A genius in baggy jeans
sometimes the scariest thing you could ever hear in life is
- no
I have a theory. I think that if they just taught kids how to be themselves. Then we would have no need for therapists or prison cells. Because you see in school, I was the token black guy and to fit in I would do whatever it takes. But black history month was the only time that I could get a date.
We have a tendency to fear what we do not know. Because sometimes the scariest thing you could ever hear in life is - no. No you are not popular and no you are not cool, and no, you will not become anything even if you finish school. Telemarketing eventually helped me conquer that fear. But children lack the ability to be so sincere; they just tell it like it is: "I do not like you because you are different and frankly you scare me so your feelings are really none of my business"
But you see this is where it all begins, the need to be accepted. We're being considered different is just like being disrespected. I learned quickly that assimilation helps get rid of awkward tension so do whatever is considered in, in order to be accepted. But you see in elementary school I was not white enough and in middle school I was not black enough. So let me tell you what, you can keep your titles because I have had enough.
I no longer require permission to be who I am.And I am sick of wasting my breath if you do not already understand that
we are all unique wither you like it or not. So do not put me in a box cause I will just break the locks. I defeat stereotypes on a daily basis. A genius in baggy jeans, oh you should see their faces. But I am just me, and do not know how to be somebody else. So love me or hate me as long as you do it by yourself.
I pity the "cool crowd" because your personalities need help. And most of you are just too insecure to think by yourselves,
But I have been there, done that and got the free t-shirt, the one that we all wear because originality is just like a big secret. But I refuse to conform to your capitalist mentality. Where we all watch the same meaningless crap on TV and where little girls confess their sins to a toilet bowl shedding pounds from the cuticles Because somebody lied and said that becoming a toothpick was beautiful. And in school they always said that loving math would help but I never once learned how to love myself.
But hey, I guess better late than never cause honestly I have never felt better. So please, take a moment to reflect on who you are and when I say who you are, I do not mean what you are cause what you are has already been decided from up above. And God did a perfect job so please show him some love. And if most of you do not agree with everything that you just heard me say, than you just helped me prove my point - so thank you very much, and have a great day.
Det lilla som gör det stora
It will be fun, they said.
Livets oskyldigt dömda
Blir alldeles illamående av oro för en stor del av mänskligheten. Kan man verkligen anklaga sig själv för de mörka tankar man exploderar av inombords efter att ha sett en sådan video? Det man önskar den kvinnan, just i det ögonblick hon sparkar ett oskyldigt barn på smalbenet, under den flykt hon inte ska behöva genomgå?
Den här mörka själen är alltså någons dotter, någons vän och möjligtvis även någons mamma. Ja, låt de orden vila med sin beska eftersmak i din mun - någons mamma. Hon som fällde en förälder som andefattigt flydde med sitt barn hängandes ur sina krampade armar
- är möjligtvis även någons mamma.
"The great lover" by Bukowski
I mean, at that place in east Hollywood
I was so often with the hardest numbers
in town
I don't speak as a misogynist
I had other people ask me,
"what the hell are you doing, anyhow?"
these were floozies, killers, blanks
they had bodies, hair, eyes, legs
parts
but, say, take one of them, it was like
sitting there with a shark dressed in a
dress, high heels, smoking, drinking,
pilling
the nights went into days and the days
went into nights
and we babbled on through, sometimes
bedding down, badly.
through the drink, the uppers, the
downers, I got myself to imagine
things - say, that this one was the
golden girl of the golden heart and
the golden way of laughter and love
and hope
in the dim smokey light the long hair
looked better than it was, the legs
more shapely, the conversation not as
bare, not as vicious
I fooled myself pretty well. I even
got myself to thinking that I loved
one of them, the worst one
I mean, why the hell be negative?
accept
we drank, drugged, stayed in the
center of the rug, through sunset,
sunrise, played Scrabble for 8
or ten hours
each time I went in to piss she
stole the letters she needed
she was a survivor, the
bitch
after one marathon session
of 52 hours of whatever we
were doing
she said, "let's drive to
Vegas and get married?"
"what?" I asked.
"let's drive to Vegas and
get married before we
change our minds!"
"but suppose we get married,
then what?"
"then you can have it any
time you want it." she told
me
I went in to take a piss
to let her steal the letters
she needed
but when I came out I opened
a new bottle of wine
and spoke no more of the
subject
she didn't come around as
much after that
but there were others,
about the same
sometimes there were
more than one
they'd come in two's
the word got out that
there was an old sucker
in the back court, free
booze and he wasn't overly
sexually demanding,
although at times something
would overtake me and I
would grab a body and throw
in a sweaty horse copulation,
mostly, I guess, to see if
I could still do it
and I confused the mailman
there was an old couch on
the porch and many a morning
as he came by I'd be sitting
there with, say, two of them
we'd be sitting there with our
beer cans, smoking and
laughing
one day he found me alone
"pardon me," he said, "but can
I ask you something?"
"sure"
"well, I don't think you're
rich..."
"no, I'm broke."
"Listen, he said, "I've been around
the world."
"yeah?"
"and I've never seen a man with
as many women as you.
there's always a different one.
or a different pair..."
"yeah?"
"how do you do it?
I mean, pardon me, but you're kind
of old and you're not exactly a
Cassanova, you know?"
"I could be ugly, even."
he shifted his letters from one hand to the
other.
"I mean, how do you do it?"
"availability," I told him.
"what do you mean?"
"I mean, women like a guy who is always
around."
"uh," he said, then walked off to continue his
rounds
his praise didn't help me
what he saw wasn't as good as he thought
even with them there were unholy periods of
drab senselessness,
and worse
I walked back into my place
the phone was ringing
I knew that it would be a female
voice
