“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


a guide

i just touched base from watching the flick: "a guide to recognizing your saints." i sit with the resonance i didn't expect to experience. the crux of the film is a boy's relationship with his father and the world that is falling apart around them. dramatically portrayed, i was brought to tears. at the peak of the film the obvious hit me. i felt the sulphuric taste of what my father did, or didn't do, sit on my bottom lip.

absenteeism is the word that emerges amongst all others when i think of my father. i once asked him why he left us. he told me some reason involving his tour with the military. i accepted it then, because we were there in a car; my arm was vulnerable in that damp car, not his. i attempted to wrap my mind around it then but i can't now. for a father to abandon the son he's created must involve more than exploits in south korea. i could accept, fear, impotence, hatred or simply lack of love but not knee high boots and fatigue.

dito stood in the foyer of his building and decided to walk. walk away from the sordid life and the emotional paralyzed father that was all smeared over it. i listened to him then.


broken homes aren't a rarity, but they should be.


poem: evening commute

How vast and how effective you are in sapping young men of the vigor and stellar women of their beauty. You are as unto an unlikely parasite, gnawing away at what we thought we had left;
after all the hustle and bustle was done, ourselves.
You bite and chew and swallow that which we hold dear; o’ wretched workings of this intricate system. We are then left to only recall shadows of ourselves, like jaded paintings on the wall, simply hanging.

Oh time, how shall I know thee? How can I grasp thee with hopes of mastery?
I see a rising sun that sets on me as if I were its’ own. I am. Settled at placid bays that resonate sounds of our surroundings.

I belong to the day like it belongs to me. We are servants one to another, working that which seems expedient. How is it that a man can work all his life yet not have anything to show for its value, no met potential, just weariness and wrinkles to accompany his death bed. I shall find my path of truth and wisdom as a sojourner in search of freedom. I will find her and lay hold of her gently, while I ask her where she’s been all my life.

And then, I shall be free.

previous sentiment: black woman

Revolution skin, a term that properly depicts what you’ve lived with.
Your aura exudes a most inexplicable awe from your neighbors.
My black woman, with hair and beauty flowing down the concavity of her back. It’s held too much anguish, too much unnecessary pain. Allow me to lead you to plains of placid waters, whereby we could bathe ourselves. Allow me to wash you with words you were always skeptical of. Let me speak into you; verbally displaying your worth, your value, before God, your past and every ex that made you question.

Black woman; You who watch over yourself, allow me. Allow, me. I’m taking precedence over your fears, your insecurities, and over your need for radical feminism. Release me to advocate.

O, Black woman, symbol of valor and enduring strength, come back to the place of acceptance.

At this moment, I feel that to give myself to anyone besides a black woman would do myself injustice. I see it as several things, furthering the black community, investing in a woman with whom understands me to a greater capacity and simply loving a beautiful vessel. Watching a black woman glow is unlike anything else.



this song only last for a short while. let's dance will the music lasts. dance to the music, dance, dance, dance. shout for a while under the heat of the rhythm. let the blaring vibration of the speakers pulse through you. under your skin, inside your nerves, between, between.

This morning I went to the construction site we're working at, our contractor has a penchant for being excessively late. Why not take a walk? With Switchfoot in my ears I walked towards the rising sun. The lyrics came through, "my heart is darker than the ocean." Tears immediately filled my eyes and I began to uncontrollably sob. I knew the Lord was touching the part of me was slow to forgive. I can forgive others, but to myself, I inflict unnecessary self lacerations. He touched me there, when several minutes earlier, I prayed for his presence to come "in a way I couldn't imagine."

He is.



para closure: TAC

Red letters that I see on my page; trying to recollect something, trying to represent something, trying to. Reasons for which, reasons to forget and understand that I found you in the first place. What is sought is found and somewhere beneath the blood stained page is you: crippled, alert and waning. You told me that I'd never find a love like you. I tried not to believe you.

I understood it when you cradled me and fast sleep was near, when I held off on tobacco and loose women. I was afraid to believe you for the chance you were right. In Solomon's voice I found you and reveled in your bosom. I found solace there, yet I sought refuge elsewhere: in the arms of intreprepidation; she knew me well. Perhaps better than you did. Who knows the bond our dark skin made in the night? This is the reason I have searched for you in quiet hours and roam like a man of dim light. To forget your darkness, to immerse myself deeper than you, or she, ought to search for me. Beneath sheetrock and poetry I lay waiting there like a virgin in anticipation. You knew me then.

I gave you that shiny locket and told you to rub it when you were afraid. I emphasized that it'd make our fears dissipate into the Northeast winds. You believed me for my ferverence. What if I had told you to forget and set aside rubbing and disaster for those other women? Would you not be distant these days? My prayer should have been for easy thoughts and summertime melodies.

For you I have cried tears that don't exist.