pure shooter

 

as much as i hate duke, his shot speaks for itself

#1 Duke 97
#2 Texas 66

siren

the infinite pursuit
of the sweet music in my ears,
that loud parade of death
down florida avenue.
sirens, migraine grenades
for the ill-prepared
and being that i never am
i at least become accustomed
to my fingers trembling after
each explosion of sound
as i stare into the back window
of acceptance or salvation,
to catch a glimpse of some
end not yet finished or done
hours ago. when my pursuit is
over, i'd like to go slowly
into the great night full of stars
shedding the sparkle of silver
tears one million years--trapped
in the nightmare of lights, blinking
my sanity six feet under

3 am songs

Beck- Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometimes
Foreign Exchange- Sincere
Interpol- Hands Away
A Tribe Called Quest- Once Again
Meshell Ndegeocello- Love Song #1
Marvin Gaye- Come Stay With Me Angel
Oasis- Champagne Supernova, She's Electric
Erykah Badu- I Want You
Death Cab for Cutie- Transatlanticism
Led Zeppelin- Going to California
Cee-Lo Green- Young Man

highway 101

we are level with the bay
near palo alto,
the sun is a staple in the
sky, in blue delight,
the wind whispering
overcast in san francisco

we bring jackets from
the san jose hills,
the mustang purring
familiarity with the
smoothness of the road
under us

i admit this being my
first time behind the wheel
of a convertible,
invigorated, every inch
of asphalt a new world,
every smile of yours
reassurance that the unknown
city
shall welcome me with
open arms

an accusation revisited

i step into the store
no longer a man
,i am, reduced
to black-- a shadow
of discontent,
the guilty searching
for his noose
to hang in,
this is where
i belong
guilty, proof
being inconsequential,
extra, a conviction
that goes without
saying, "yes,
your honor, i did
it and i apologize"
her premonition:
she has seen me
before or someone
of the liking
makes me wish
i was guilty,
the black now
having a face,
speaking a name.

heisman

will it be Bush...

 



or Young?

Stats:
Reggie Bush (USC)- rushing: 187 carries, 1683 yards, 17 TDs
receiving: 31 receptions, 383 yards, 2 TDs
1 punt return for TD

Vince Young (Texas)- passing: 183/296, 2,769 yards, 26 TDs, 10 INTs
rushing: 136 carries, 872 yards, 9 TDs.

searching, always searching

I
expectation, the goings-on--
the rhythm of thought

expectation, something more,
movement, the wind,

a lonely expletive
mumbled under breath

cursing your existence
hoping you are someone

else you believe
has it better

II
the drunk funk of the bar,

weigh-station, libation,
shenanigan not your salvation,

ethereal, lest you forget
caught in a hangover

the wet bed of sweat,
a sober morning

III
It needs to be done, now,
whatever it is

waiting for life to begin
wanting the pain to end

wanting the poem you'll never write
to save you from being you

the timeless mess of consequence,
the belittled id

the psychology of it
neurotic, cigarette butt

granulated sugar,
mcdonald's break

desperate housewife,
tortured soul, infinite madness

a completed circle,
the dotted i in the middle

the loneliness of belonging,
the fleeced masses.

IV
a song i lose myself in
the loss never found

a canceled check
the loan, the bill overdrawn

coffee, liquor
a brother's predicament

katrina, memory
vision of things to come

prophetic
pathetic

travelling without moving
circumstance, chance

fate, the last laugh
the last line

jokes on you
always, you

expectation, living short of it
argument, resolution

duly noted witness
of the absurd

participant in all
you've denounced

hypocrite
depression

loving yourself, holding fast
to the love of others

waiting, for something
not quite sure

can't describe it
but you keep going

until, finally
there are no words left to utter.

wednesday lament

music: coldplay - high speed


poetry strewn across the bed
i am now beyond expectation
i am hindsight 20/20 vision
a stereo without treble

--

fingers do not gain confidence
while aging, yet eyes do
having seen and felt, tied
to the brain's third dimension
somehow understanding
what's been seen, what's been felt

--

poetry strewn across the bed
poetry,
thrown across the bed

i will not apologize that i know
the end of my story, unwritten
the hidden path, the unopened doors

and that today i did not live
i only watched from my window,
envious, lethargic,

within a daydream.

thoughts.

music: death cab for cutie- transatlanticism


looking back on all the time i wasted thinking of the future here in this room alone with expectation i find it hard sometimes to leave it. blown here and there with the wilted leaves of yesterday's phosphorescent foliage, a life losing its neon. i am needed so i'm told but what do i need? this question follows me through the urban jungle as i go to drown myself in afterthoughts.

i quit my job.

After seven months of working with the kids, I've found that it is time to move on. No, I haven't locked up anything yet so this is me stepping out on a limb. The last day felt invigorating yet horrible at the same time. There were many people at my job that I loved and others I do not care to see ever again. The director and assistant director of the center didnt say goodbye or good luck or anything. They just gave me papers to sign, my last check and that was it. Seven months of toiling hours on end with kids and not even a pat on the back. Val thinks it's because I only gave a couple of days notice, but it's not like I was full time (2-3 1/2 hours a day) so I don't think 2 weeks was warranted (not to mention that my hours would have been cut? further next week!). I think their response to my resignation was a direct reflection of their character. Simply, they lack class when it comes to how they treat their employers, and for that reason, I'm no longer there.

guilty until proven innocent

I was accused of stealing cranberry juice from a 7-Eleven. I went into the store to get some chaser for Grey Goose Val had at her crib when I realized the store didnt have a large bottle; they only had the individual ones. So, I walked out of the store and asked Val if she wanted to get those. She did. I proceeded to walk back into the store and buy two of the juices when a pregnant Hispanic woman began to yell at me. She told me I put the juice in my pocket and to give it back. But why would I steal juice from the store and come right back? Dumbfounded by this rather logical question, she said, "Well, I thought you put something in your pocket", and reminded me that there were cameras watching me. Apparently cameras aren't needed. She has the eyes of a hawk. *scratches head*

dad and sons

trip to san francisco

streetcar named powell and mason



union square



golden gate bridge



libation



airport

me and me girlfriend

me and val 


aww, ain't that precious.

wake me up when life is over #1

is what I said to alana
who was not there when I
said it once again
while intrigued by the silence
of copper light against back-alley
foliage; how it ignites
the head-fire of my hangover

in the thick of the night
stars appear above the urban
landscape to admire
the slur of my tongue
trying to wrap itself around
some new declaration
of love for clouds and jazz
but the world has too few words

and so do i

gravity

the curve
of you
defies some
ground from
which my fingers
reach, then
fall, leaving
shadow prints
on brown skin
without palm

i'm smart

You Passed 8th Grade Math

Congratulations, you got 10/10 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade Math?

when the bar closes and i find myself still drinking

"you're such a lush" -C.R.

i ask for another one--
i've been here before
on the edge of a hangover
peering over the cliff
at every drink i consumed
that night, enough to swim in,
never enough.

i get in good with the bartender
by only asking for top shelf
and tipping double the bill

i won't remember
it in the morning
but my bank account will

sometimes i write love notes
on wet napkins
to the girl i'm going
to break up with
in my dreams because
she forgot my name
or i forgot my name
when she called
because the music
in my head was just
too loud

here they play jazz
and given that i like
to improvise, sometimes
i light a cigarette
at both ends and finger
the ash until i burn
but this is only when
the bar's been closed
an hour and even
the bartender is gone

the lights are off
and it's so quiet
i can hear the tic-toc
of my watch as i forget
my eyes aren't closed
and the people i hear
around me are only echoes
from hours before-- their
departure still ringing
in my drunken ears.

no. 100- shape the desire...

into something more. a thought becoming act, won. as in, now, i was gliding down the mending wall of sweet memory. weary of waiting and pondering the inconsistency of the thing, desire/ to be more began to manifest itself as more than idea. so, sitting down finally in the seat i've made for myself poets scattered around the floor, pieces of my heart and mind between the pages, the blank page lay under light from a lamp outside the window tonight it will not happen again this waning motivation to be greater than a beginning/void of middle of end/ of some thing new understood as (I). no--tonight will be different and it is that blank page has eyes after moments of squeezing a teardrop from my left eye/emotional ink. blood from my index finger/truth a duty to never stop/going so aimlessly into that terrible night without an insistence of being/

no. 99- it's cold outside

finally my mind has begun to calm down and allow me to speak, selfish bastard. so my job is a dead end. yes, brian luvs da kids but i'm pretty much sick of being broke all the time. i need another job, but considering it took me 4 months to find the one i have, it just looks like a very long winter is ahead of me.

i missed homecoming last week, for financial reasons, of course. i wonder about many people i've been unable to keep in contact with. i miss the AUC atmosphere if only for the fact that while in college being confused and unsure of the future was ok. now, it just seems pathetic.

i went to the library today and stocked up on poetry books. my writing continues to be sporadic and with about a month left to send off apps...well, the shit is very close to hitting the fan. transcripts are being processed thanks to Linda, i've confirmed two recs. that leaves the personal statement and my collection of poems...each of these sparking their own unique yet equally menacing headache.

schools:
UMass Amherst
Brown
UVA
American
Columbia Coll.
NYU
Emerson
UC-Irvine
Stanford (Stegner fellowship)

i am greater than i am

must means nothing until
it becomes done

i hear the clock tic-tocing away.

no. 98- jazz for a rainy day

the sirens sound the same today
windows collecting rain from clouds
covering the sun leaving a half-light
of breath in air, the cold broken
leaves of autumn fall orangeyellowred
at my feet mix with oil slick water
reflection of i, one eye hiding behind
a raised crack in another city block's
pavement. the day today had a mood
not far from the one i embody.
who hears the wail of steel against
asphalt against diesel exhaust against
the wind in my lungs as i take out my lighter
and attempt to ignite my life?

no. 97- bookstore conversation

i need time to listen to the voices inside my head.

i feel like we only hang out on your time

i need time to listen to the voices inside my head,
and i have to be alone to do that.

i don't mind having you around all the time

i need time to listen to the voices inside my head,
and i have to be alone to do that, and lately,
i've needed more time to listen.

hanging out one day a week is not enough for me

i need time to listen to the voices inside my head,
and i have to be alone to do that, and lately,
i've needed more time to listen. sometimes the time
i need is drowned out by something inside myself--
call it the noise of my un-motivation.

are you ready for this, for us

am i ready to respond to something that speaks
from inside myself? i need answers. will
us give them to me?

i just need time. time. the voices. listen.

i need your rhythm

to rock me to dream.
i am a solid rock
falling apart from the middle.
on this road to salvation
i tip hitchhikers for
nuggets of knowledge, that
i may pass on to the next.
how far away is the end?
how many paces must we walk
to feel as if we've gone
anywhere but here? i say
2 steps beyond love to remember
loss, 3 steps behind loss
to remember we can start again.
i'm gonna sell my heart to
the highest bidder, pray it's
you at the auction block
saving me from myself.
i've come up short so many times,
maybe this time, maybe,
i'll be in for the long haul
all the way to happiness
with you black pearl,
with you.

i'll never look into your eyes again...

-the doors

so limited i am in
my own insanity.
i am a desperate sheperd
in between the jazz of midnight
and your eyes that have
their magic, some beginning
i can't quite imagine,
given to me without asking.
we define romance with
broken thumbs that touch
each other's hearts the way
a guitar's riff splits our ribs
in flesh, in blood, in bone.
i once heard jimi on the way home
and suddenly forgot myself,
remembered you in all your
found tragedy...the dead in all
there purported media.
the children are crying for
our encore baby...we have to
move from skin to kin,
mother nature's accessory is
all she wanted, to know we cared
beyond our daily zombie run.
simple sympathy is,
to turn away from
to call it a damn shame,
the way of the world,
out of our hands,
we had nothing to do with
those tears.
as gently as the world spins
guides our existence
to the very tip of some
equatorial line untouched,
i can only think
we are worth more than
a memory. we are the dividing line
between meaning and meaninglessness.
if us does not make it,
love will die.
and all we'll have is
you and i,
separate, a song without
chorus, a night void
of stars, a morning
losing constantly
the hope of tommorrow.
i ponder time in
the infinite backlight
of your eyes and wonder
what forever is made of.

now we both know i'm a nigger (draft one)

I

but we keep having
the same misunderstandings
(have you noticed?)

i mind my own,but you, you
just can't get enough
of putting your hands on me.

i think you might love me,
but the tough way you know,
cuz when you leave sometimes
my eyes swollen shut

and i can't move my neck
or my leg is broken
or my child can't breathe
or there's money missing

from my wallet.the same money
you gave me yourself,remember?


yes,sometimes we do voodoo
to keep our feet off the ground
after you hang us
and in the cajun night,

we do spill a little
hot sauce on the sidewalk
while you're beating
the devil out of our heads
(we know it's for our own good)

but we always clean it up
and praise the lord we never ask
for no trouble,it just creeps up
on us like a godawful storm

that's been coming since
the beginning of time,
and we always knew about it
but prayed time would change
its nasty old ways...

facing it.

alcohol makes me feel good about feeling bad.

i can't remember the last day i didnt have a drink
without really thinking about it.

note: this is not a good thing--this is a bad thing.

very very bad

shame on me.

coldplay on a rainy day.

i only have the album "parachutes" on my computer, so i'm burning it this morning. this is definitely not a good day to be out and about on the town, which is good because i'm broke anyway. another reason not to go and spend money i don't have.

ahh, the weekend is a wonderful thing.

4 and 1. thoughts.

I.
my mind works against the jazz
of the town-- loud talk,
flickering candles, perfumed scents
of beautiful women

i'll never touch.

II.
i sip a smoothie through
a black straw, sweetness seeping
between my black lips,
wet with flavor in the midst

of another black night.

III.
i hope for rain,
but it never comes.
autumn has been a stingy
red leaf, not wanting to fall

on uneven ground.

IV.
and the band plays on--
blows its half-notes
into my afterthoughts,
makes it easy to remember

having a broken heart.


V.
my life has two names--
birth. death.
i find it impossible
to define the space between

as time becomes my alias.


VI.
what has become of my mind's noise
as ink paints self-portraits
within a blank void?
will i sprout from this,

or against it?

so i have two tickets to see beck tomorrow...

and no one seems to want to go. i admit to being a huge fan and the few friends i have either don't want to go or can't. i was thinking that maybe i could take my little brother but it's a school night and besides, he isn't a "fan" either. i just started to put him on to Beck's latest joint, Guero which he finds to be a good listening at the least. It looks like I may have to do a craigslist post or something. will the beck fans please stand up?

oh, i picked up fiona apple's extraordinary machine
as well as little brother's the minstrel show. both
have turned out to be good investments.

i left a 40 oz in the car...

i realize that drinking and driving don't mix and no i don't need a commercial to tell me that--i needed my father to. he sat me down tonightand told me about the history of alcoholism in our family. he told me that i needed to check my habits. i've realized that it isn't my father's words so much that have such a profound impact on me; he is not the first to talk to me about my smoking and drinking habits. it is the fact that my father is the person speaking. i have been in a mental rut for a long time now, one that has hindered my progress toward any of the goals i've set for my life, but honestly sometimes i just don't care about any of that-- the search for a job, the search for a school, peace of mind, family issues, relationship issues, and life in general. alcohol has been an accessory to my carelessness, a way to forget responsibility, to drown in the feelings of hopelessness that find me even in my soberness. it is true that there is plenty of light in my life, plenty of reason to succeed and to want to. but the darkness, the silence i find myself searching for at night, the solitude, where i speak to myself--this darkness haunts me, makes the light easy to push away, but it is impossible to forget. to forget the dreams i stand on are not only mine, but my father, my mother, my brothers, my extended family. i am finding it difficult to find a balance or in the words of yusef komunyakaa, apologize for the eyes in my head. i think that most of the time they see much more than those on my face...and i struggle with those visions as they struggle with me.

graduate studies day at american...

and i missed it. bummer...so, now what? there are two sports events i'm interested in watching today: Yankees v. Red Sox, and Jones v. Tarver III. The former is on Fox in about 10 minutes and the latter is a PPV fight. I must search the phonebook and internet for connections to this joint. For Jones, it's do or die and there is no way I'm going to miss a fight where he is backed into a corner. Jones is probably the most exciting fighter i've ever watched and when he was dominant...no one could fuck with him. I hope he keeps the legacy alive tonight...with a K.O.

i don't want a hug.

I had a long discussion with my girlfriend tonight about her problems and my own and how I seek seclusion when I'm in a rut, while she seeks the warmth of others. I find it difficult to hash out issues when surrounded by noise. Ultimately, I believe the source of the problem (whatever it may be) lies inside of me, with external contributors acting only as buffers to an internal battle. so, silence is golden in this case and with the graduate school sack on my back, it's time i pick up the pace and start running this bitch like it's the olympics. with that being said, my lady love i think takes it personal when i decide that hanging out isn't the best idea "right now", although i still spend a lot of time with her, she views our exchanges and quality time now as "awkward" and "forced". honestly, i don't share the same sentiments but i understand where she is coming from. i probably do seem somewhat standoff-ish of late but it's all in my plans to gain control of those aspects of my life that need to be controlled and are able to be controlled with my persistent attention.

i guess at some point it's just time to stop talking and start doing.
that's what i'm aiming for this month.

i want to believe.

i want to believe someone is listening. i want to believe all this means something. i want to believe in myself. i want to believe that i have control. i want to believe that i can do whatever i want to do in life. i want to believe i will find the motivation, drive that has eluded me for so long. i want to believe that these answers are not at the bottom of some bottle of liquor. i'm tired of drowning my tears in self-destruction. the dry mouth, the hangovers, the wasted time. i want to believe that somewhere there is help for me. i want to believe that i want help as much as i believe i need it.

dear brian,
stop talking to yourself.
it makes my head hurt.

sincerely,
brian

guided by the moon (a poem)

what is this exchange of looks
that has me staring into the wide
expanse of desire behind
those eyes?

everytime you uncross your legs
i plunge into the depths
of longing,
i, now and again
dancing with my mouth open
watered in the delight
of your knees where they bend
to find me
your body is a glimmer
of starlight in the crevice
of a rock that is my salvation,
my manhood unraveled
across the warm floor

at the center of your pelvis.
and i will wait in vain for your love,
the rhythm of orgasm,
the hum of sirens beyond the window,
the exchange of light and dark
between closed blinds,
the funk of it all
like i can't believe this could ever end,
the discovery of something
we could never touch,
but know of its touch
oh so well.

if only silence could
be translated into the slip
of your tongue under mine
maybe then
i could hold this memory
long enough to discard
all my wet dreams
maybe then
you could hold me
close enough to become
everything i could
never be.

digging for answers to everything

Indeed, I am lost in the fog of preoccupation with what is expected. I speak of expectations borne not from within yet without, without my preoccupation that being with the present all things within but in the span of a day, say from sunrise to dusk, that which is within and without is nearly impossible to decipher as more than one. This is my plight. Let us not begin to speak of double-consciousness or dreams or passion, only simple thought. Am I really here? Is all this noise the only benchmark for what I am, was, to become? Am I experienced say in the way Jimi was? Will I die a genius of the blues young? Will I grow old and un-wise; die in room drowning with unanswered questions? Are answers worth dying for?

memories on corners...

may not shine with the full moon light. they may bleed, evoke tears and shouts of madness revealed when the oil-slicked asphalt is peeled back by hot shells that rip at mind body soul and dreams of mother clenching to wet linen soaked by sunday rain. i'm so sick i can't think of reason...there is none, there is only time to regret. and i know not his name, or his way or the eyes through which world revolved around him. there are many worlds and i can only pray that there is one beyond this, where he caught by more than concrete, where the sun comes to meet one's smile, where there is no reason to be anything other than happy. peace be unto you.

for a 17-year old boy gunned down 3 blocks from my home, 5/30/05.

i owe it to myself to take time out to discuss the happenings of the past few weeks, regarding work and social relationships, however i find that by the time i get to this page it's late (1:03 am) and i have little to know real drive to do so. the days have overlapped. i should rest before the sun begins to rise.

searching for tulips.

for alana.

our bodies:

flowers blooming
in a private garden,

coupled against the light
of a low-riding moon

breathe in anticipation,
exhale epiphany,

feeling, again, for
the very first time.

chillin in philly.

I'm here now in my blog reflecting on the weekend and i really don't know what to say about it. maybe i'll give it another day to sink in.

places visited: Buttercup, Tangerine, Mantoni(sp), Cuba Libre, Gino's Steaks, Philadelphia Museum of Art (lobby), UPenn campus, South Street, Penn's Landing, Haverford College (brother's school)

but then that really tells nothing of why these places were visited, what was done there or who i was with. gotta be up at 6, but i had to put something down or i would have felt bad about it tomorrow. back later with thorough re-cap.

The ACC is that shit.

and we all knew, the orange would fall to blue, didn't we? no team has ever won 38 games in a season...the last to get this close was Duke in '99 and we know what happened...UCONN got that ass. Sean May entered the building in the shadow of his father's M.O.P. performance in 1976 when he and the Indiana Hoosiers beat Michigan 86-68 to cap off the last perfect season, and left (on his 21st birthday) matching his father's points total in the championship game (26) and eclipsing his rebound total with 10 (Scott May had 8).

In the end, you live by the three (used efficiently by Illinois to get back in the game in the second half), you die by the three (3 consecutive missed three pointers in the final 3 possessions). Illinois attempted 40 three pointers (championship record) and made only 12. Props to Deron Williams and Luther Head for helping the Illini make it a game to remember after North Carolina looked like they might run away with it after extending their lead to 15 at one point.

So, the big ten once again falls to the ACC in the championship game. In 2002 it was my Terps over Indiana, Michigan felt the wrath in back-to-back years, Duke in '92 and UNC in '93. If I hear another person talk about the ACC being overrated, I'll go to all the numbers in my head. "let's argue the numbers buddy, leave nothing to speculation". The ACC has won 3 of the last 5 championships...look at the past 15 years... the ACC has been represented in all but 2 final fours (96 and 03)... (duke 90, 91, 92, 94, 99, 01, 02, unc 93, 95, 97, 98, 00, 05 md, 01, 02, g-tech 90 and 04). i mean it's like come fuck wit us...lol...that's every year in the 90s except 96. and the 'oos except '03...man!!

not to mention championships in 91, 92, 93, 01, 02 and 05...six that is...that leaves 3 SEC joints (94 Arkansas, 96 and 98 Kentucky), 3 Big East (99 and 04 UCONN, 03 Syracuse), 2 Pac-10 (95 UCLA, 97 Arizona), one Mountain West (UNLV 90) and one Big ten (Michigan St. 2000). Let's not begin to talk about the weeks at number one or the multiple one seeds etc. I mean will the best fucking conference please stand up and claim that crown that is yours this year and every fucking year. ask Bruce Weber about it.

other tidbits about tonight's game:

Roy Williams 3rd man in last 30 years to lead alma mater to title (Boeheim '03, Williams '02)

Illinois first championship game in school history

Second most combined wins for schools in title game (69) (duke/uconn '99 = 70)

5th meeting of ACC and Big ten in title game (ACC 4, Big ten 1)

UNC first team since '79 Michigan State to win tournament within four years of losing record
(UNC '01-'02 were 8-20)

Sean May only 4th player in tournament history to average at least 20 pts and 10 rebs. in tourney. (M.O.P. of Final Four '05).

more facts later.

"hey can i tell u i miss u"

-anonymous

umm,
that's what i would call a dumbass question. now, i'm a very compassionate person, but why not just say it? why ask for permission to say something you said while asking? and why am i trying to understand why this was done? i really do not know.

--

dali 

and on to the final four.

i've just experienced arguably the best weekend of college basketball in my life. the regional finals, two overtime games and one double overtime game (the first time in ncaa history). the final four is now set: louisville v. illinois and north carolina v. michigan st. this joint is gonna be tight, ha.
--
sidenote:

i'm rethinking the appeal of casual relationships. simply put, i want a girlfriend. *slaps self*

i got a job.

i'm a clinician-in-training for a learning center here in DC. I'll be working with children, helping to increase their comprehensive skills through strengthening of concept, symbol imagery, decoding of words, phonemic awareness, etc. I'm in the midst of training and finally a brother is getting paid...this week feels really good.

--
Tomorrow I will discuss the NCAA Tourney and how done my brackets are...

common at DREAM

last night was great. i got to see one of my favorite artists live, for free. yes, the keyword here is free. i was pleasantly surprised by how much energy homeboy had on the stage. i doubt that i would have gone to Dream if it weren't for the show. i was out with a group of folks so that was cool. i'm into going to places with a lot less people. it can get down right ridiculous in there. i look forward to the BE album that drops May 24th on Kanye's new label...if i'm not mistaken he said BE stands for Basement Elevation, and that we were in the basement last night, feeling the funk, returning to the days of hip-hop past. oh, and that new "Corners" single with the Last Poets is tight. live shows are amazing.

memento and steel reserve

high gravity, indeed. it's good to have my brother home from school for break. now someone can point and laugh at me late at night, laugh endlessly together over dave chappelle's hilarity and enjoy a brew over a film whose beginning is its end and end...well, yeah you get the point. good company is great.

my name shall be in print weekly now at the Informer. I began a "This Week in Black History" column this week, which will highlight memorable events and people. it feels good to contribute information to something that thousands of people read every week. i will begin to link my weekly contributions (along with some features in the works) for your viewing pleasures.

everyone be merry.

a day of upsets.

march MADNESS has begun.

#1 Illinois 64, Ohio St. 65

#3 Kentucky 52, Florida 53

#7 Kansas 68, Missouri 72

God bless the underdog...and now UNC vs. Duke Part 2.

hmm...terps

i'll say it again...where is john gilchrist?
mccray and jones need to have a big second half.

halftime score: terps 37 hokies 45

...

final score: V-tech 86, Maryland 76 *shakes head in shame*

i pray for NC State to trip up against Wake Forest sunday night,
make it more difficult for the NCAA board to keep the terps out of the tourney.

next stop: ACC tourney, DC.

Maryland vs V-tech

let's get a win! go!!

the woman in the window.

i dont belong here, but there she is, smiling, waving. you know me? she knows me, well she knows my name and the school we shared. she knows my writing. i know her position, but now, in this place outside of our place of business, i can admire--desire. the wind is blowing and i can't stop thinking, and i drift often but i never thought my drifting would have a purpose. tonight, she offers me the words. i breathe them out silently into the space between our bodies, i wonder if she can read them in my eyes. as she leaves, i wonder.

does she? wonder?

mixed emotions.

I was happy to see Morgan Freeman and Jamie Foxx win Oscars last night for their roles in Million Dollar Baby and Ray, but more importantly the terps lost again...sigh.

North Carolina 85, Maryland 83

Gilchrist is a major disappointment of late. I mean where is the leadership? consistency? It leaves me shaking my head. The closeness of the final score only adds to my agony as a fan. We showed that we can ball with the best. I commend Mike Jones for stepping up and trying to make something happen (he should have drawn a foul on that play...it was a block waiting to happen). Now we have to go on the road to play Virginia Tech. I feel like a season with 10 losses is a bad year. We'll see what happens....(shakes head).

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas...

but the problem is it's almost MARCH! go figure.

fear the turtle?

I was very disappointed in tonight's game against Clemson. The final score was close (97-93), but overall the game was not. The Terps (16-9, 7-7) were down by as much as 16 in the first half before cutting it to 9 at the half. They remained close for most of the second half, keeping it within 10, even cutting it to 3 at one point. However, sloppy defense, bad fouls, poor shooting, and overall uninspired basketball led them to another conference loss. What bothers me the most is the inconsistency of the team from game to game. Clemson, tied for last in the ACC standings (13-13, 3-10 in conference play!) has now swept the Terps after losing 13 straight contests to them before this season. Next for Maryland is a North Carolina team that will be a #1 seed in the NCAA tourney, barring a total collapse before the ACC Tournament, . I should add that North Carolina destroyed Clemson by 32 three nights ago and obliterated Maryland by 34 in January.

Things are not looking good. We (yes, we) are on the bubble now. We have dropped to fifth in the ACC, only one game in front of Miami and a half-game ahead of Georgia Tech. At this rate, we are in jeopardy of not controlling our own destiny, hoping for another conference tournament run like last year. We only seem inspired on the court when playing Duke (an almost lock for a #2 seed). If we finished the regular season with 9 conference wins (winning 2 of our last 3), I see at the highest a 6 seed, which places us in the precarious position of meeting up with a lights-out shooting mid-major team with everything to prove against an opponent from a high caliber conference. I'll say it again...things are not looking good.

I've been a fan of the Terps since 1996-97 season, the season after Iverson left Georgetown right along with my interest in Hoyas basketball, although I always have an eye on how the program is doing, and this year John Thompson III has done a great job putting them back into the March Madness mix.

The players:
Gilchrist- has his days, but does not have the consistency of say Chris Paul of Wake or Jarrett Jack of G-tech. The team needs him to be a leader but I don't think he is ready mentally for it. Some nights it seems like he doesn't show up at all.

Garrison- The mo'fo is too tall not to have any inside presence...ok, i'm still a little pissed off at the loss tonight. He's a decent rebounder but has no post moves, takes too many outside shots. Where is Lonnie Baxter when you need him.

McCray- A wonderful shooter, it's unfortunate he doesn't do it more. He should be the first to shoot on the team...shit, he's a shooting guard!

Gist- I like him. He reminds me of Joe Smith only a little slimmer. He's young though and shouldn't have to play the role that he has been forced into. Give him another year and he'll be a consistent 16pt/10reb. guy.

Ebekwe- He's a mini Chris Wilcox, attacks the rim, has potential to be a great player on the blocks but he doesn't attack enough and he also, like Garrison, takes too many outside jumpers. They belong in the paint. Post up nigga! Post up!

Mike Jones...who?- Well, it's about damn time Gary Williams gave homeboy some real PT. Known out of high school for his outside shooting, I like how he has taken the ball to the basket the past two or three games. He is the X-factor come March.

Bowers- A body. Rarely contributes points. his hook is awful. 3-4 boards a game. go figure.

Ledbetter- Gilchrist's replacement, slowly being brought into the system. I don't have much to say about his game. I haven't seen enough of him.


Tonight, I was informed by the telecast that the ACC tourney is here in DC...? It has been in Greensboro so long...I assumed it would be there this year as well. I wonder if the change of location has anything to do with Maryland winning the tournament last year. hmmm...

All in all, I love Maryland basketball and I support them no matter what, but it's time to step that game up...

GO TERPS!

okayplayer.

it has been my writing domain for the past two years and lately there has been a lot of talk from people on the board about not getting enough responses to their entries...the sentiment that people were not "feeling" them or were "hating" on their work. this, as well as the considerable drop in talented or thought-provoking threads sparked my two-week hiatus from the board. that may not seem like a long time but i have over 2200 posts on the board and i haven't gone more than a week without posting since feb '03. i consider it my internet mainstay. anyway, i wrote a piece about all of the pissy talk from folks entitled "view all" which is what pops up to the right of a thread title once it gets over 20 responses. my hope was for people that have no idea about what goes on in this web community to have at least a slight grasp after reading this. i would like to think that my writing is evolving. you be the judge.

(view all)
i(we) have been defined.

I. virtual

i have been defined by the
white wall, a void with grey boundaries,
the depthless scroll, occupied by a black
stenciled vocabulary of dying thoughts,
remnants of daydreamed master-pieces poured
out on a board of alternating threads,
distinct personalities that mistake
external afterthoughts for validation
that could only come from within self...

(he who knows
what life his
word speaks from
what death it
molds)

...where purpose has always
been shadowed by expectation--

and there lying in a pool
of self reassurance is the
interpreter. no questions.
answer: continuous ups
for the palpitating heart.

II. reality

i speak from no high
moral ground.

i know because i am.

and how important is this
inquiry of multiple worlds?

tantamount.

if i had two lives
maybe this life could
be blindly and overtly
lended to bullshit.

if i am to speak,
i shall speak volumes
so that even those
that don't listen
will hear.

it is reached for,
sought after--perfection.

yet my humanity
will not allow for
a worldview outside
of my own, and i fall short
in attempting to go against
the grain of selfish promotion.

it may be the need
for the isolation of i(eye)

or

the idea that less is more--

knowing when to speak silence
is an attribute we all
must embrace.

it's the first step to
the first reply.

in the midst of sad news...

i strangely feel calm tonight even though i was bombarded by sad news from people i encountered today, from a cancer diagnosis of a friend, to the failing health of neighbors in my old neighborhood. i was feeling quite nostalgic so i decided to take a ride over into deanwood, 46th St. and Sheriff Rd. Our old home has not been occupied since we left back in '96. The home at the top of the block was torn down and all that remains is an open field. It felt somewhat unreal being on the block, since I feel so removed from that time in my life. Interestingly enough, I left the street with a lead on a job. The rest of the day had no purpose really other than to be out of the house...i drifted from the bookstore to the record store and then back home in time to watch the all-star game.

and now, poetry.

where i am now.

ok, so not much has changed in the past two weeks. i feel somewhat guilty for not having much to say but there isn't really anything worth documenting. i have no love life. i have no job. my creative juices have been sporadic for the past month. everything is out of place. i guess this counts as an entry...i'm drunk and it's sunday morning. i wish my blog was more entertaining but then i guess i'd have to be more entertaining and i'm not... a dull 22 year old, lost. what more can i say?

three statements and a word.

why do i find myself crawling into your womb every night to be reborn?

~

on my worst days, i never leave my dreams, let alone the bed.

~

not even a good poem can soothe this heartache.

~

catatonic.

well...

the only reason i'm not an alcoholic is because i'm broke. here's to another fucking month.

in sports news...

Illinois just ended Wisconsin's 38 home game win streak to improve to 20-0 on the season, their best start in the 100 year history of the school.

The Patriots will play the Eagles in Super Bowl XXXIX on Feb. 6. I stand behind my belief that the Eagles will win, despite the Patriots being 34-4 in their last 38 games, having two-time Superbowl MVP, Tom Brady at the helm, despite being favorites to win. I believe it is Philly's year to put the cheese on the steak, so to speak.

The Wizards are 10 games above .500 and have surpassed many people's expectations for them. They beat a very good Phoenix team on the road a few days ago.

John Thompson III, son of the legendary coach John Thompson, in his first season with the Georgetown Hoyas has them at a healthy 12-5 (4-2 in the conference) and they just won their second straight conference game against St. John's, tonight. They beat Notre Dame with a dunk at the buzzer a few days ago.

Maryland sucks right now, being handled at home by a recovering NC State team that had just lost to a great Duke basketball team. They fall to 11-6 (2-4 in the conference). time to step it up.

an apartment in chelsea...

i'm assuming the nytimes article that was sent to me by mr. johnson was referring to the chelsea neighborhood on the lower west side of manhattan...a swanky area indeed, if i do remember correctly ( my memory fails me, i do believe the area i am picturing was soho, but really it doesnt matter)...anyway, that was not the focus of the article but i tend to get caught up on things like this because it is my dream for the near future to be a mulling, brooding, successful artist of the written word in the big apple. this seems so far away for many reasons, one being my depleted sense of confidence in my writing (ok, so i've never been that confident), my lack of motivation and this unemployment issue. so much shit is hanging over my head right now. i find it difficult not to move into the fetal position and curse the day away through angry tears; angry at myself for seeing the passion and excitement that lies ahead of me, but having no clear idea of how to move toward such a fate. in times like these, my dad would tell me to pray on it.

on a lighter note...i've decided to start another blog specifically for my poetry. i write a new piece every other day i would estimate, so i think that my creative writing deserves its own domain. it will be under blogspot most likely and it will allow me to begin to organize my work at least in a timeline fashion...a chronicle of progress or something of the sort.

i am also thinking of another spin-off blog dedicated to my "love" life as it were, will be, never was...a tell-all feel to my interactions with women. of course this would be a somewhat anonymous blog, allowing for more thorough disclosure throughout the entries.

there is a need for rest and a need to wake up in the morning. the week is new.

a simple thing

the anatomy of a word--
love, backwards evol

recently

seen in a leroi jones
poem. i write with heart

and bleed the intangible
(feeling)

thinking my hairs standing
on edge
are reason enough to trade
two truths-- lonely

and dull (my mind)--
for one lie...

the simple things
don't matter to me,

like a postponed reply
from my muse or the need
to feel warm lips
in the midst of january cold.

the memory of emptiness
is embarassing, even more
that no one is watching

my hands mold a companion
out of thin air.

the simplest thing--
a green light changing
from yellow to red,

i go from there to
meet a simple end
in the intersection
of a forgotten stanza,

where the bones of
a word are buried,
where nothing said
is too much to hear,

a would-be death
to remember.

dreaming of mlk dreaming the great dream.

who knew dreams were for the waking,
who knew dreams were awakening,
who knew dreams were awakened,
he who knew light was for the taking.

and we need not be sleep to dream,
and we need not sleep to dream,
and we need not dream the same dream,
our dream should be new for time coming.

i will not wear the mask
i will not mask the pain,
i will not hurt to tell,
the dream deferred, the dream that failed.

awakened: awakening: a dream that lives
as spirits do for all souls
for the wayward, for the true.

he who lives in the past the present and the future
dreams one, dreams all before color before creed

we should shall must stand together, stand tall
to dream the greater dream,to dream again, forever

car accident

last night i made a left turn into a taxicab on its way up north capitol st. i let one car go past before turning, thinking the coast was clear but apparently it wasn't. I should have taken a closer look. One of the passengers in the cab said the guy was going way too fast, but it really doesnt matter how fast he was going...i should not have turned unless the coast was totally clear. anyway, i got a ticket for 25$ (the cop on the scene was very nice, telling me to always appeal in situations like these b/c at the least any points given to your license will be dropped, even the fine may be decreased). I guess in the end the most important thing is that no one was injured. It really did happen in slow motion. I always heard people mentioning that after accidents...now i can co-sign that sentiment.

After 15 years the volvo, recently dubbed the "wonder wagon" by my brother and his boys, is out of commission. more importantly, my driving is now controlled by my parents allowance of the keys to their car. this brings me back to having no money and desperately needing a job. i really needed a cigarette today after driving across town to get a check that was mailed to me. i haven't smoked yet today but i'm sure i will later. anyway, enough ranting, my life is not exciting or interesting enough for two paragraphs. i fault no one for closing my blog before reaching the end of this pathetic entry.

lethargy

i probably have the least amount of energy i've ever had in my life right now. i am not starting the new year off right...nurturing the same habits, nearly embracing new ones and as dazed and confused as an odb rant (r.i.p.). my first real assignment for the Washington Informer is tonight so i guess i need to be awake for that. More on the event later tonight. For all those who are reading my blog, let's have a big sunday morning hug :)

usc big time!

no, i'm not a fan of USC but i was on their side in this game, the game that should have occurred last season (though some would argue for LSU v. USC). They handed Oklahoma their second national championship loss in a row. It's funny because all the commentators pretty much thought the Sooners had it locked up. I honestly wanted to see a close game but a blowout ensued quickly. Congratulations Trojans. You deserve it.

2005 BCS National Championship Game- FedEx Orange Bowl
USC 55, OU 19

poem.

i listen to the night's incessant call-- the siren, the wind, the ticking clock.
time waits for no one, not even me--
i feel it running out the door like a love gone sour,
never to return, never looking back
at all the pieces it dropped along the way--

i call them memories.

new year.

happy new years and all that good stuff...'05 is a ? just like every other year, just the way it should be hopefully positivity behind tomorrow's door. shake rattle and roll myself into the prosperity waiting for me. be merry.

jokes on me, pt. 2

ok, so i admit i'm not qualified...no background in law, political theory or otherwise but damn this must be the most frustrating time of my life...well, save sophomore year of college but eh, that is the past, and after this post, so be this disappointment.

the joke is on me.

The ideal candidate will be a recent graduate with a B.A. or B.S. in the social sciences (excluding psychology), political science, or related fields. A background in law, political theory, international relations, or American history is preferred. Minimum GPA of 3.3 is required. Must have strong, demonstrated writing skills. Previous experience in conducting research for a professor and writing/editing experience are desirable. Must be able to work independently on multiple projects. Candidates with an M.A. are encouraged to apply as well.

i think i shall apply anyway,
and today happens to be the last day for applications.
writing/research/editing position for a community outreach program.

why excluding psychology?

burn the christmas tree

there will be no mistletoe
sponsored by mastercard,

no diamond forever or
secret santa stuffing stockings

by fireplace burning the cold
of outside to ash while drinking coca-cola

with polar bears.
--

the doors of the mall are closed,
last day of liquidation of the entire

market was yesterday, while the
world was sleeping on serta sofas

watching a plasma tv hanging from a chandelier,
ears plugged, dreaming to ipod staccato--

the latest punk riff rip-off from the late great jimi.
--

there will be no hi-definition instant replay
concussion, no bud light game-time decision,

thrown chairs and sucker punches have left
the building along with the fat lady,

the bars are closed, no ten-cent wings,
no table-top dancing drunk off cosmopolitans,
high on ego.
--
burn the christmas tree.

leave the angel.

ask forgiveness.

listen to family.

remember the year.

pray for progress.

search for reason, never take handouts.

there's more behind the blinking lights.

be merry.

the golden room...

is filled with family. we've been here before, thanking the Creator for not only the happy moments but for the painful ones that reminded us of how important family truly is. there were opinions, tears, and gifts, and laughter, and hugs and kisses exchanged through testimony, dialogue, argument. the golden room is where the heart is never large enough, where the mere presence of family can lift one's spirit, can restore hope, in even the most dismal times. i am thankful for my family on this day, on the presence of my brother Brandon, who i went up to philly to get from haverford on friday. i'm thankful for the support of my parents in my transitional period (from boy to man...no, i'm not there yet). I love my little brother Richard and must work toward helping to instill a love for knowledge in him--to embrace challenges. the golden room is open-air, all are welcome to walk through the doors, there is a lot of love to be given, to be shared.


--

drama has a way of creating itself right before your eyes. i need to walk away from it.

--

waking up before the sun...

seems almost unreal, not quite all there the world is new totally, the day wide-open to possibility.

and then, as the light rises priority replaces pondering, possibility is replaced by responsibility. the day owns you and to know it, well knowing it is what makes it difficult to leave the bed.

that's what i felt today.
it's what i feel anytime i beat the sun to my computer.
it's all the excitement a post-grad drifter can
hope for.

a day in the life

...of someone else would be nice. i wonder if they would do drugs. what if they died the one day i occupied there body. would i die too? so yeah i'm pondering words as usual, thinking about the significance of taking this job opportunity before me (Nielsen Media Research). I feel the need to cry a lot lately. I feel emotional investment in every passer-by. Is this the soul of an artist. I need to purge, so purge, i will.

I spoke to my first love about a week ago. She told me she was mad at me. See, she's getting married next year, but not to me. Apparently, the "idea" of us is still fresh in her mind and for this reason I doubt I will be able to go to the wedding, although I want to. I mean she was the one for a long time. Granted we were young, but the feelings were real. I still care about her deeply, even though I hadn't spoken to her in more than a year. Her call was unexpected but needed. She is ok and that makes me feel good.

I've felt for a long time now that 24 hours is just not enough time. nope. not enough at all.

maybe the person's body i would inhabit would have a job. i could make money and smuggle it back to my hands in my own body, then i would have money. yeah, that could work. i think.?

two poems

Cyclic Karma

Audience:

The y-shaped entry
To paradise allows
For a man’s ego
To be attached to panty
lines,
For desire to grow
Out of another man’s misfortune
(i.e. she leaves him for me)

(i am a shepherd of karmic retribution)

Victim:

You are
Nothing more than
A reminder of my shadow,
How I come and go
With the sun—
Not even laying my head
Down to rest upon your
Open heart.

This is why I am here—
To leave you.

--

After Everclear

The party was a blue-cup shenanigan
and my dance was one of spectacle,
of leaning back and waving my arms
from side to side, where laughter was
not my friend.

intoxication allows for one to fall
In love with the moment a woman
Speaks (no matter who ‘she’ is),
with cold fingers
Caressing the inner-arm of expectation—
That the night never ends,
the high never come crashing down
On your head, a hangover
of sorts, where you are asleep
and awake, all at once.

He told me not to fuck with it,
I told me not to fuck with it
And now it fucks with me
Aided by rum, weed and nas’s
Illmatic—dictating whether
I remember anything or everything
And all in-between.

Pissing in front of a mirror,
I know not myself other than
My shaft, erect, flaccid, erect again.
She won’t remember me;
I take the number anyway.
We come to the car to find
A Cracked windshield and I can’t
Stand up, no room between
Me and the floor for anger—

I am not responsible,
The devil made me do it.

conversation, perspective

Jai and I discussed making a more concerted effort to control our perspective on how we view our lives, actively defining one’s outlook is one of the basic steps to not only changing our general disposition toward occurrences, but also shaping that which is real around us. Honestly, this was one of the most fulfilling conversations I’ve had in a while, sparked by Jai’s interest in the scientific basis of existence, sort of an amalgamation of science, religion and theology. I share Jai’s pessimistic view of the state of things, concerning my life as it stands today. There are many endeavors I want to pursue, many goals I’ve set before myself, however, I find it difficult to move forward. The employment process has turned out to be a very frustrating one, and in hindsight, a journey I should have begun months before I graduated from school. In postponing my graduate school aspirations, it becomes even more critical that I maintain focus on where I want to go (where do I want to go?). My dad always says, “Idle minds are the devil’s workshop” and after a long hiatus from pursuing anything worthwhile, I find it increasingly imperative that I remain active, taking advantage of all the connections I garner through letting people know that I am serious about everything, be it poetry, employment, mentorship, etc.

In other news:
I have three poems in mind and I am brainclouding now:

Paid for silence: my perspective of a 14 year old girl being gunned down after requesting to be paid to keep quiet about a murder she witnessed.

The funeral: my feelings about the death of 19 year old Deloren Young, who was killed during Thanksgiving break, apparently over a “beef” a friend of his, had with some men.

Distraction: part fiction attempt to gain a better understanding of my own exploits in the realm of relationships.

…more than enough on my plate. Apparently, the bucknell seminar for younger poets application is due at the end of the month…my cave canem manuscript should be done by mid-january.

What I’m reading:
Hip: A history by John Leland
A thorough historical view of hip’s contents, from minstrel show of the early and mid- 1800s to the beat generation to the lost generation, to gansta rap. Interesting so far, especially the parallels of what is hip and it’s contradictory personality, being mainstream and non-conforming at the same time. I love Leland’s covering of the jazz age, touching on the importance of bebop, the blues and black and white influences on the music, the relational effect of the changing sounds on the musicians (and how they viewed music) and overall society throughout the history of hip.

The Listening: Poems by Kyle Dargan
This third-year graudate student’s first published collection of work. My favorite poem from this collection at the moment is Surrender IV: Muse. More to say about homeboy in the near future.

Wish list:
Pleasure Dome (New and Selected Poems) by Yusef Komunyakaa
Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison
How to Be Alone (Essays) by Jonathan Franzen

new questions

so what now? now that i've decided to postpone my graduate education, assuming I was going to get in this time. the extra time allows for another stab at the GRE, about 10 solid months of new writing, searching for a mentor, some much needed work experience, i suppose.

(perchance early recitation understood, she has beautiful eyes)

i'm sick of volunteer work. i feel like i'm in the waiting station between college graduation and actual work of substance, some sort of movement toward career goals. i'm glad i got sick last week, gave me an excuse to stay home and do whatever, do nothing. i'm supposed to call the publisher of the Informer on Wednesday. Hopefully, I can get some sort of position there. Even if it's volunteer at first, I need something new.

(lips, yes, they quiver with every kiss)


i need a music giveaway. give me 500 cds of my choice and that should occupy me for a few months.

i need a smoke. i shall take it in a few.

(i can be your lover, i have enough friends)

yeah, the poetry is writing itself at the moment. keep reading.

blanket

-
i stretch
the thought
of your
kiss across
my bed
and fall
asleep between
your lips.
-

two statements to love...

sun: i would die for you.

storm: i can't find a way to kill myself, so, I must kill you.

right now, i'm somewhere in the middle of storm and sun, or maybe i'm on the outside looking in because of a certain someone or maybe because of a few special people. they are walking around inside this room and every now and again, they come to the window of the door and look out at me, smiling. i want to go in, but the last time i did, i had to be carried out by my own heart, which was almost stoned to death. i don't believe my body would have survived without the heart's help. my heart is a resilient muthafucker.

all tomorrow's parties

two men with hats over their faces in the back of a truck, being taken to jail possibly for some vice or other. Ai and her poems will become my poems, new and selected, real and neglected, some tears may be shed, some saved for later. in the end, something new must be known.

i search the eyes of passers-by for the next line, the perfect beginning, a timeless quote, sexual tension, pain, a hello, a silent interest...everyday, at the bookstore, in the coffee shop, on my block, in the car next to mine with the New York license plate...she's from out of town, he wears his shirts inside-out, she has green eyes, i am a leach, yearning for a connection deeper than blood, under the skin, never to be forgotten.

...my job, no job...all i want is to be drunk high and fuck away the night in a black light doom...conjure ghosts to dance with me...hendrix's manic depression, led zeppelin's dazed and confused or california, beck's peaches n cream or new pollution, in succession, just like that, just as i thought, or wrote or both...

i forgot to mention velvet underground...lou reed playing under the veil of an andy warhol triptych...watching eternal sunshine of the spotless mind in someone's back yard hotboxing in a tent on homegrown. and its all in my mind...and then it isn't. nothing, nothing at all, save the packt of sardines in a crushed tin box...epiphanous yet trite, mundane yet star-struck, a crescent moon dying in the equator's arms.

after the show is all tomorrow's parties, dangling from my lover's wrists, some tiffany and co. heartful(less) promise that diamonds are more than metamorphed coal...the earth truly everyone's best friend, although we love her like we love the gutter, all in passing.

is it just a dream?

I am continuing to question my dedication to reaching my goal of graduate study. It's just that there is so much going on in my head, from trying to stay active on the employment search front, to maintaining a grasp of my responsibilities at Africare, then actually bringing together a good sample of my work, which has been sidetracked by the affair with my computer (damage to socket on laptop). I won't make excuses but it seems I must become mechanical with every hour, minute, second of my days in order to complete all the tasks I set before myself on any given day. A schedule must be made and held above my head. I need a smack on the back of the head, good music, some good sex...yes, that would be great motivation, now that I think of it... Ok, so I think about that a lot too.

Today I spent some time in the bookstore reading some contemporary work from Sonia Sanchez, Philip Levine, Li-Young Lee and a few poets published in the Kenyon Review (published by Middlebury College if I'm not mistaken). My online outlets to poetry at the moment are Stirring: A Literary Collection, This So Called Life, and various personal websites run by individuals that have an affinity for certain established writers, from Plath to Komunyakaa to Kevin Young to Sharon Olds to Mark Strand and so on. The more I write, the more ideas I birth for original poems. I am feeding off of the energy, the soul of others writing. I would like to think this is reciprocal and not parasitic, the relationship I share with many who I may never meet or speak to on any terms. Tomorrow, Galway Kinnell, Lucie Brock-Broido continued along with more Columbia faculty, Kyle Dargan (MFA student at Indiana), and so on.

Gotta keep writing. yes.

weekend happenings

I was back in ATL. Homecoming 2004 consisted of a lot of not so old faces, a lot of drinking, and the acceleration of time in between, so quickly, I'm back in DC at work, writing in my journal. I guess there isn't much to say right now or I just don't know what to say. maybe more later...

ps either arrive early to Copeland's party or don't come at all.

foresight or the love that was never made love

turn me
inside out
baby doll
(my head
falls from
the neck
after dreaming
you were
not real)

turn me
on as
you walk
away then
back again
(into my
skin you
go, a
needle searching
for more
than blood)

turn me
over, spread
the root
(bark spills
from my
eyes, leaves
sprout from
your breasts)

what music
dangles from
your lips,
a time
signature frozen
between our
whispers (stars
fall just
to see
our invisible
dance of
soul a
little closer)

we move--
(as thunder
through cloud
as thought
in air)
to being
nothing more
than memory

how will
we forget?

orgasm

her moan is a somber soprano
melody i playback on nights
when the stars hide behind
their lonliness
--

my fingers play carousel
between quivering thighs
that struggle to contain
the secret of being pure

as her lips part--
body wraps around the little
death undertaking exploding nerves,
i understand now the palindrome

of our ever meeting in a life
before--in being born, again

i speak:
"your vision went golden didn't
it baby...heart skipped a beat,
felt the center of everything was
breathing in your womb, defined heaven..."

she speaks:
"mmmmyeahummmhuh...i was grinding
down a waterfall, watching your face
at the bottom, your voice speaking
a somber staccato, reminds me of
the first time, the very first time"

i remember
her voice
and the song
my hands made
as she danced
us both to sleep.

Denise Duhamel

...Between his songs, the silence
of the city is so full and tenuous
that it can't be called silence at all,
but rather the sound after great sex,
the sound before a great war.

from 'Testament of Sex'

baseball history

Carlos Beltran (Houston Astros) - second player to hit 8 home runs in one postseason (Bonds) and only player to homer in 5 straight postseason games

Bernie Williams (NY Yankees) - most home runs in postseason history (22)
Hideiki Matsui (NY Yankees) - first player to have 5 RBIs twice in the same series during postseason
Mariano Rivera (NY Yankees) - first time in career in which he has blown two saves in a row

David Ortiz (Boston Red Sox) - first player to hit two walk-off home runs in one postseason
Boston Red Sox- first team to force a game 7 after trailing in a series 3-0

Red Sox v. Yankees - Game 5 - longest game in postseason history (5 hours, 48 minutes)

i lost my wallet

for the second time this year, i've misplaced my wallet. a check card. driver's license. 17 dollars and some movie stubs/receipts. carelessness? maybe. or it could just be another sign that i'm a total loser. either way, it is gone and now i must buy another one. more pressure to find a job :)

it could have been us

Brandon, Mom, Dad and I said a prayer before I took my little brother back to Philly. The ride up was nice, it was sunny through Baltimore all the way to Philly. Brandon slept the last leg of the trip which was cool. I would look over to him every now and then just glad that he was there...he's growing...he's a college man. I just sometimes have to sit back and think...wow, my brother is growing up too, my height now, not so little anymore :)

anyway, he needed to get some clippers from a Target up there but we got lost on the way. This added about an hour on my trip. I was a little frustrated but in hindsight, it was just more time to spend with him. Well, on the way back I'm driving along at a good pace, anticipating an arrival back in DC around 10:30...I happen to see a prompt about 20 miles north of Aberdeen saying there was an accident on I-95 and that all four lanes are closed (use exit 85 or 80). So, I stop at the Chesapeake house for gas and some food, call home to get directions on the detour. People are at the rest stop talking about the accident(s). Apparently around 5 or so there was a major storm that dropped visibility on the highway to 0. I didn't really get a grasp of how bad things were until I got home but there were 11 separate accidents involving 50+ cars on a five-mile stretch of the highway. All night, many scenarios ran through my head. What if Brandon and I had left earlier (which was the plan all along)...and I had been going through the White Marsh area of MD (just north of Baltimore) around the time of the accident. It could have easily been me. So, for once, my oversleeping served a higher purpose in a sense. I just remember taking exit 85 and going over the ramp staring south and seeing all those red lights...cars stopped. I got off the highway just in time...although the detour added a few hours on to my trip, I got home in one piece and in the end, that's all one can hope for.

back to haverford

i'm taking brandon back to school today. he isn't packed yet so we're a little behind schedule. i guess i'm not in a rush really. we'll get to talk a lot on the way back and i probably won't get back until sometime this evening. i think i'm going to be missing the red sox v. yankees game. stupid rain delay last night. anyway, the sun is coming out, time to roll.

the new danger

The new Mos Def album is live...cop that joint, early!

i'm listening to it now-- track: Sex, Love and Money (the hotness)

i give it 4/5 mics

always room to grow but it's a solid sophomore album

i'll discuss tonight's activities in more detail tomorrow.

Upon viewing them in an 'I Heart Huckabees' Ad, Naomi Watts’ eyes speak in the kitchen scene of '21 Grams'

sean penn begins to grasp your grief
as the baby doll of your dead daughters
loses its head in your throat—there are not
enough words to cancel out the sun
or enough lies to trick your heart into
forgetting to beat, so you scream through
the doll’s eyes into your babies’ silent room
and out of their open window for a reason
that does not exist.

snippet

a red light
through a window
is witness to our first kiss

i see rubies in your eyes
lips play bridge
as hands play tag

god is watching
our silent prayer
for new love

monday

Christopher Reeve died yesterday. He was 52. I remember watching the Superman movies and loving them. It was very humbling and real to see him in a state where he could not even walk. Yet, the spirit in which he portrayed on-screen came to light in his courage and strength during the toughest times in his life. The real Superman...

I applied to a job today at the National Academies of Science, the same place Brandon worked during the summer. Hopefully, I will hear something back from them. I sent out my last recommendation request to Gray Stewart today and sent for a grad school bulletin from Columbia. I began UVA's online app. and should be starting American and NYU soon.

So, the plan is to really work on a routine, waking up, writing, working toward a job during work hours, going to the mall and writing more, going home, eating, reading, writing a little more, then to bed. It's the only way that I'll be employed by the end of the month, the only way I'll get this grad school work done in a decent time. I need order. Pops would agree. It's time to be a man about things, be about business. Ok. Enough talking for now.

friday night

there were no beautiful women,
no cigarettes flaming into themselves,
no liquor, no red cups stained with lipstick.

from a balcony, i searched
the city sky for constellations
only finding orphaned starlight.

there is this beautiful woman,
but she is not here, to hold, to kiss.
I rearrange the letters of her name—sail.

a light turns itself on and off in my head,
a watch light resides atop a broken
memory searching for a new dream.

some beautiful women know me
others want to—so i’m told or telling myself,
or somewhere in between, where she lives, loving me,

and many friday nights amount to
a poem unraveling across the cold floor
of my discontent, and others, fall through

into the laps of beautiful women that listen to
‘kind of blue’ as much as i draw their smiles
with metaphor, hoping they see opportunity

in the space between our lips--
air whispering of movement to
somewhere maybe even a promise.

brandon's home :)

I went to Haverford this morning to get my little brother (in age)...apparently no longer in size. Brandon is officially taller than i am. I'll give him a solid 6'4". It took all day to get up there and back, partially because I eventually scooped Brennan as well (from Delaware). We're supposed to be going to partake in certain acts of debauchery (sp) but I'm real tired and I think pops might try to put my lil bro on house arrest. plus, i'm supposed to be getting up in the morning to go to a business seminar sponsored by Primerica, an affiliate/offshoot of Citigroup. Tomorrow is the day of the Morehouse Alumni meeting, which should be a good way to network. Alrighty chums...to all a good weekend.

10:26

I am actually up. There is supposed to be a job fair not too far from my home so I guess I should print a few resumes out and head over there soon. I need a new suit. I need some pancakes.

my mind suspended

my mind suspended between shadow and sun

memory and dream
an early palindrome yesteryear

and the hollow existence of tomorrow

is enough to want for an end
to the voices behind the wall

a need to see through them

the comfort of knowing—
optimism is courted as the love of a lifetime

but

the only known result is the cynical clarity
of counting grains of sand on beaches never visited,

only seen in a magazine full of dead pictures
glowing neon against broken fingers—

the passing of time is an ashtray
of discontent as moonlight mockingly leaves joints

catatonic, a half-waking from
the blue-grey morosity of insomnia—

i think of dying as sweet laughter
buried alive,

or emptiness (as a room without windows
or doors)

the dead end of a smile
hanging from a lover’s lips,

a sorrow with neither beginning
nor end, only

now.

well.

we never change, do we? -coldplay

poem of the moment.

Insomniac by sylvia Plath

The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole ---
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue ---
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.

april 18 by sylvia plath

the heart split open. damn. her work is real.

APRIL 18

the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull

and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation

I would not remember you

or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these

and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops

a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight

?

this weekend was filled with questionable decisions and i'm sure of one thing at the moment--this week will be filled with many more, that is, questions and decisions. i am starting to loathe i.m. conversations. i'd rather talk on the phone or over coffee somewhere. i think i will start to drink more coffee. that is decision no. 1 of the week--more coffee. yeah, we real cool. i'm the hippest of the hip, a real sleeve puller. and now--more poetry.


in september,
the highlight of
my day was
the release of
shit from my bowels.

(it should be noted
that this is not at
the expense of all
the beautiful faces
and voices i encountered,
it's just that, well,
the sounds in my head
often drown out even
those moments worth
remembering, even
mentioning later to
someone else, even to
myself)

in october,
what will be
?