Bear v. Shark

a.k.a. Another Head or Gut post

Hey Africans, what's the deal? I'm back in the saddle, puttin' brands on cattle. I'm still a little under the weather, but for the most part I'm cool.

Have you ever been in purgatory? When you're not exactly where you think you belong, but you're floating in a no man's land? Have you ever played baseball/softball and got caught in a "run-down"? You're on the base paths, running back and forth between second and third, hoping somebody will drop the ball so you can end up safe on one base or another. Let me explain a little.

Would you rather be eaten by a bear or shark? Shot in the head or the gut? Kicked in the nuts or the teeth? Dropped off a cliff or a skyscraper? Give up? Me too.

I got a choice to make fairly soon, and it's not getting easier but the gist is simple: Stay here, in Michigan, and stand on the deck of the Titanic for the potential to have true happiness or leave here, go anyplace else, make more loot but be in the wilderness, out there slummin' with unappreciative dickryders.

Question: When is the love of your life NOT the love of your life? When you love again. Period.

Question: When is the best time of your life NOT the best time of your life? When it keeps getting trumped by better times.

Where do you want that hole, head or heart?

Be Cool,
KZ

The Champagne Room*

It's day three of my miserable cold. Day two of no work. Which is fucked up when you have actual deadlines to meet. So I'm sitting in my living room, listening to forgotten CDs, trying to suck down broth. Why the fuck do I have to use sick days actually being sick? Unless it's "mental health days", I'm not for it.

Anyway, being home has given me the opportunity to look at the decline of Western Civilization up close and personal.

How hollow it must be to have to cater to the American public who are at the crib during the day, stay at home moms excepted. They must all be creeps. I mean, Maury Povich with DNA tests, is it a man or a woman, my daughter's a hoe, etc. How does it feel to base your good living on exploiting the worst segments of the human population? Do you sleep well? Really?

NewsRadio comes on a 1:30 on TBS. WTF? Why they hidin' it instead of showcasing shit like "Home Improvement"?

It just snows non-stop here. I've been watching it snow for the last 5 hours. It snows from sun-up to sundown. This is suicide weather.

I had another one of "those talks" with T.A.D. last night. How long? How much? When? How many? Why not? How long, again? This type of shit ain't for the weak or impatient.

Pornography, though extremely useful, can't replace chicken soup. Believe me, I've tried.

That little happy hour thing I put on has yielded a quite a few offers for me to discharge bodily fluids into various birth canals. I guess it pays to be the host, hunh?

Which reminds me of the little Frances Cress Welsing based discussion I had at the event regarding me and all these bow ties. I'll bet they never look at a necktie the same way again.

Be Easy,
KZ

*there's no sex in the Champagne Room

The Recap

Wow. That's all I can say. Wow. I hit a muthafuckin' lick on Friday. My event, the one I was fretting about, went off without a hitch. A little two hour afterwork event with a little word of mouth, turned into (at least) a seven hour hang session. We got at least 50 people out. I'm thinking more like 60 but I didn't take the official count. I know you're thinking, "Damn, that's not a whole lot of people." For Satan's Anus, it was a nice turnout, especially for a little working adult affair. I was talking to various attendees trying to find out how they heard about the event. It turns out my best pub people were chicks I used to date. Imagine that.

It was only supposed to go from 5 to 7. We had to ask for an extra hour at the venue. Then at 8, a bunch of us left (around 20 people) and went to another bar and kept kickin' it. It was tremendous. Nobody wanted to leave. I left at midnight to try to prep my house a little for T.A.D.'s visit. They were still kickin' it hard when I left.

T.A.D. came to check me out for her first visit to the Anus. Even if my happy hour had sucked, my weekend was made. To tell you the truth, the fact that the set turned out so nice was the icing on the cake. But T.A.D. was on the scene and all was well. We went to see her cousin play basketball for Satan's Anus University's female squad. I'd never been to a women's basketball game, so there were some interesting dynamics going on. People tell you their relative is the shit, you tend to view it with some skepticism. Alls I know is her cousin dropped 36 POINTS on the other squad. Fuck! 36 of 77 total points? A beast! She's the leading scorer on the team and in the country! No more skepticism on that issue.

After the game, we got to see some of the finer points of the "Paris of West Michigan" before we went to check out "Children of Men". Yeah, I think I'm a pretty deep thinker. No, I can't say I understood the movie or the point of the movie. More Michael Caine, less everybody else.

All in all my weekend was pretty cool. It's a totally different experience in Satan's Anus when you're not alone. Completely different.

Peace,
KZ

Clueless and Clamless

I was slinking into the bank yesterday at lunchtime. Just trying to dip in and out. They are really friendly at my branch. The bank manager and one of the tellers are sistas, so it's always good to see 'em when I come in. But yesterday when I walked in, I just wanted to get back out. The gig was really at it's worst. Staff coming into my office about insignificant shit, hourlong meetings on shit I don't need to know about, and meetings on shit that's over my head. I needed a break, however short.

So I walk in the bank yesterday, regular last Wednesday of the month routine. I'm getting a cashier's check to pay the rent. The manager asks me if I've met with her aunt lately, a community organizer. Yeah, small town shit. I told her I hadn't seen her. She made a little more small talk, tugging on her hair and smiling. I mean this strange little smile. I filled out my paperwork and walked up to the counter.

"Those women treating you right at work, Zed?" the teller asks. I really do unload when I come in here. I gotta cut that shit out. "Not really. Naw." "What you been doin'? You been hangin' out lately?" "No. I've been stayin' out of trouble." Now she's looking at me, smiling this really big smile and giggling. "Look at you. I like your hat. And your scarf. And your tie." I give her this sideways look. "What's goin' on this weekend?" Now I'm buggin'. What the fuck is in the air? "Well, my frat is having this little happy hour fundraiser for our scholarship. It's Friday. Come out, tell some folks." "Oh, I'll be there."

It was the weirdest thing. It was an extra flirty assed experience and I couldn't figure out why it was different. The more I think about it, the more I think the difference was evident. I was completely and utterly disinterested.

I swear I'll never understand women as long as I live.

One,
KZ

Twenty Three Days...

...makes a habit. What have you done for the past twenty three days straight of the new year? Liar! I've been getting more and more aggravated each day, so that's something, right? Guess what? After much back and forth with HR, the director, and everybody else in the world, your favorite deputy director sent out a little email yesterday to all staff that went something like this:

Unusual scents or str.ong odors may trigger re.actions in our staff and/or customers. Please refrain from using heav.ily scen.ted pers.onal care products in order to enhance acc.essibility for everyo.ne. Tr.eat this as a m.atter of department policy. Your cooper.ation is greatly apprec.iated.

That was it. that little blurb has been causing a shitstorm (figuratively!) around here. Most people (my boss included) thinking it went too far. Wispy and Evette didn't think it went far enough. Evette, a sista, went so far as to tell me the little policy didn't address burnt popcorn smell, which makes her ill. All day long people have been coming up to me, "Hey boss, how do I smell?" My response, "Neutral. Just as the policy dictates." Assholes!

Male Blogger shout out

Rob Mack had a comment in my last post that made me think about something. What's with Black people and the words "moot" and "fathom"? (For the record, Rob Mack knows the difference!!!) Damn near eight times out of ten, Black folks will say the wrong fucking word. Instead of "moot" they'll say "mute". Instead of "fathom" they'll say "phantom". It's 2007, get that shit together. I can't phantom that we don't understand the difference.

I wanted to take a minute to thank Slisher/Slasher and Hassan for being stand up dudes. Everybody's got REAL shit going on in their own lives, but both these brothers read the lines and read between the lines and reached out to me. I appreciate it. Both of y'all got projects to finish, get to it!!!

I'm Out,
KZ

Blathering

First of all, I'd like to thank everybody (except that Anonymous jackass) who gave me recommendations for my Happy Hour playlist. Especially to BZ, who brought her "A" game to the table and sent me a list of stuff I could use. I'm currently compiling songs that I'll use.

On Friday I went to a surprise party for one of my frat brothers. His wife emailed all of us and asked us to be at this restaurant at 6:00 pm. When my frat brother and his wife arrived at 6:30 pm, there were only 3 of us there for the surprise. Everybody else showed after he and his wife. Black people really know how to fuck up a surprise party. We got to put that CPT shit in check. If not for work, for each other!

Saturday another one of my frat brothers had his birthday party at one of the little clubs in town. When I walked in, it was like that dream. You know that dream, when you're confronted with all the unpleasant people from your past in one room? Am I the only one that has that dream?

It was a small gathering, so of the 10 women there, I think I'd talked to 5 of them. And another one of 'em I was cock-blocked from hooking up with. This place is small, for real. So I spent the time touting the little happy hour thing we are having next week. Look, money is money. I don't care who the fuck shows up, as long as it makes me look good on the bottom line. Anyway, one of the women I was talking to was out with "The Transplants", the night I was wearing the Single Moms shirt. I'll call her Wanda because she's short, funny and nasally like Wanda Sykes. Wanda says, "That was a wack ass flyer I got on the email. It was wack and generic." Gotta love that bluntness. Somebody has to love it. "I did my best", I respond. "Your best was wack."

The women spent their time complaining about the lack of tall dudes in the house. I was the tallest dude there and I'm not that tall. At 6'3", I'm probably one of the shortest of my boys. I was trying to lecture them on not selling a short dude "short", because I hate that sort of profiling. They all said the same thing, "Why do you care?" "Because y'all swimmin' in a shallow pool and you keep dumpin' water out. You better adjust them parameters a little." They responded by getting the fuck outta there and heading towards the 'hood spot. That's the ticket, find a tall felon. Idiots.

Be Cool,
KZ

Query From The Weary

Actual, bona fide frat business is getting under my skin. I never thought it would be so hard to get somebody to work for their own benefit. I think when I was in Detroit, we had so many members, you didn't really notice the slackers. Now, everything is right there in my face. These cats is slippin'!

So over the last couple of weeks I set up the chapter website (which is so wack, I'm ashamed), got us a general chapter email address, and have been running the social committee to establish fundraisers for the scholarship fund. The little fundraiser we're about to have is a little "four.th Friday" after work set. Not a big deal. $5 for some appetizers, drink specials and ambiance. This chapter has had NO REGULAR SOCIAL EVENTS for years. They had one happy hour last year, the one where I met Carmel, but that's it. I figured once we do a few of these, we can build a rep for throwing dope shit and do bigger things, like have a fundraiser ball or some snooty shit like that.

So I had to find the venue, secure the food, arrange for equipment set up, make up a fuckin' name for the event (God, it's generic), make the flyers, call the brothers to make sure they're spreading the word, etc. I've had social committee meetings that have consisted of me and a 76 year old Brother discussing how to get ladies to come out to the event. I'm just bugged about it.

I'm gonna have to pick the music to establish the ambiance, which is a classy, after work affair. People from their twenties to their 70's will be in the house. My taste in music is a little to off-center for broad appeal. I'm looking for a soul/neo-soul/jazz/"smooth jazz" (ugh) playlist.

What I ask of you good bloggers, is to give me some good songs that I can compile and create a nice atmosphere at this thing. Help a brother out!

Peace,
KZ

Where I'm At

a.k.a "Where I Am" for you English majors.

This fuckin' blog feels like work. I'm trying to find new ways to say old shit. It's become tiresome. I hardly ever read anybody else's shit. It depresses me. Either somebody is happy about some relationship they're in or somebody is bitchin' about something. Both those subjects thoroughly depress me. If you notice me commenting less, it's not your imagination. I might skim your stuff, but I can't fuckin' bring myself to comment.

I'm exhausted. Not due to the sleep deprivation I'm perpertually suffering from. Just emotionally exhausted. I'm more bothered by this gig, not because it's difficult, but because I'm flat out not motivated. I'm bored as hell. I feel so entirely disconnected when this blog thing used to make me feel connected to something. I'm fuckin' floating in outer space, an astronaut with no mission control and no mission.

I'm frustrated and I can't put my finger on it. I know what Robyn would say, but I don't think that's it. I'm irritable and just pissed overall. I wanna lash out and punch people in the throat. Nice people too, not just assholes.

I could use some coffee but this shit here tastes like swill. Guitar classes are cancelled for the next two weeks. I haven't smoked Djarums since October. I gotta get back to the gym, yo.

I'm angry that I gotta write this "Scent Policy" at the office.

I'm just in a foul place.

KZ

The Urgency

I was in the "D" visiting T.A.D. on Sunday and Monday. We went to this play on Sunday evening. It was decent, earnest in its efforts. Before the play started, T.A.D. and I were cracking on people coming through the door. We got busted by this couple sitting next to us. "Y'all havin' too much fun down there talkin' about folks!"

After we left the play, we went out to eat then we went back to her crib and watched "Litt.le Miss Sun.shine", which was a funny movie, at least the parts we saw in between talking. I brought a few DVDs with me. I put in "Love Jones", a movie I hadn't seen in close to ten years. T.A.D. was pretty much down for the count by the time I started it, but she tried to be a trooper.

As I watched the movie, I realized the dude I'd identified with so much when the movie came out, struck me as a complete cornball. I was watching thinking "What is this African on?" It got painful in spots. The overall emotional impact of the joint was still major. I remember instances in a bunch of different relationships that mirrored the shit that the protagonist was going through. When something would ring especially true, I'd look over at T.A.D. who by this time was intermittently knocked out and awake.

It was at the end when I was completely brought back to the emotional heft that movie has had for me all these years.

Nina: You always want what you want when you want it. Why is everything so urgent with you?
Darius: Let me tell you somethin'. This here, right now, at this very moment, is all that matters to me. I love you. That's urgent like a muthafucka.

Urgent, indeed.

Love,
KZ

Jerk At Play

So I was out with the one of the women that hold me down, one of the dudes in the crew and two other women, one of which was E.T. They called me and I wasn't doing anything but masterbating. So I washed my hands and hit the streets. And I had on the above t-shirt. It's not the most politically correct or sensitive shirt, but it's what I put on after work.

Now, the offensive nature of the shirt wasn't on my mind as I sat at the bar next to two single women. Actually I forgot I had it on. Then I wasn't allowed to forget.

Fate sat me next to a divorce lawyer. A thirty-one year old Black woman, single mother at 19 who still managed to finish undergrad and law school in the regularly allotted time period with honors. She let me know how offensive she found my shirt on about a hundred different levels. I told her it was just a shirt. She told me it wasn't. Me? I kept drinking.

And I still support single moms.

KZ

Upper Management In Small Town America

Hey Africans and others, what's happening? This morning has made me miss drone level responsibilities, where I just stay under the radar and wait until the end of the day. There's something refreshingly American about sitting the fuck down and being the fuck quiet. Let me tell you what's got me so nostalgic.

I had a meeting this morning on scents. Regulating scents because Wispy, my favority crybaby staff member has complained that Debbiee's perfume (among others) is making her sick. She's complaining of odors from other people's cologne, food, lotion, hair products, etc. Even though she's has a vanilla scented candle sitting on a candle warmer wafting that bullshit smell throughout the office. People's food aroma is bothering her? If food smells bothered her so much, I doubt she'd weigh 300 plus pounds. But I digress... (that was for you, Chele)

I had a meeting with HR to discuss "reasonable accommodations" for her ailment. She got a doctor's note, we gotta accommodate her. The bottom line is what it's been since I got here: She's a receptionist but she wants an office. Wispy will use any means she can to get a private office. She's either too stubborn or too stupid to realize she becomes obsolete in an office. She's been working here for 34 years without the slightest hint of ambition. Now she wants an office? Getdafuckouttahere!

So, I gotta proceed with establishing a scent-free policy for the office because of Wispy. You see, if she's not comfortable, nobody can be comfortable. She's an old baby. Shit, I'm not much for young babies. An old one can get choked!

On top of that, I got Pissy McNotwashhismitts trying to invite me over for dinner at his house. This dude is a bore and a kiss-up. I hate fleeting conversations with him. He's always trying to prove his worthiness to be included in the "big" meetings. NOBODY LIKES A KISS UP!!! You're not invited to the "big" meetings because your input is not valued, point blank. No amount of smoozing or asskissing is going to make you necessary. I say improve y'all household hygiene quotient and get the fuck outta here.

And that my friends, is upper management in small town America.

Peace,
KZ

Humor, Part II

On the phone with Three two days ago
Three: How long y'all been talkin'?
KZ: (thinking) Since October.
3: That's a lot of fuckin' talkin'.

Email from Endo, yesterday
Old man, you just decided to dis me on Saturday. Can a sister get a call back? Dang! Is it because I'm a virgin? LOL. It's all good. I guess you got busy.

Conversation with my boss today

Context: Every job I've ever had since college has given me MLK Day off as a paid holiday. Not this one. They allow you to volunteer in the community instead of working that day (you bring back proof that you actually volunteered) . Black people here usually take the day off using a vacation day as a way to protest the policy. As a result, city government looks bad. They desperately need Black city employees to participate in volunteer photo ops.

AQ: You doing anything Monday?
KZ: Yep. I'm taking the day off to celebrate MLK Day properly.
AQ: Oh. Nevermind.

Staff person at the Secretary of State's (DMV equivalent) office last night as I renewed my car registration
Lady: Did you play football?
KZ: Once upon a time.
Lady: College? Pro?
KZ: High school.
Lady: You've got that kind of build. Why'd you quit?
KZ: (irritated) It bored me.
Lady: Was it the pain? Were you scared of getting hurt?
KZ: (more irritated) No, it bored me.
Lady: The pain scares a lot of people off. You shoulda kept it up.

Bugaboo, My four year old nephew who can't remember my name
Hey, like the green shirt, big guy! (then he gives me the thumbs up)

Note to Mos Def
Muthafucka, if you ever decide to take a shit inside a CD case and sell it for $15 a shot again, you need to let Africans know. Black Dante, Pretty Flaco, or whoever the fuck you are, you can get jumped! True Magic my ass!

Be Easy,
KZ

Finishing Last As A Way Of Life

Most of you know me as an over opinionated asshole. I embrace that, I'm cool with it. It suits me. I most definitely THINK like an asshole. But of the select few that actually know me out there, you know that's not really the case. I'm a pretty easy going cat with a distaste for bombast and flamboyance. Though I discuss on the blog a lot of assholish opinions when describing various situations I get into, I'd probably not even broach the situation like that outside of my head. People that know me get it. The rest of you probably don't.

I say all of this to say I'm destined to finish last, because basically, I'm a nice guy. Sure, I've embraced my inner asshole as a guy called "Knockout Zed", but I'm highly sensitive to people's feelings. That's the shit that is my downfall.

If you shit on me, I'll surely shit on you, but not a second before. The cat that's running roughshod over a broad's feelings is the African that can fuck her tonight. That chivalrous bastard, opening doors, pulling out chairs, all that shit? He's at home pulling his pud.

I've watched it happen and been on the receiving end of it. I've even stepped outside of myself to enjoy the benefits of being an ass. Assholes live the Life of Riley. I've been extremely monsterous and been apologized to and coddled. Being an asshole has great short term benefits. The problem for me was two-fold: I couldn't maintain it and I felt guilty about how I was treating women.

Women won't readily admit it, but it's easier for a nice muthafucka to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for him to be allowed to put the smack down on quality pussy. My path in life has always to take the underdog approach. Though my way is never the easiest, it's the one most satisfying to me. I'm raging against the machine. I'm getting the broads I want on my terms, without being an asshole. I'll leave y'all to these little sick mental abuse games. Imma be the man I was raised to be.

Peace,
KZ

I Hate Them All

I've been working my little Quality quest for a few days now, still discovering what works for me. It's all fucked up, 'cuz I'm an emotional wreck. Sitting around appreciating shit you've hardly ever paid attention to is hard work, trust me. Everything's being evaluated: friendships, political views, cuts of meat, internet speed, the whole shot.

This weekend I got inundated with phone calls. It's always the way. When people sense you don't give a fuck, they'll call you to make sure they're right. On Friday, Endo had come to my office to visit her Auntie Anita and she saw me walk past. "Zed!" I turn around. "Hey Endo, what's goin' on?" "Nothing. Where have you been?" That was some priceless shit. Where have I been? You flaky little bitch! "I been workin'. Keepin' this place movin'. I'll see you around." And that was that, so I thought. That was the beginning of a weekend phone call onslaught that saw multiple calls from her, Carmel, Puddin', Thelma, and this chick from Mon.tgom.ery, AL who's fond of sending me pics of her titties on my cell.

Surviving that bullshit, I finally got to do some shit I'd been planning to do for at least 20 years. I took my first guitar lesson yesterday. Damn I suck! I got to get some coordination when trying to learn how to play this thing the "right handed" way. It doesn't seem natural to me. As soon as I learn how to play "Computer Blue", I'm quittin' the class. I think I can play "Fast Car" right now. I'll be the male Tracy Chapman, the only difference being a slightly bigger dick and the ownership of lip balm.

Today, I'll be writing some more. I'm here. Might as well.

Stay Cool,
KZ

Opportunity Cost

How do you establish something's worth? Isn't the value of anything whatever someone is willing to pay for it? Let's discuss worth for a moment.

What is wealth worth to you? Is it worth your health, mental or physical? Your romantic relationships? Your privacy? Because if you become wealthy beyond your wildest dreams, all of a sudden your life becomes interesting to millions of people.

What is your productivity worth? If you produce ANYTHING and give it all your effort, what is the opportunity cost of the other thing you sacrificed doing for your project's completion?

While in the process of determining what Quality is to me, I'll be establishing what the Quality is Worth. What am I willing to give up to create Quality? Is it Worth the product?

Most of the time I think I should snap out of it, put pen to paper and be done with it. But of course, that's not what I do, is it?

KZ

Reachin' (A New Refutation Of Time And Space)

It's so good to be here...

Which one of these kids doesn't belong here? Is it the incompetent one? The morose one? Or the one with the gas can and matches looking for directions to the wooden bridge?

I'm most certainly addicted to the travel box (i.e. the internet). Most certainly. It's how I get to see how everybody else is living, not just wondering if I'm the only one like this. Otherwise, I'd be stuck in my head all day, looking for an escape.

I've voluntarily stepped into a community that I'm the least valued member of. Somebody gotta go. That's the thing: you can't say you haven't been told when you've been told repeatedly. "I'm not ready. I need time. It's not you it's me." I'm Gil.bert Ar.enas (fellow Black Cuban), doing the incredible, toiling in obscurity, while these St.eve N.ash/D.wyane Wa.de ass Africans get all the glory.

But still...it's so good to be here...

The first work of the first week of the new year is establishing that quality I've been talking about. What my focus should be and how to get from HERE to THERE. I'm trying to block out all other distractions and bullshit. I always get caught up in nuance, all the little shit. "What did that mean? Was that some sort of subliminal message?"

I'm sooo ready to complete a writing project. This is when I'm at my most competitive. "Muthafucka, I'll out-write ya. Count on it." All in all...

It's so good to be here...

KZ

Chautauqua 2007

Quality: something special about an object or person
Can you rock a party without rehearsing?
I can, anytime, on the spot rhyme
Many recording artists can't do it, but I'm
More than just a recording artist kicking dust
I'm a sandstorm, taking human form.
Blastmaster KRS-One, "Part-Time Sucker", By All Means Necessary, 1988.

I wrote this post that I thought was amazing. My browser crashed before I saved it. I'm trying to reproduce this thing from memory, so if you sense some frustration in this post, forgive me.

I'm spending this year trying to live my life with a sense of "quality". First, I'd like to be able to define "quality", then I'd like to be able to implement it standard level in which I produce things in my life.

Quality is defined by each individual differently. After all, one man's "quality" is another man's shoddy workmanship. I know that I haven't produced anything of "quality" in a long time. I am working using someone else's standards, so I tend to lower my work according to what they need. That's professionally, though. I haven't lived a quality life by my standards.

A man can sustain himself off the low hanging fruit on a tree, but is that really living? If you're willing to do a little climbing, go up a few branches, the fruit gets better and better the higher you go. Why just "sustain", when you can live an enjoyable, "quality" existence?

Shit, I shortcut myself to death. Going through the drive-thru is a hell of a lot easier than going to a little market, getting fresh food and cooking at home. I sacrifice my health and TASTE (a major component of eating!!!) for expediency's sake.

There is a person living inside of me that I am slowly killing. He craves artistic fulfillment, challenges, and beauty. I'm making him settle on all fronts. Instead of artistic fulfillment, I make him settle for blogging. Instead of challenges, I make him settle for slights and affronts. Instead of beauty, I make him settle for "not ugly". I'm sure he's sick of low hanging fruit.

Not a resolution in the purest sense, I'll make myself a promise. I will make every attempt to not shortchange myself and to pursue quality with a fervor.

Regards,
KZ

Encephalitis

Happy New Year, y'all. I hope you've started this year off right. I don't think I have. I'm still bitter and pissed. I gotta a lot of shit on my mind, like my brain is swelling. I am ultimately unfulfilled, but my job is fairly straight forward so I'm not that ready to go. I'm filled with anxiety about not leaving a big enough mark on society. In my mind, I'm unstoppable. In reality, I just don't try.

My neighbor, Luther, stopped me yesterday as I was going into my unit. I'm overloaded with bags and he had to talk. I've never been so close to yelling at anybody "Leave me the fuck alone!" in my life. He says to me, "I know I'm buggin' you, but I'm lonely out here." I was torn between sympathy and disgust. I understand, but I'm not here to solve his shit. He's irritating and I'm not trying to make a friend by default.

This blog and my locs. I keep trying to part ways with both of 'em and I can't seem to pull the trigger.

This is the other shit on my mind, in no particular order:

Satan's Anus
I will not settle for less 'cuz I'm here. I know the nature of small town shit and how one can get caught up in minutia. I will not be drawn down into the low level nature of thinking. I must do better. I think I may have lost the ability to think big.

Detroit
Old friend, it's been real, but I can't fuck wit' you much more.

Rubik's Pussy
Why oh why do I get the ass delivered on a platter when I don't want it? And why can't I get what I really want? It's a puzzle I can't solve.

36
What lessons was I supposed to have learned by now? What mistakes should I not be making? Where am I supposed to be going? I feel like this shit should be better defined by now.

Bugaboo, my four year old nephew
You little bad ass muthafucka. When you get older, Imma take you outside and challenge you to fistfight. "You're a fat giant!" Imma put a fat giant foot up your ass!

Maia Campbell
Why the crack, sweetie? What a beautiful mess.




Peace,
KZ