was not enough time to pass them out.

Now, we have more questions:

1. Is there a Tooth Fairy that rewards the passage from baby teeth to big kids teeth, and a Bunny Rabbit that brings Easter Eggs? If not, who’s responsible to tell the children all the intricate details of those rights of passage?

2. Is this environment, your environment and your personal views, safe for my grandson and other young children?

3. Is this a situation other parents should be aware of?

4. Do you have personal issues with Carey or his mother?

At this time, we are requesting a meeting with you, the school’s principle and superintendent, to address and discuss these issues and more. Where do we go from here?

What is the school’s policy on a teacher voicing their personal opinions on other sensitive topics such as religion, sex, and race, particularly, and especially when considering young impressionable minds?

We are concerned and troubled by the moral, emotional and ethical issue that lay before us.


Okay yawl, what do you think?

Would your emotions have run wild if you were confronted with this issue?

Some have said they would have taken off work and preceded straight to the school.

Is this not a big deal?

What words would you have used?

What demands (if any) would you request?

Would you be upset?

One of his aunts called me back 5 times to vent her anger.

What about you, what would you do?

Liar Liar Pants On Fire.

It's Crow-eatin' time.

Based on the above title, it's probably obvious that a boo-boo has raised it's ugly head. Carey, my grandson, told a lie.

If you have not been following along, I have a short recap. Last week, my grandson, who is six years old, informed the family that his teacher said Santa Claus didn't exist. Well, for various reasons, that did not hit the feel-good part of my brain. So, I sent off a harsh letter to his teacher and the school's superintendent.

No You Didn't Say That To My Grandson!

Now, as the world turns, it's time for me to jack-up my slacks and see what went wrong. But first, an apology was in order. Since I am not a writer, more so a storyteller, I reached out to a blog friend to help me compose a letter that would convey my true feelings without sounding negro-notorious. The letter follows

Hello Ms [Teacher}

As you know, Carey told a lie. His actions were not the act of a future psychopath-in-training, children lie. The smaller, the younger they are, it has to be accepted as a natural part of childhood. Unfortunately, I made my move to soon. It should be understood that it's not so unusual nor unusual for the bigheads to fib.

Consequently, I return to you with a heavy heart. I must ask of you, in my most humble request that you please to accept my apology for the letter I previously sent to you. It was written in both anger and disappointment upon the news, given to me by my grandson, that his teacher TOLD him there was no Santa Claus. It was only upon further investigation that I've since learned the child blatantly reported an untruth to us. This, in itself, is a cause for concern, as he has been taught to NEVER tell a lie. And, yet, he did. It's quite possible, that, as children do, he may have heard other kids speaking of Santa Claus, questioning the validity, or even debunking the reality of such a beloved childhood icon, and then he came way believing it to be a myth. Had he only came to us with his questions, as opposed to assigning the blame to you, or any teacher, or adult charged with the supervision and guidance of young minds, then the events that followed would have never transpired. For this, again, I offer my heartfelt apology.

Carey xxxxx, aka, Carey Bailey's grandfather

Well folks, when I first received the news of Lil Carey's misdeed, I was floored. I immediately thought of the poor teacher I had scandalized and if I should've, could've, moved in a different direction?

Having reached out to many of my friends, including "you", my blog readers, who stopped their world before and after the incident, asking for words of advice and wisdom, I am left to wonder, what about a time called now? What's the words for today? Are there any serendipitous rewards on the table? The following was a response.

Carey, you may be over-thinking this, man. Consider the kid's age. Surely people in the education field KNOW this. If he's not someone they see as 'troubled' or has a history of bad behaviors, then it's unlikely that they'll over-react. A show of parental & family concern is more desirable than indifferent, absentee parents & loved ones who don't give a damn & never get involved in a child's schooling. I think it reflects better upon you that you CARED enough to send the letter. The tricky part is this wasn't an incident that happened IN the classroom, so it's not like the teacher can punish him, or take him aside & read him the riot act.

Yes, there's a chance this teacher can become less involved w/your grandson's day to day activities, and less trusting of him. But, you know what? If that proves to be the case, then it would be good to KNOW this now, because then this isn't much a teacher anyway. They are are supposed to be accepting of the ways, imperfections & the issues of those under their tutledge.

Meanwhile, if this remains a real concern of yours, then I would personally request a face to face meeting w/ said teacher. Again, this would demonstrate your love and concern for the child, along with providing you an eye-witness account to gage the attitude of the teacher.

I believe the above is good advice.

Okay, this is where I am at today. I have a hard line position on lying and liars.

Who desires to wear the name, Liar? I will assume that many individuals hate and abhor liars, and consequently, they do not want to be classified as one. Yet, has it become convenient, and accepted behavior, to lie for what some believe to be good intentions?

But wait, first, does everyone lie? I asked that question in another post, and most respondents replied in the affirmative. Well, I was the dissenting voice. I know it's a fact that everyone does not lie.

"Come on Carey, everybody lies".

Nope, that's not true. Besides, how can you prove that? I mean, what compels someone to state something as a fact when it's only their assumption?

Anyway, deceit, in any fashion is the wrecking ball to most relationships. And, in my opinion, it leaves doubt and fear and unrepairable mistrust. The only thing that can support a lie... is another lie. I do not wish to look over my shoulder.

Look, it's a fact that people lie for several reasons. Big or small, short are tall, people lie. A little white lie or a lie by omission, is nevertheless a lie. People are quick to say they lied to protect someones feelings, but in truth, they lied to protect their own feelings. They didn't desire to hear or feel the assumed response, which may have moved them to a very uncomfortable state. Let that simmer.

In the mean-time, I think there are many reasons why some believe there are legitimate reasons one should lie. And, there are many ways to misrepresent the truth. Part of the problem is not everyone agrees with the definition of lying. Yet, facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored or misunderstood. I am sure some believe there are harmless lies. A little white lie, for example, is considered by many to be a harmless fib that is meant to be tactful and polite.

I have a few ideas why some individuals believe it's okay to fib, or even believes there are times a person should lie. Yet, how big is the shade of truth before it's considered a bare face lie. I mean, who makes the call? If it's left up to the individual, lord knows there's a myriad rationalizations and reasons why many think lying is okay. Check this: It's interesting to note that the Fifth Amendment allows someone to refuse comment if such testimony will incriminate him or her.Well, that's lying by omission - or is it? Well, at the very least, it's passive deceit because a person is withholding information or not volunteering the truth. Well, that begs the question... is deceit as harmful as a lie? Well, one time, I had to call "love TKO" because
the deceit and subsequent mistrust that followed, was killing me, just as if someone was kicking me in my ass.

What about a time called now?

Is it okay to lie?

Did I over-react?

Have you experienced a situation in which a child's lie had you scrambling for cover and/or answers?

Wednesday, October 13, 2010


I don't understand. I mean, some debates are never ending stories. Take for instance the debates on what constitutes a good movie, a bad movie, a quality movie or an important movie, where is the scratch line? Not to mention the never-ending debate over the N-word. And, what's in a good book?

I know some people just loves to argue, but some of those debates are like pissing in the wind and stepping in mud. The results are going to leave some type of ugly stain.

Look, I love a good conversation, but I wish there was a polite way to back out of a conversation, or ignore a conversation when someone tries to engage me in discourse that I know is going nowhere.

Well, I've sort of found a way in which we all can bow out gracefully. In our culture, there's a phrase, "playing the nut-role". It's understood to mean feigning ignorance. Now, if we are going to pretend that we don't know WTH a person is talking about, because people speak in all types of languages and codes, we need a hold card. So, instead of shaking our heads in a "I don't know what you're talking about" way, I think flash cards can do the trick.

When a person says some mess that you do not want to talk about, you just flash a card that says....

Spanish: No entiendo

German: Ich verstiendo

Africaans: Ek verstaan nie

French: Je ne comprends pas

Italian: Non capisco

Hatian Creole: Mwen pa konprann

Japanesees: 私は理解していない
Thai: ฉันไม่เข้าใจ

Which all mean, I do not understand

However, there will be the persistent sorts. Then it's on to plan "B". The second card.

French: s'en alien voler, neme derange pas

Spanish: desaparecen de ventanas, no me molesta

German: negfliegen, storen mich nicht

Latin: abire fugientem noli mihi molestus

Which means, Go away fly, don't bother me

By now it's either fight or flight. The "conversation" continues. The talking head debaters strike first.

German: Heck mich am arsch

Irish: pog mo thion

Spanish: besame el culo
Which means (in all languages): Kiss my ass.

The Negro Buster reponds with: Oh yeah, so you want me to kiss your ass, huh? Here's what you can do... Ellwa upidsta, ouya anca itsa ona ita! (*wink* anybody know pig latin?)

There you have it ladies and gentlemen, debate busting 101. Try it, but don't tell anybody I told you so. I just wish I could watch a movie without someone telling me about an alledged evil message within the movie. I want to laugh my butt off without someone saying it's coonery. I don't want to worry about rather or not a movie is important, or if it will be significant in the next 20 years.

And, if I want to say nigga, negro or sambo, I surely don't want someone asking me for my blackness card. Beside, who's to say Shakespeare is better reading than E Lynn Harris and Walter Moseley? If someone wants to find out how Stella got her groove back, they should be able to do that without someone questioning their intelligence.

All money ain't good money, and your good may not look like mine. But in the end, I gotta dance with the lady I took to the ball. Then I'll know we will both be singing satisfied. Do your thang, do what you wanna do, I can't tell you when your basket is full.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Thursday, October 7, 2010

LOOKING FOR TYLER PERRY: This Somebody Needs A Screenwriter and/or Tyler Perry.

I don't know exactly how to define the story, but it could be considered a story of a black child coming of age, similar to Manchild In The Promise Land or A black 2010 Legends Of The Fall. The story centers on how a young black kid found his love for movies and his journey before, during and after that connection.

I've been writing a book about my life's struggles, and, as I do , several past memories come to mind. I originally was focusing on my life after the age of twenty, but that story (I've come to believe) is for a limited market, as you will see in my following outlines. So I am thinking about restructuring my story to fit a somewhat larger audience. Well, I have a screenplay in mind. I have posted a few of my short, but limited stories, and here are a few more. Check them out. I call them snippets. They all come from larger chapters.... and they are all true.

[First] I never told my father this but I’m gonna tell you. As young boys, my brothers and I were allowed to go 2 places without question and without asking; the local ballpark and the library. However, on my way to a place called Diamond Park, I frequently stopped at the Rialto Theater. No, not to watch a movie but to play bingo. Well, actually I had the grand title of Bingo Number Boy. See, back then there were not electronic boards, so I stood atop a pile of busted down chairs in front of the theater. The theater’s owner, an old Jewish fella, called out a number, I then searched for the number in an old cardboard box. When I found it, I hung it on a wall. When my father thought I was at Diamond Park being the bat boy for the Morocco fast-pitch softball team, I was instead fast-pitching numbers in the Rat Hole. I was The Bingo Number Boy. And now they have Luke Gage, a black comic book character (going to the big screen) and a Black Thor. He too moving to the moving to the movie theater. Damn, I need a screenwriter.

OOOH YEAH, there’s a lot more to that story. First, it was the gateway to my love of movies. And, back then, there was not a ratings system(naughty-naughty). And, there was cash prizes on bingo night. The Bingo Boy (me) had a chance to make a little extra(sometimes huge for a young boy) money because he knew what prizes to pick. The lucky winner thought it was a secret between me and them, but actually, I told as many people as I could, that if they won, they should keep their eyes on me, as they strolled to the front of the theater to pick their prize from the assortment that were lined across the stage (in boxes). I then could steer them to the biggest prize. Then, of course, I got my cut. Free popcorn, free movies, sex in the balcony (grown folks of course) and cash in my pockets… those were the daze.

[another] for some strange reason, I thought of Abel Ferrara, the director of Bad Lieutenant fame. I remember meeting that guy when he was promoting that film. He was wild and so was his crew. So maybe that’s why I connected him with a movie like the Klansman. He was wearing a black hat with the words “Bad Lieutenant” across the front and I had on a Jordan hat (J.O.R.D.A.N in red letters, some remember those days). I asked if he had anymore hats like that. He said to come by his room (at his hotel) and he’d give me one. Now remember, he was with a wild “suspect” crowd and there was no way in hell I was going to get caughtup in a drug bust so I passed. But check this, he took my hat off my head, replaced it with his broke down hat and slammed my Jordan on his “questionable” head. I mean, who puts on another person’s hat? My mother told me never to use another kids comb or his brush, because rigworms hide in hair. Now, being that I cared little or nothing about his status, I said, "hey mfer, what the fu*k are you doing, give me my goddamn hat". I later went over to talk with Harvey Keitel and is new wife. He was the star of Bad Lieutenant.

[another] Our local rat hole (movie house) cost less than a dollar. Yelp, 2 features and a cartoon in the middle. Popcorn was a nickle (big box 25 cents) and pop was a dime. But you didn’t want to go to the restrooms because they were a filty mess. You know, the type in which sitting down would never be an option. Oh but the memories. How can I forget watching The Three Stoogies On Mars, at the Rialto, fondly known as the Rat Hole.

And remember, the above and the following are all true stories; I lived them.

[another] I heard the shot... I felt the combustion... a loud thunderous roar felt as if air was trying to force it's way through my head. Six told me that no one would be shot, we were only taking guns to scare them. I'd seen people shot on television but it was nothing like that. Blood was spurting from the man while he lay crying and moaning on the floor. I was only 18 ....I was involved in a bank robbery and a possible murder.

[another] I entered the bank after giving the appearance of a man shoveling snow outside. Bank robbery is relatively simple ....there are seldom guards. It's the escape and entrance that harbored my concerns because outside pedestrians and survalance cameras hold memories. And sometimes, the common man loves to play hero. After placing my shovel outside the door, I entered the bank and without saying a word I handed the tellers a large bag, suggesting that they should fill it. One clerk fell to the floor ....she was too scared and weak to comply. The other ....with eyes widened, trembling from shock and fear, stumbled through the process. I was covered from head to toe ....they couldn't tell if I was a man or a woman, white or black ....I walked out. As you know that was not my first bank robbery.

[another]At an early age I witnessed the small nuances between tricks and the women that served them. Everyone enjoys the touch of another and many need to feel as if they belong. I learned that men who paid for the company of women didn't do so merely for sex. They needed to feel like they were a match for the women ....that she may even like them. The women did not have to be beautiful ....many were not. Eva, barely 5'5" and overweight, wasn't in many opinions an overly attractive woman, yet, she was clean, she was sweet and clean, smelled delightful, and always carried a smile. She was perfect for a man that wasn't looking for a wife but needed a little attention.

[another]Smooth was cool, he wasn't like the winos that everyone poked fun at. He dressed sharp and everyone wanted to be like him. People said he wasn't a junkie ...but he used Narcotics. Smooth was the talk of the town ....all the women loved him ....I would later find out why. I wanted to be like smooth but I couldn't. I already had a family and I didn't even smoke cigarettes. My brother Carl was a wrestler, a state champ. He told me that he was good because he worked harder than others at his craft. He got up earlier than others one knew what he was doing. He did it his way. I latched onto that idea. I was young ....the world was in front of me and I wanted it all. I wanted to be cool like smooth, a family man like my father, tough as my brothers and go to college. Women whispered their pleasures to me and I entertained the possibilities. College was fertile ground for young attractive women. Cool was in me had touched my soul. I was about to travel a road that I could never have imagined one told me ....they didn't know.

[another]The US military is one of the largest vehicles for drug smuggling in the world. You've seen the movie American Gangster, well, from my personal experience, I can say that much of that story is true. Rita was my friend.... my lover and my company. She agreed to come along on a dangerous trip after receiving a promise of adventure. She was very attractive... stunning... movie star quality.... she liked me. While passing through the gates of the Air Force base. Rita's face showed the look of impending doom. The officer ordered everyone out of the vehicle ....a search was about to take place and we were very "dirty". Earlier, we were in a village in the southern part of the Philippine Islands.... it was called the jungle area frequented by blacks who were accepted by the locals. It was a humid day ....the sun was bright ....Rita and I were filled with excitement. She was from Virginia and had not traveled much ....she trusted me. We were free and fear was not our companion. Prior to our journey we talk about the future and the dangers of our travel. I carefully questioned her on the what-if's and the possible roadblocks ahead. The officer again said to vacate the vehicle ..... Rita went to work. With a charming and suductive smile on her face....

[another]My life spiraled out of control for several years, one day, in the midst of what I like to call a storm, I called my mother for help.... she said that she had given it to god and suggested that I pray.... I didn't have a relationship with god at that time and was very depressed about my situation.... I nevertheless sent a weak prayer to god and things changed. I didn't know how to pray ....yet I knew I couldn't continue along this path.... I sat in my cell and asked God for help and guidence. Some have said that there are no time stamps on prayers.... I waited. I am here today.... grateful and alive. My mother told me that although I didn't have a relationship with god at that time... he had never left me. I've come to believe that to be true.

NEXT: Here’s another very short one: When I was a kid, we lived in the projects. My father told us that one day he was going to buy a house with a basement. In the basement, he was going to build a gym. He did that. Well, it wasn’t a big gym, in fact, it was nothing more than a few items like a bunching bag and small weights, but we loved it. My father screwed in a spring resistance thang in a support beam. It was a used item that my father purchased from the Salvation Army, so there wasn’t much resistance but we made it work. My father said if I stood back far enough and worked that thing long enough, I would eventually see some results. Okay, I had faith in my father’s words, so for days and days, for hours and hours, I pulled on that contraption. One day I noticed a little bump on my arm. It was a muscle! Years later, I had gun boats (huge arms).Many more years later, I bought a home, and I had a gym in my basement. To make a long story short, take a look at my son’s arms. (picture not available in this medium), the apple did not fall far from the tree.

[And another] Daddy’s little Girl: I've always thought being a man was about being tough and strong. I put a great deal of emphases on providing for my family and protecting them. I believe it's safe to say most fathers... real fathers feel the same way. Looking back... the hardest thing for me to do on a continual basis was share my emotions. I gave my family most things that I thought would be beneficial for their survival. Yet I sometimes wonder if I gave them all the tools necessary to endure the long haul of life. I now look back and wonder if I gave them all of me. It would be easy to take the less painful road and say it's not about me. I could blame everybody and everything.... I could open the door to excuses. Yet, I've come to believe that escape hatch would be closing the door on growth. How does one prepare for the departure of their only daughter. In many ways my daughter was a bond that kept my family together. She was an integral part of my family unit. She was not planned... her mother and I were kids playing house and she became pregnant while we were in high school. We married and struggled as young parents... We shared dreams and spent many days and nights preparing our daughter for the day I will never forget. Being a young fathe..... I was just like the birds and the four legged animals that had to find safety in a tree. I could change my spots to look like a man and talk like a man but I wasn't a man. I seldom reached inside to find the soul of a man. I had always mimicked my father ....he was a great influence on my life .....I watched his moves but I never saw his tears. When I became a boy with a child, I was scared and insecure .....I masked my fears and shoved those emotions behind. I thought it wasn't manly to show fear .....I found it hard to admit that I didn't know how to handle certain things. I was about to leave my daughter on the steps of a large University .....with strangers. My daughter had never seen me cry wife had never seen me cry.... in truth, after leaving my parents home... I had never cried. I thought back to the day my father told me to leave his home and go raise my family..... I remember his pain... I now was sharing those same emotions. I wondered if I was making the right decision, or was I living through my daughter by suggesting she go to a large University far away from home, when she could have gone to a local college with similar benefits... did I think her chances of being an Olympic star were greater... living my dream?My wife and I were about to leave our daughter at her new home.... The University of Kentucky. We were proud yet fearful.... I was her track coach. I had accompanied her on most of her trips. My wife would always be by my side.... assisting as mothers do.... she even ran along during training... we used her as a rabbit. My daughter would spot her yardage and try to beat her to the line. My son was along... he was just joyful of the promise of a Happy Meal. My daughter was a high school and national age group champion .....she now was going to Kentucky ....A College National Champion. In many ways my wife and I didn't plan for this day. Sure, we planned for our daughters new day but not our lives together, without our little girl. The days were gone when we would nudge one another to see who would change her diaper or pick her up from practice. There would be no more loading of the car... the four of use for family trips to wonderful cities. What would my wife and I do when we didn't have our daughter around? Someone we felt we had to stand guard over. Was this like retirement? Was I retiring from being daddy and she daddy's little girl.I couldn't fake this one ....I couldn't change my spot from a sad, insecure and fearful father to one that appeared as if he had it all together.... this was real. Emotions flooded me.... I looked at my wife for answers.. her eyes and posture told me that she too had visited a dark place. Emotions I seldom dealt with, invade my soul.... rationalization and ambiguous thought were no match for the pains I was feeling.I was the leader of the family. As we got closer to the moment of goodbyes.... I again looked in the eyes of my wife... and with some reserve and trepidation .....I looked into the eyes of my daughter.... they both were looking for answers from their leader. That was a defining moment in my life. At that moment I think I became closer to being a real man... I lost it... I cried... I couldn't talk, I cried. I showed my vulnerability.... I didn't have all the answer and I didn't know anything else to do.

[another] Baby momma drama... If a women has children by different men what is she? Some are quick to call her a scank or a ho. Others might say she's a woman of low principles. Let me tell you a story and I'll tell you what I call them. I have a definition that's counter to the popular opinion.This story is about a man and a women that fell in love. Do you like a good love stories - I do. Like most love stories there's a beginning, a middle and the end. This story begins with a man that had lived a few years and a young beautiful black women that was just leaving her nest. They met in the military; he a fast talker, slick walker. She was a young innocent girl out to see the world. He had a history. In fact, he was denied entry into one branch of the military because of past criminal behavior. He was young but the streets called him at an early age. Being of a criminal mind and no ones fool, he found a way to slip into a different branch of the armed forces.Since he considered himself a lover and not a fighter and wasn't going to shoot at anyone, he wiggled his way into the cool confines of office life. He felt like one of the Beverly Hillbillies ....swimming pools, movies stars AND air conditioning. Life was good, he had a first hand view of all the new women that arrived on the base. Aside from greeting them at the door, their records preceded them. At first he felt kind of funny looking at their past but he rationalized that it was his job to make sure all their records were in order - it was one of his jobs.He came from the streets so he'd witnessed all the pimps and hustlers trying to lay their magic on women but his thang was different. An old player told him that women love sincere men that make them smile. So his thang was sincerity with a smile and a pinch of dishonest ....just a pinch. He knew that most women felt isolated in the military and longed for home. Well, while looking through their records to see if they had any ...ahhh, any ...ahhh, things he didn't want to catch, he also looked to see what high school they went to and the city they were from. He was a cleaver old fox. While greeting them at the door he would extend his hand and then quickly pull it back with a startled look and say, "Helen Lampkin, German Town High School, women you haven't changed one bit". The ice was broken, the women was comfortable with her lost and found homie. Now, he still had work to do but friends before lovers was the name of the game and two friends had found each other on a lonely military base.

One such women tweaked his heart along with his love of hide and go seek. She was a city girl that walked with a long stride that said, I know I look good and you can't have any. Her shoulders were back and her chin was slightly tipped up. She had heard all the lines. Women like that don't have to sleep alone. The old wolf knew he had to come with a new game. He decided just to be sincere without any lies. He told her what he generally did when anticipating a new arrival but that he just want to be straight up with her. He told her that he just wanted to meet her and he didn't want to start a friendship off with a lie. She paused and asked him if he looked in her medical records. He looked deep into her eyes and told her that he had not - he lied but the relationship blossomed :-). Hey, he was a wolf, okay.

Life was good, they were the talk of the base. They drove around in a brand new block long Oldsmobile Ninety Eight that she helped him pay for. They yelled out the windows at the other soldiers and turned up their music to blast Marvin Gay .....what's going on .....what's going' on.They were in love. There was only one problem. This wolf turned serious lover had another lover - back home ...a child too.I went in the military to start a new life. But as my mother would say, if you play with a puppy, it will lick you in the face. My father's version was, if you sit in a barbershop you will eventually get a haircut. I fathered a child as a teenager and her mother was waiting for me back home. We had planned a life together yet I was in the arms of another women. I was hesitant about telling this part of my story because there remains a sense of guilt that I hurt others by my selfish ways. The shame and guilt goes away when I address the issues and honestly accepted my wrongdoings. When I jacked up my slacks and said I messed up, I can then move on. But to share my story and my pain with others is a new journey. The road is tough when the fingers of fault are pointing directly at me. However, I've grown tired of many depicting mothers with children by different men as some sort of women with flawed character or low morals. I was involved with two wonderful women that just happened to run into a guy like me. While playing house with my new lover we brought another child into the world. I wasn't man enough to tell either of the women about each other so I maintained two separate lives. I was close enough to my home town that I could drive home when I choose to do so. I lived this lie for 2 years until everything came tumbling down. I had become so comfortable with living like this that I even drove my second family to my parents home to let them visit with their new grandchild. I put them in an awful position. My father would give me the look of deep concern and ask me what the hell I was doing. My mother was force to take the route of don't ask don't tell. Everyone paid a price when the news broke.

After visiting my parents one weekend, I decided to stop at a local horse racing track on my way out of town. My skills at picking winners wasn't very good so I decided to leave after the 5th race. I was with Rita* (*name changed) and my son. As we approached the car a voice said, "how are you doing Carey", it was Debbie*, the mother of my first child. She had a gun in her hand, a 2 shot derringer. I was stunned, I walked toward her. My son ran behind me saying daddy daddy. He didn't know there was danger, he just couldn't understand why I was walking off from him.At that moment my life changed and so did the lives of many others.

In short y'all, I have stories of all kinds. I have childhood stories, crime stories, lost love stories, young fatherhood stories, drug abuse stories, gun play stories, work place stories, drug smuggling stories, seeing death stories, incarceration stories, pimp stories, my family stories, love stories, church stories, loneliness & depression stories, overseas stories, blogging stories, lessons I've learn stories, life in the military stories, racism stories, self-discovery stories, grandchildren stories, my education stories, did I say love stories, shame and guilt stories, all true stories... more stories... All on paper (all, I believe, are more exciting and interesting than the ones above}. I need help. I need help to shape, condense, restructure, explode, open, give breath & voice to the images of the stories, so that maybe one day the whole story, complete story... from the child in the old movie theater, through fatherhood, war and love, pain and dispare.... to a time called now.... that can one day be seen on the big screen.

Any comments, help or concern?

Has anyone seen Tyler Perry or a good aspiring screenwriter?

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

In Defense Of The Alleged Bigot Racist Youth Football Coach Frank Samuelson

Innocent until proven guilty is the American way, and therefore, it behooves me to look deep into the allegations levied against the nice family man, Frank Samuelson.

Here's the scoop. The following appeared on Mr Samuelson's Fackbook page.

"I was dining in an Asian buffet today [big surpise], and I heard this morning
how Asian students are suppodely so much smarter than American kids. My personal
observation is that those fishheads still eat with chopsticks. It took Western
ingenuity to invent the fork. I’m just saying. … they a’int that friggin’ smart"

Okay, here we go, according to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Mr Samuelson is a coach for the Brookwood Football Association and also served on the board of the association. But, before there's a rush to justice, I think a deeper investigation is warranted. Lets listen to a few more of his words.

Reporter: Mr Samuel, how would you solve illegal immigration?

Mr. Samuelson: {his exact words} Arrest the 30+ million illegals that are here first. Have them build a huge brick wall across the border [those guys do great brick work], and make them build it from the Mexican side of the border. Mount 50 calibre machine guns across the top and shoot anyone trying to climb over.

Reporter: Really? Did you also call South Asians “red dots” and Mexicans “beaners.”
Mr. Samuelson: Wait, you guys are taking my words out of context.

Reporter: Oh yeah? In what context would those statements have been appropriate?

Mr Samuelson: It’s, you know, it’s, they were friends of mine. The things I remarked about were meant to be humorous or at least thought provoking in front of the eyes of my friends who make up a variety of different people of from every walk of life, race and many national origins. It really, really bothered me to think that people were offended by any of this because if anything, it was meant to either respond to some of my friend’s posts or poke at them in turn. It was never the intention of mine to make anyone feel offended. And, if you've noticed, CNN reported that I have my own contingent of supporters, so obviously, somebody understands.

Reporter: Is that right? I'm thinkin the Sons of Confederates and the Tea Party and those that have an obsession with Hitler and Nazism. I wonder if this is an example of birds of a feather, flocking together, sitting on a high voltage wire because they understand their own evilness and maliciousness?

Now ladies and gentlemen of the jury, as previously noted, I believe a man is innocent until proven guilty. So, based on the following deep investigation, you make the call. Underneath the puzzling words ( actual quotes of Mr Samuelson), as reported by the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, I am compelled to add my narrative to the misunderstood words of the nice guy, Mr Samuelson.

Confusing Mr Samuelson: Yeah, you guys are taking my words out of context.

Reporter: How is that?

Confused Mr Samuelson: you know, it’s, they were friends of mine and playmates of my children. They all come by my house and we do fun things.

Reporter: Fun things?

Mr Samuelson: Yes, we sit around and tell ni**er jokes and everybody laughs along.

Reporter: Well, personally, I wouldn't think that was fun nor something to laugh about, but what else do you and your friends do in your fun house?

Mr Samuelson: We watch movies and I serve ethnic sensitive food.

Reporter: Ethnic sensitive food?!

Mr Samuelson: Oh yeah, although I misspelled the word "suppodely" i a’int that friggin’ stupid. My personal observation is that those fishheads still eat with chopsticks, so taking my position as a coach and a role model very seriously, it's my duty to teach those kids how to use forks. And, although many are calling me a bigot and racist, our friend list includes Asians, Mexicans and negros. Consequently, when we throw a party, we do it right. My wife says I am too kind and I spend too much money on these get-togethers, but hey, somebody has to do it. And it's not cheap buying different foods for different kinds of people. Anyway, I go out and buy watermelon and greasy fried chicken for the black folks. I mean, everybody knows black people loves them some watermelon. Now, if my money is funny, I combine the Asian's food with the Mexicans. I get a jumbo order of beans and rice.

Reporter: Excuse me Mr Samuelson, but do you see how your remarks could be considered way way racist? I mean, I am black and I don't like greasy fried chicken and I prefer peach cobbler, or a salad, over watermelon.

Mr Samuelson: Yeah, but you're not really black, you're educated.

Reporter: Okay, but what movies are shown at these gatherings?

Mr Samuelson: Nothing but the best. One of our favorites is Gone With The Wind. That's proof that I am not a racist because there's a nice smiling mammy... oops, I mean colored lady in that one. You know she won an Oscar for that great role.

Reporter: Well, your great might not be like my great but what do you show the children?

Mr Samuelson: Now we're talking. Check out two that gets most of our praise.

Reporter: Mr Samuelson, based on what you've said today and the above clips, I am sure many people will have an opinion of you, but I see that you've now lawyered-up. So are you free to give us a few parting words and his advice to you?

Confused Mr Samuelson: Basically, my lawyer said I should tell the world that I am a drunk, stupid, ignorant white man, but not a racist. Then I should beg for mercy from a court of my peers, before I run off to drug rehab.

Reporter: I am not a lawyer and I don't know what court you have in mind, nor what anyone else is thinking, but I believe your lawyer is the smartest guy in the world. Personally, I believe you are a very stupid fool and much more.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Is Cleveland's owner a pervert priest or a 1863 slavemaster?

Slave master?  Well, lets revisit the following:

Whatever, without him, we'd have one less holiday... JUNETEENTH BABY, JUNETEENTH! Didn't he know the slaves are free? And, what's that hole in his pocket?

Well, we all know there's some freaky cavalier priest running around. Some of them are at the top of their organization, just like the owner of Cleveland's basketball team. Now, Ohio is right next to Indiana, and it's been said the Grand Wizard once live there. I don't know if it's true but some people are saying that Cleveland's owner is in his Fab Five. I mean, there seems to be a connection but stay with me.

Don't try this at home, but there's an old game, or joke, that some guys once played on women. It's called the hole in the pocket. Well, it seems as if Cleveland's owner thought LeBron James was a choir boy or a punk, because he tried to pull the punk move on LeBron Tron.

Again, I don't know if any of this is true but I saw a whip in the owner's hand, and all high ranking priest wear robes. So, there is a connection, and when there's smoke, there's HEAT. The Bronze "Third Place" LeBron Tron, ran to the heat, but let me continue.

See, the joke starts with a hole in a person's pocket. Then the pervert sticks his johnson through that hole, and tells an unsuspecting person to reach in his pocket to get all the money in there. That's why I said don't try this at home because somebody is going to get real pissed upon putting their hands on a slippery white penis.

When Cleveland's owner approached Thunder Tron with this mess, little did he know that Mr James had read The Emancipation Proclamation. But see, LeBron had peeped the cavalier priest's hold card, so he told the owner to hold that thought, and that money in his pocket, while he talked to the other slaves.

Although LeBron once was a house nigga, he was trying to get to the field. And, he had sat around Mr Charlie, so he saw his evil ways and learned a few of his tricks. So, as the week went by, Mr James told Mr Charlie to go stand in a corner and wait for a call. Mr Charlie, the sneaky high priest that he was, was sure to tell Mr James that he still had a load of money in his pocket, at which time Lebron said, "I gotcha".

On the night of the big announcement, LeBron called Cleveland's owner to tell him of his decision. Listen to the conversation.

*******The phone rings in the Cleveland Cavaliers front office*****

Ring: Hello

LeBron: Hello, Dan, is that you?

Dan Gilbert: My nigga, my nigga, of course this is me, Lebron, whatsup baby?

LeBron: Mr Gilbert, do you still have that money in your pocket?

Dan Gilbert: You know it boy, I have a huge lump for you.

Lebron: Well, that's my concern. What was that other bulge in your pocket?

Dan: What?! Have you been talking to my wife?

LeBron: No sir, but I am not trying to be your wife, and that thang in yo pocket is pointed in the wrong direction. And, didn't you know that we were free agents? And, I am tierd of you pimping me. Besides, all that money in your pocket, I put it there. But now I am the new negro in town. See, you can no longer ride my back because I've stood up and walked away from your house. A man can't ride your back when your standing upright, and strong!

Dan: Well son, you have not heard the last from me.

LeBron: Well Dan, we've all heard that song before. But have you heard the old negro spirituals, "Nobody Knows The Trouble I've Seen" and "It's Gonna Be Alright In The Morning"? Anyway, I have another call coming in, so I'll see you in the funny papers.... Hello Pat, I'm coming to South Beach. Get the party started.

Pat Riley: My nigga my nigga!


I am Grandpa, so I no longer get the first wake up call when Santa arrives. Nope, that honor is reserved for the parents. So I am sitting in my daughter's home, anxiously awaiting the footsteps of my grandson, so I can join in the happiness of his early Christmas years.

Those images, those sights, smells and sound, will be indelibly etch in his mind, so it's still my duty, although I am no longer "dad", to make those memories as great as possible. I know if I do it right, one day, in the future, if he's lucky enough to find a woman that will share her life with him, he might, someday, then enjoy Christmas with a few kids of his own, and do it right.

Thinking along those lines, I thought it was a perfect time to pull out one of my past submissions.
The Apple Does Not Fall Far.

My father asked, “who broke the dining room table?” . Although my brothers and I knew the names of the guilty gang of three, we didn't say a word.

Yes sir, it’s in those moments of butt naked truths, or the prospect of dire consequences knocking at our door, that we feign innocence and ignorance, or find little reason to cheer

First, this post was inspired by a conversation I was having with Tracy Renne Jones @ RiPPa‘s blog

It basically centered on those that are accused of being sellouts because they do not exhibit the stereotypical image of a black person or speak differently than “them” or marry outside their race. Well, I said something about our black friends who try to separate themselves from our culture because they did not want to be considered a “darkie" like those other negroes. Tracy replied,

“I am NOT THEM DARKIES" Wow...if I didn't just hear my mother's voice when I read that sentence! *looks under the desk* My mother's motivation for much of my 'culturing' (piano class, Broadway shows, proper table etiquette..) had nothing to do with culturing me and everything to do with behaving differently from "THEM". It's complicated to be taught 'pride' of a race while also receiving social cues that instruct me to do the exact opposite. Eh, it worked for the most part.

Now, although my topic is not the same as Tracy's, there is a connection. The Apple Does Not Fall Far From The Tree.
In my early years I was a gambling man, Oh yeah, I shot craps and participated in various games of chance. Along the way, I noticed those who were running the games (house man), always came out on top. Then I figured out the intimate details of their “luck”. Well, of course it wasn't luck, they always had the best hand because in some form or fashion, they were cheating. Or at the very least, the odds were somehow slanted in their favor. I never liked losing, so I “borrowed” the cheating mindset. I know, that's nothing to be proud of, and later, I had a price to pay for my indiscretions. I took cheating with me when I entered the military (that’s me on my home page, sitting on the airplane).

Well, I didn’t lose anymore, but there’s a price to pay for adopting another person’s lifestyle.

In reference to my military life and the evil that lurked within, although I wanted to remain in the military, I was denied re-enlistment. Even though I was never prosecuted for any type of crime, it was obvious that I was involved in all sorts of mess, some of which were illegal. I drove around in a brand new, block long Oldsmobile Ninety Eight, and my hair was matted down with Murray’s hair pomade. I used that heavy grease to slide under the code restrictions associated with the length of a soldier’s hair. However, at night, when I was off duty, I'd blowout my hair to achieve a bigger afro than Sly Stone. So, I was not exactly military material. I had taken my street mentality with me. Now, for many reasons, and for many people, that was not a good thing.

So, I was dropping bad “apples” at an early age. I’ll get back to that.

Looking back and taking a deeper look into this tree and fruit thang, I can’t help but look at the tree from which I came. But first, if I was still a gambling man (I am not, I’d rather put a quarter in a wash machine than a slot machine) I would bet that those who are racists or have strong prejudice views, come from a household with a similar mindset. But it does not stop there.
I’d venture to say the overwhelming majority of people that find themselves divorced, separated, or in a rotten relationship, come from a broken home, a fatherless home, or a home were violence,confusion and/or general mayhem was the soup of the day. But don’t make your move too soon, the house is still rockin, the beat goes on. I am prone to believe that if a person is overweight or never engaged in organized sports, it’s highly probable that their parents loved a heap of pig feet, and a pound of cornbread. Yep, eating until one’s gut quakes, is a learned behavior.

Listen, screaming and hollering to discharge our emotions is another character flaw that we give to our children. But see, on the flip-side, some adults take the passive route when they are in the midst of a disagreement with their mate. Yep, the bully hollers while the mate becomes submissive and depressed as they hold their problems deep inside. Our children are always listening and learning. Unfortunately, they seldom learn positive ways to cope with their own life's struggles, while living in that type of environment. How could they, surely not by watching their own personal "Precious"? Sad but true, the majority of apples do not fall far from the tree.

But again, the beat does not stop there. Party time party time, par-tay-time, boogie woogie baby, lets throw our hands in the air and party like we just don’t care. Yes sir, if I was a betting man, and if your daddy & momma, either or both, loved to imbibe a little gin to make them grin, it’s a good bet that the apple didn’t fall too far from your tree. Listen, although my father was not a drinker, nor was my mother, many of their friends were. So, since they did not object to the habits of their friend's drinking and acting a fool, I couldn’t wait for their friends to come to our house, or we visited theirs, so I could sneak a little gin. I longed for the days in which I could take a little nip, so I could fall down and bust my lip. But of course, since I thought I was slick and clever, I had to put a different spin on the getting high process. See, the seed had been planted that’s it’s okay to change how I felt by taking something other than water, to change or alter my emotions. But that’s another story, for another time.

So now I am wondering, how can we break the bad habits given to us by our parents. At first glance, they're obviously nothing we even consider until we end up in some type of desperate situation, and thus, are forced to change. I mean, who sits down and ponders why they are a Democrat, a baptist, alone, or a racist, and then considers their parents? Who among us says they are a screamer because their momma was? Who says they have "Big Bones" instead of saying they learned their eating habits from their parents?

Well, they say if you want to know what your spouse will look like in 30 years, you should look at their parents, but I am left to believe, that look, should go deeper than the parent's physical attributes. Then maybe we can answer the question of why the bad things always feel so good and feel so right?

Personally, I think the truth makes us feel uncomfortable. Unfortunately, if that truth does not need immediate and serious attention (in the mind of the individual), it's easy to cast away, until another day.

What tree did you come from, and what's dropping from your branches? What will your children and grandchildren remember about this day? It's my hope that it's all joy and happiness.

Monday, October 4, 2010

I Don't Think They Are Hugging Me, Like They're Loving Me: An Oppossing Viewpoint.

Can we talk about a love gone wrong? Well, you be the judge. But be forewarned, the following post is filled with kickass words that I doubt are used in everyday conversations, but some man or woman (I don't know) had something they wanted to get off their mind... and spit it on me.

Okay, here's the setup. As some of you know, my form of debate/discourse could be considered very pointed. And, in previous posts, I've attached the following clips of a speech of mine. Well, a comment, directed at me from another blogspot, is the flavor for today. First, I present the 2 minute clips and then the comment. Then I want your help. I want you to help me to see what I am working with and how I should respond.

So here we go, a blogger "urbanautuer", she or he said the following...

@CareyCarey, DID SOMEONE TOUCH YOU IN YOUR BATHING SWIM SUIT AREA? Whatz with all these Homoerotic remarks? your Sexist,Juvenile,Homophobic Rants reeks with Overarching Pity, were you Abused as a Child by a group of Girl Scouts? or Emotionally Turned Out by some unscrupulous tack head?(hence the reference) you along with your 5o`clock shadow-playing in the Flute Section, would rather ENGAGE in those kinds of PERVERSIONS , than face Our Collective Material Reality-which-en campus-Film/Filmmaking/Discourse/Life in general ,decoding this trash, your ASININE rants make a mockery of intelligent discourse, further , you have the Audacity to Misrepresent my Aim and Intent, on this site with your Jailhouse Narratives, filled with Homoerotic Tomes and Espionage Odes. Get over it Chump!, with your Cinder Block Blues and Latent Homosexual Angst, you nothing but a third string right wing bottom feeder, you Neoconservative Twit! Juan Williams you’re Not! , but i can play Devils Advocate and BITCH SMACK YOU like your right wing buddy, who u trying to imitate-Brett Hume, just a cursory look at your Malnourished Tropes, makes me want to vomit up Quantitative Tropes, on your Piss Stain Site, as i’ve said previously, your PROSE STINKS and your BLOGS Pumps Dirty Dishwater!, find another line of Work,since this ALL U DO, is hang out on this site like a Predator and sneak in Matinees with Girl Scout Cookies and while u at it, seek some Medical Help for your Effeminate Retorts, because it seems u are suffering from some kind of Attention Deprive Deficit, u Tevin Campbell parasite!, your Psychology of DRama is Treacherous and FILLED with personal conflicts and inner contradictions. when u fresh out of ideas and posits, your sling Oatmeal like a Group Home Child, just Turned down by his WHITE Parents. Your NOSE is SO FAR UP THE RECTUM of White Acceptance, you cant even see the licorice running down your Weak spine, its Cardboard Negroes like u, who set the race back, with your crack addicted prose, its Retrograde,Childish and Myopic!, just because Shadow & Act threw u a few superlative crumbs, doesn’t make u some Anointed Pastel Colored Eleganza Suit Wearing Priest(yeah i saw YOUR YOUTUBE version of Mister Rogers, and u look like a cross between Will Smith and Joe Camel) BISHOP LONG WANNA BE!!? on American idol,ha! I’m thru with Compradore chumps like you, i’ve supplemented your demented ego with 5 pounds of rice and a gucci bag, u Closet Fag(yeah,i said it!,i just outed your pompous Men of Film Opus). In the face of this Diversion, i will remain steadfast-unbridled and vociferous in exposing NON GERMANE PUPPETS like you, while bringing Pressure to bare to the Powers that be( weather it be their provocateurs or marionettes like u, whose purse strings are pulled by government minions, who HIDE behind the Cloak & Dagger of Confusion and Disunity in order to cripple and dismantle Positive Action. CareyCarey, your Harry Potter Antics drew nothing but a sharper edge to your Lack of Concrete Knowledge and highlighted your Fast Food Form of Political Enlightenment, i suggest u quit invading Asshole Summits and concentrate on your Humanity. Because your maniacal Megalomania
have expropriated the common thread on this site(empowerment) your psychotic Lust for ill-gotten Fame and booty have morph your ability to write prudence and clarity.

p.s.- Quit doin head stands

Okay what do you think because I am left to wonder what's really going on?

Music Break... Terrence Trent D Arby

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Ohio Players- Summertime

I Don't Look In Caskets

I Don’t Look In Caskets

I've never been the one to look in the caskets of the dead. I've never found a real reason to view the body of a departed loved one. For many, it's a traditional form of paying respect. However, I am not feeling that one.

Listen, one year has passed since the death of Michael Jackson. I have not listened to any news accounts of his passing - not one. I have not read any blogs that gave the indication they were about him. I did however go to my barber shop, and of course one of the topics was about him.

When Michael became the center of discussion I walked out. Before departing, one of the young bucks asked "What's wrong with you old school". I turned around and replied that I just wasn't feeling it. I don't like to peer in caskets because I want to remember the departed through the memories I have of them, and the moments I shared with them, and not the lasting impression of them laying in a casket, dry and cold.

A few days ago I didn't want to read or hear someone’s opinion of the king of pop, I had my own. A few days ago I didn't want to share my opinion of Michael Jackson because as I said, I did not want to hear the voices of the hearsay. However, it was inevitable that I would find myself in a place of discomfort.

While visiting the Internet I couldn't help but see pictures of Michael, but I didn't want to hear anything about his debt, his father or a doctor that supposedly did something wrong. I didn't desire to see praise of Michael Jackson, only to be immediately followed by a "yeah but".

There's a cliché that says, "those that live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones". Although that’s a generalization that many use to deflect attention away from themselves, it’s nevertheless a valid statement when voiced at the proper time. Another euphemism that champions that same thought "while you are pointing a finger at another person, 3 are pointing back" is another way to say, look in the mirror.

I’ve chosen to refrain from listening to any negative gossip about Michael. I refused to view any news accounts that may spoil my memories of him. I know there were probably wonderful articles that did nothing but praise Michael but I feared a comment by someone other than the blog's host, would tarnish those moments. I could have been wrong but I made a choice not to risk my moments with him. There are some people that don't know when to "fold them or when to hold them".

On Friday nights there's a wonderful place I visit on the Internet. It's a place of comfort and wonderful memories. A group of people from around the country gather to share old school music. A theme is posted early in the week. Everyone dusts off their old school music and posts selections that takes us down memory lane. Last week the theme was "family". Coltrane's family hit the air. This week Michael Jackson's name hit the board.

While listening to the music, I went back in time. Several of Michael's songs ushered me down memory lane, but two songs in particular caught my eye and grabbed my heart.... "It's Too Late To Change The Time" and "You Can't Win".

I believe we all wish we can go back and change the time. The words of the song YOU CAN’T WIN are so poignant... "you can't win child, you can't get out of the game". Michael Jackson will never be able to get out of the game. He will forever live in our words and our images, and, of course, in gossip filled lips.

I choose to remember him just the way he was - in my mind. I don't look in caskets. If the departed has truly gone to a better place, they might be able to hear our words.

So maybe, it's possible Michael heard my prayers I sent his way. In a strange way I think he did, cuz as I was writing this column, I was actually at an address that all true Michael Jackson fans know very well. Although I was not in Indiana, the address was 2300. Michael lived at 2300 Jackson Street, Gary Indiana. I miss Michael Jackson and I am going to remember him just the way he was, in my memories.


Paid for by the Action Jackass committee against real talk.

Who likes being pimp slapped or talked to as if they have a tail? Well, I don't, which brings me to my bone of contention - today.

Is it safe yet?

I mean, having grown miserably tired of the double entendre of political talking heads, I was wondering if it's safe to remove my ear filters? Come on, how on earth can anyone make a discerned decision of any significance, based on the constant bombardment of political ads filled with risque or indecorous connotation? I don't know about you, but to me, most of those ambiguous "ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies" commercials, are nothing more than fear-mongering big fat lies. Because of that, and because I don't like being offended, nor have my intelligence insulted, I've created a no fly zone.

If while watching TV, a politician's mug happens to appear on my TV, he or she will not fly with me. I immediately assume the position of the 3 monkeys or snagglepuss, and thus, exit - stage left. Or, I let my fingers do the walking. I tap tap tap on my remote control, which I call the zapper, and then *Poof* they're gone. I don't have to deal with their conflicting messages of madness.

Besides, who are the clowns behind all those political action committees? Really, who knows what evil lurks in the heart of those whom call themselves The Committee Against Big Booty? Of course I'm being a little facetious, but really, some of their names speak so loudly, that I know, I should not listen to a word they have to say. Come on now, Mother's Against Children That Have Fat Lips and Kinky Hair, leaves no doubt that they don't have me (or anyone that looks like me) in their best interests. So I'll be more than happy when this political season comes to an end.

Aside from the commercials of doom and gloom, I'd love to zap the runaway zombies that swallow that garbage - hook, line, and sinker? I call them Sucker Spud Bobs, aka, political mash potatoes.... "Hey man, did you hear the USA is Godzilla in debt, and no one on earth will be paid next week?"

No Bimbo Bob-o, I didn't hear that. But is it safe yet?