“You’re living at a time of extremism, a time of revolution, a time when there’s got to be a change. People in power have misused it, and now there has to be a change and a better world has to be built and the only way it’s going to be built is with extreme methods. And I for one will join in with anyone, I don’t care what color you are, as long as you want to change this miserable condition that exists on this earth. Thank you.” Bookmark and Share Bookmark and Share



In the aftermath of yesterday being everything that it was I feel that I should be more joyful, more insightfully grateful for what God is doing. It seems that my joy and gratitude lie only in my thoughts, positioning me solely as a mental participant of these occasions.

What happened yesterday could and will inevitably affect the course of my life in many crucial ways. For one Cliff decided to be the eighth member of the Student Venture house, which locks us in position to move in August 1st. Another exciting occurrence was editor Adrienne Ingram proposing to help me to compose a book about my life, an autobiography. Her being in the professional “place” she is gives me an opportunity to share my life and my words with millions of people aboard. For them to know the power and validity of Christ’s resurrection in my life. The veracity of this situation brings me to a sober reality that I now am able to face.

My dream is to become an established writer. To share my loves, disgusts, vulnerabilities and experience with the public at large. I wish to write as if no one will read, displaying and uttermost honesty and transparency, as if I was were a jailed inmate, preparing for a routine search. To, experientially verify the life of Christ through the brunt of my poetry, prose and mental exhaust. To write for the love of writing itself, daily bearing witness to self, my fervent adoration for the written word. And as the literature flows from my cerebral excretions, publishers wait in the wings for the next manuscript hot of the presses of a Canon copier.

To write because the fabric of my being compels me to do so. To compose because the innermost instincts, like those that lead us to love or to breathe or to defecate, tell me to do so.

This is the passion; life is the chance, Adrienne, possibly one of the gateways.

Beneath the layer of hope lies a subtext of fear of incompetency. Yes, many people have praised my writing but when the editor reads it, will she share the same sentiment? Only time will tell and only hope can dream. I pray her response is critical awe. Room for improvement, but publish-able. And worse case scenario, no I’m not going to explore the worse, but the best. My God put this in me, this penchant for creating the written word, it is He who determines what opportunities come my way and how many work out. God I place publishing in your hands along with any other success that may come way. All I can do is strive to become the best at what I seek to do, compose.

With writing this I had today in mind. How did today affect my life? The question I should ask myself everyday but don’t. Seeking to answer that turned into opening a can of thoughts, sinking to the depths of what I feel. Writing has become my processing place.

Today I took my fourteen going on forty-year-old sister to Beth Israel hospital to follow up on a lead for a volunteering position. As we walked through the train station we both subconsciously knew she would get the “job.” And that she did. With clever ease and charm she became a young member of B.I. volunteer staff. I’m actually proud of her.

On the way back from Manhattan we both feverishly read whenever the opportunity arose. She, “Gifted Hands” from Ben Carson and I, “The Prisoner’s Wife” from asha bandele. Yes, that’s how she spells her name, in lower cased letters...

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