Monday, March 22, 2010

In St. Louis

I (My City is a Science)

The Arch's elevator follows the rules of gravity

It rises at it's maximum speed,

Slowing down as it reaches the top,

Stops

Looks around,

Descends,

And reaches the ground at the same speed

Until it hits the brakes.


II (My City is a Burden)

She wrote my tombstone at age 15,

Said that I would be buried on top of her

She said that I was more than a child to her,

That I would be able to protect her

To defend her,

I want to love her,

But the bullies at school have those "momma" jokes

And sometimes, they're right,

And sometimes, I feel my eye twitch

And I know this isn't the way it's supposed to be


III (My City is a Protector)

My city cries water,

My city cries leaves,

My city cries liquor,

My city cries weed,

My city cries blood

My city cries needs

My city cries contacts

My city cries weave

My city cries anger

My city cries breeze

My city cries murder

My city cries pleads

My city cries drug deals,

My city cries fees

My city cries rivers

My city dried me


IV (My City is a Trending Topic)

#FoolsInSTL holla at women like car alarms

#FoolsInSTL make metro rides a hassle

#FoolsinSTL wear forces with cargos

#FoolsInSTL never know when to stay away

#FoolsInSTL eat Chinese food made by black men

#FoolsInSTL have no business on our campus

#FoolsInSTL play jazz like prayers

#FoolsInSTL sing jazz like hymnals

#FoolsInSTL think they're real

#FoolsinSTL will hurt me if I look at them weird

RT @SuchAndSuch #FoolsInSTL have no business on our campus (<--COSIGN! LOLZ)


V (My City is a Zoo)

Years ago,

A popular dare at Washington University

Was to travel into the hoods of St. Louis

To see how far you could get

Without getting hurt.

It's like putting your hand into the tiger's cage,

Draped in scholarships and entitlement,

Which probably tastes like ribs

And waving at the tiger

Who's too afraid

To be put to sleep

For biting the hand

that taunts it.


Maybe I should be that tiger,

Grab you by the fingers

And slam you against the bars,

Let you remember how tigers are in the wild,

Let my fur run against your shaking arms

Snarl the same way lions do,

And let them stick a needle in my neck

Let me close my eyes

And know that the last thing I tasted

Was this.


VI (My City is a Bullet)

When a gun is fired into the air,

It begins traveling at it's highest speed,

Decreasing as it gets higher

Stopping in mid air.

It looks around,

Admires the view,

And falls

At the same speed it rose,

Until it lands

Somewhere.


VII (My City is a Nigga)

I am a St. Louis nigga,

I am Cardinal red nigga

I am pigs feet kind of nigga,

I am riverfront times kind of nigga,

I am imos pizza nigga

I am Mizzou fan nigga

I am twisties and beer type nigga

I am bullet-hole kiss dreads type nigga

I am tax-refund type-nigga

I am "stompin in my Air Force Ones" nigga,

I am not Nelly, nigga,

When's the last time you've seen St. Louis nigga

Say you live here, nigga,

Say this city neglects you, nigga,

Say it doesn't protect you, nigga,

Say you don't need it, nigga,

Say it doesn't need you, nigga,

Say it doesn't affect you nigga

Nigga

I am St. Louis, nigga


VIII (My City is a City)

A friend of mine said

the Delmar Loop

would be so much better

if WashU just bought it out.

A friend of mine tried

to make frustrations with 3

people in the city

global.

A friend of mine said

these people

aren't worthy of having

children

A friend of mine said

they wonder

why life will never

get better for them

A friend of mine said

the universities

are all that matters

in this city

A friend of mine said

the people in St. Louis

are best used for

community Service

because it looks good

on her resume

A friend of mine said

these are the nation's

unwanted pregnancies

A friend of mine said

this city

doesn't exist

And I wish I could tell them

to stop it.


IX (My City is Not a Child)

Washington University

Remember

That you are still

In St. Louis


X(My City is a Mother)

She decorated my tomb at 21,

She asks if I will be ready to come home

And I smile

At this lady who raised me

To be as proud as her arch-shaped smile

And river-shaped fingers

That hold this country in her grip


XI (My City is Me)

I rose at the speed my mother launched me

Stopped at the top

Am admiring the view

Knowing that eventually

I'll fall

At the same speed I was launched

And will land

Back home.

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Monday, March 1, 2010

Where My Short People At?

In sperm banks across America, thousands upon thousands of men are turned away daily because of several "defects." You can be turned away because of a low sperm count, a sign of infertility. You can be turned away because of physical disabilities or for being deformed. You can be turned away for having a mental disability. And, you can be turned away for being too short.


And by too short, I don't mean 4'5" or something. The acceptable height for a sperm donor is 5'8" or above. If you have any one of the defects listed, you are considered "Undesirable"

Funny thing about the process: They give a personality test. Sometimes, the person who controls the test is instructed to reject people who have an undesirable personality...but they tend to accept people with piss-poor personalities because their physical desirability is so high.

Guess what, my 5'7" and below brothas! You're defective! You're natural genetic code has been deemed a deformity, and through practices like this, it's being handled. Be proud, you've become an undesired minority in a world of skyscraper males and the females who are taught to look up instead of right in front of them!

What I find funny is that personality comes so far after looks in a time when political correctness is supposed to make us think that the opposite is true. (I guess the funniest thing is that height is considered harmful to one's looks.) In the end, though, it makes sense. People will always say what's politically correct as long as they can still act as honest to their hearts (read: libidos) as possible.

Well, I'm here to represent for my short folk, who are persecuted everyday. Whether its the realm of relationships or the realm of business (which aren't very separate worlds, I'll have you know), we short people are tired of being treated like creatures to be tossed aside for your own selfish gains. We will not become an afterthought in your eugenic genocide of our people! Short people, get on a chair and STAND UP!

As a short person:

1) I demand shirts that fit my size without falling to my knees!
2) I demand the same level of respect and possible upward mobility as my taller counterparts in the workplace.
3) I am tired of hearing the political correct jargon of acceptance and willingness from lying women who refuse to acknowledge my identity as a man, instead acknowledging me as a kid.
4) I am tired of my good leadership abilities being attributed to a Napoleon complex.
5) You will NOT use me as an armrest unless I am allowed to thunderpunch you in the genitalia.
6) I am tired of people thinking that because you can literally look down on me, you can figuratively look down on me.
7) I refuse to be called little brother when I'm fucking older than you.
8) I am just as capable at any act as someone who is a few inches taller than me.
9) I demand a reevaluation of worth based on aesthetics. Just because I'm half your size doesn't mean that my worth is half yours.
10) I demand acknowledgement that, as a short person, I am treated different by a society that prizes height. This is especially apparent in the black community, with a higher average height. I am rightfully disappointed in a race that has been socially marginalized since being in this country for taking part in the marginalization of people who fall just short of the national average height.

I hold this truth to be self-evident: All people are created equal. It's just sad that I have to stand on a stage for you all to notice it.

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Sunday, February 28, 2010

A Game of Wolves (Draft 1)

When hunting wolves,

hold the rifle steady,
butt against your shoulder,
breathe slowly, downward
so the wolf doesn't see
your breath,
Be part of the environment
never chase the wolf,
tempt the wolf,
don't get too close,
distance is key.

I hadn't seen her in years,
but I remembered her teeth,
straight, white, with sharp
incisors that left bite marks
on my shoulder,
when we were children,
we were always either
hunters or wolves.
She always won.
Always,
knew to either fire first
or be chased.

A cornered wolf
is more dangerous
than a rifle.

I saw her in shnucks,
ironically,
she smiled in my direction
intentionally,
tempting,
she always knew to never chase,
always knew to keep her hands
where I could see them
I'm not saying I didn't trust her,
but I didn't trust her,
like
most women,
like
most hunters,
she knew to never chase
and always tempt

"I remember when you used
to chase me,
it was cute"
"Was it?"
"Like a baby chasing bubbles,
or tag,
you were never very good at tag,
though"
and we both laugh,
eyes locked on each other,
Never let the target out of your sight
"Well, I remember when you
weren't able to see me.
I was a good hunter,"
"You were just good at hiding."
"That's what a good hunter does,
that's why you always made me
play the wolf.
You never learned how to lose."
"What happened to us."

and I should have told her:
You never learned how to lose,
that rifles and bite marks
are not mutually exclusive
and that, maybe,
I was too good at giving
and never knew how to take
very well.
I was comfortable
being a wolf,
because sometimes,
it's nice not to see it coming

Make sure the wolf does not
see it coming

and she says
"I remember when you
used to love."
"When was that?"
"Between the tempting
and the shot,
when I could see you
in my scopes,
you were always loving
harder than the bullet."
"And how did you love?"
"Huh?"
"How did you love?"
Never chase,
tempt
"I don't know"
"You were always good
at knowing when to fire,
knowing to tell when the wolf
is completely in love
and striking
either between the eyes
or in the chest cavity,
you made sure
that you didn't leave
the target alive."
"What are you trying to say?"
"That, maybe,
you were a better huntress,
and I was too good at loving.
I'm not able to dodge bullets
but I can tell
when I'm being tempted,
and you are a little to good
at hiding, sometimes."
"You were good at hiding, too,"
"Maybe.
Maybe I exist somewhere between
wolf and hunter
between giver and taker
but I've always been a better giver,
and maybe
you were better at receiving,
and maybe I should have bitten you
when I had the chance,
to make sure that you
were never able to take from me again."
And she nods
and I know
that we will probably
never speak to each other again
and that she will tell her friends
that she killed another wolf
and I might
have to agree with her.

No matter how much you prepare
eventually, you will chase the wolf,
and a cornered wolf
is more dangerous than a rifle.
When stuck in this situation,
remember,
that the one who walks out alive
is the one who
willing to fire first.

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I had a really long, angry post...but I'll abstain from posting it. I'm having a good night and I don't wish to vent about it now.

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Wednesday, February 24, 2010

They're Not All Bad (At Least For Me)

So, I was looking at 4thursday today, just going through posts and ish....realized something. If someone wanted to, they could easily make the case that I don't uplift black women enough.


You're right, I don't. Black bastards. White Girls, 2010!

Enough of the joking. Contrary to popular belief, when ya'll ain't making my life a living hell, you're making my life heaven. I came from a black woman, love black women and will always love black women. I love them off all shapes and sizes, of all locations and upbringing, and of all ideas and beliefs. Ya'll mean the world to me, which is why you must be subjected to criticism, the same way you all criticized me and helped mold me into the person I am today.

So, today, I'm taking a break from crazy heifers, dumb heifers, lost heifers and the non-existent slut to talk about the beautiful black women in my life that have had the greatest impact on me.

(Not done in any specific order)

1) Jeana
So, apparently, she didn't like me when we first met. Funny, eh? How do you not like lil-ol' AD? Anyway, we became pretty cool in 11th grade and it's been history ever since. From withstanding my hilarious interrogations to offering up really good anecdotes for day-to-day situations, Jeana is one of the women that prove that good things of the XX pair can come out of Hazelwood Central. Although we have debacles over height, I respect her an equal scholastically, as an apt friend and as family. And, as of late, she definitely can roll with the punches when it comes to jokes. She don't take it sitting down anymore...although when she sits down, we're technically seeing eye-to-eye.

2) Mychal
I don't exactly know when and where this friendship formed, but it did. She dated one of my boys, which probably kept our deep, unbridled passion for each other from ever truly being realized. In all seriousness, Mychal reminds me that any stereotype about Black women being too this or too that is completely untrue. She may be a coon at heart, but she's a great one, worthy of the greatest respect and love I can give. (Hell, she's the only one to tell me that I have to wear a tux and chucks to a wedding and I NOT balk at her. lol)

3) Brittany
One of my black tags at Six Flags, Brittany did more for me than she may realized. At first, we were purely co-workers, but quickly, we opened up to each other and I was able to learn more about the adult side of black women, about expectation over entitlement and how to treat women in general as people, not something to be placed on a pedestal. She always gave me great advice and was one of the few who didn't judge my relationship with a certain melanin-deprived leech.

4) Audrey
Audrey is Audrey, through and through. Never met anyone like her. Highly affectionate, blunt and talented. Whether it was in a studio or in a classroom (with me probably surfing the net or dozing off), I could always rely on at least a smile. I don't know if you know, but a smile on a dark day can mean the sun. Yea, we have disagreements on gender roles in the black community. I'm usually right. She can't help it. At the end of the day, she's one of the people who has made my WashU experience exponentially better and has reminded me not to write all you Black bastards off.

5) Naia
On some realness, Naia is the only chick that can go blow-for-blow with my ignorance. Another one of my WashU sisters, she can easily beat you down in life, poetry, rap or jokes. She's one of the few who I can rap with about a lot of things ranging from the little quirks to the "OMG, I think i just fucked up my life" things. She's also the only one who will randomly give you a Domo-Kun. C'mon now, that's gangsta. We got through WU-SLam last year as a team and are getting through this year as family.

6) Mom
No matter how rocky our relationship was growing up, I never lost love for my mom. She is a lady me with more patience and experience. When I was acting up, she set me straight. When I needed some encouragement, she gave it. If I need anything, she'll bend over backwards to get it. My biggest fear in life is not being able to live up to be the man my parents raised me up to be, someone my mom can look back on with her girls in the hair salon and say "My boy did well." She's the woman I'll do anything for and who will do anything for me. I may not always know how to show it, but I love her for that.

There are a lot of women I can't write on this list because...well...that will be a blog in itself. These women have had profound impacts on me, helping to create the genuinely messed up but amazingly perfect me you all love, hate and adore. I love them more all then my pens and computer screens will allow me to type.

To the fellas: It's easy to bash ladies and ish, but sit down and make a list like this sometimes. I know black women can get on our nerves, but also remember that there are more to love. Remember: these women push us to be great, demand us to do the same for them and love us unconditionally.

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Monday, February 22, 2010

Why I Believe that Every Woman I am Interested in is Inherently Insane

Note: All women aren't inherently insane. (I don't think so...)


So, as I sit in Whispers and see a beautiful black woman that reminds me of missed opportunities, i reflect upon the women I have interacted with in the past. Anyone who has seen my Tweets today may see that I ran into a former fling that was pretty evil...like, on some, "let me tell this other girl who threatens me shit that could make her want to kill herself" evil. I actually call her Dr. Evil...or the Indian Mini-Me...she's about the same size.

So, I started thinking about the last few women I've messed with and have broken them down into Archetypes of Crazy Individuals I've encountered and been strangely attracted to.

1) The Body

Okay, let's be real...all the psycho-crapulent-bibble-babble of political correctness and such won't stop me from saying that I love a woman's body. Breast are second to none except the almighty ass. I know, I probably killed someone's self-esteem and for that I'm (Almost) sorry. But back to the substance, The Body will make you do some crazy things. They can have NO personality, but The Body will make you think that her body is worth all the trouble that comes with her. Then you finally talk to her and realize that the teapot your boiled water in had more substance than her. (A lot of bodies have a face like the Mule...remember, always look up before embracing The Body)

2) Ms. Philosophy

Ever met that lady that makes you feel...challenged? (That really means you met that lady that makes you feel dumb but you say challenged because you want to feel better about yourself.)
So, they have substance...not much else, but you don't care because dating her makes it look like you're not shallow. Ms. Philosophy knows Kant, Rawls, and Mills and will hit you with every bit of Tyler Perry/ Rev Run Wisdom she can to make you feel like you're not doing enough in life...daily. Oh, the last few Ms. Philosophys I've dated (or...actually...said "hi" to) have all tried to stalk me in some way. Whether it's documenting all my actions to turn it into some form of "sweet" poetry that is randomly found in my inbox to locking me in a room and yelling at me until their face turns blurple, i've seen it all.

3) Mrs. I-Pray-Right
...I'll keep this one brief: No fun, no conversation, no sex. Religion is great. I am a devout Christian...but c'mon, there's a lot to talk about in this world.

So, I started looking over this and realized something. These types of women that have come into my life are nuts. They all lead to stressful relationships and stories that, albeit are funny in your guy groups, always leave a bitter taste in your mouth. We all have that group that we just think is inherently crazy and can cause us a lot of problems because we've run into crazies before.

But another issue I'm presented with is why do I find these types of women attractive? Why is it that I can settle on a particular aspect and be okay with a maximization of that aspect while neglecting the rest? I think that we have this idea implanted into our head that we're not going to find the best because, well, it isn't out there. We need to take what we can and keep it moving. If we don't, we're single. (And we all know that if we're single, we're not happy. Ask your friends. Especially your coupled up friends. They'll all say "Enjoy being single" while looking around nervously...they don't buy that shit as much as you do.)

Why are we so pressed to be coupled up that we'll settle for these monstrosities who's sole purpose is to tear our hearts and our minds from their homes and place them in their teeth? Is being in a relationship worth all that? I dunno, bro, I dunno.

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Why I Love Anonymous Postings So Much

Hey all!


So, I've been sick all weekend, fighting the mysterious bug, and dealing with limited contact with humans. It's rough for such a social creature as myself [/sarcasm]

Had a...daunting meeting with someone friday afternoon which I may post details about later. Whew.

So, you're looking at the title and wondering "Yo, Wonderful-splendiferous-stupendous-masterful AD (because you always think this when thinking of me), why do you love anonymous postings so much." Well, my friends, I'll explain it to you.

A few years back, Honesty Box popped off. It gave people the opportunity to be completely honest with someone who had the app on their facebook page. (It was offered on MySpace, but by that time, MySpace had taken its place in the corner where it belonged while it's many lame users filtered their way into facebook with their bathroom profile pics and their angle shots and whack usernames like "Sexxxikittykatmeowbark") A lot of people took advantage of the opportunity, especially when someone like me put one on his page.

I got the usual: "You're cute" "You're shot" "You're loud" "No one knows the real you" "You're a wonderful friend" "I've had a crush on you for awhile but am too afraid..." "Banana-Cream-Pie!" etc. Nothing special, nothing worth changing my life over. Then I realized something about these programs, which extend to the currently popular FormSpring.

Imagine, you're holding something in. You've always wanted to say it, but you've been told by society that it's wrong to be confrontational. You've been told to be as indirect as possible and that people won't like you if you're upfront. You're held by gender roles and by social stigmas that prevent you from really being who you want to be. You see a box that promises to release these demons you bear to finally be cast out and given to the person who invokes such a powerful emotion within you. You type out your demons and send it and you instantly feel better.

Yeah, it's some whack shit. Honestly.

But whackness is what whackness does. These whack individuals need an outlet as well. These feelings could fester within them, but now they can let it out in the most whack way they know how. And that's okay. Who am I to deprive you of that.

So go ahead, my enemies, my haters, my nay-sayers, my crushes, my exes, my almost-friends, my impersonators, my could-have-beens, my Judas's, send me your comments. Allow these demons resting on your chests to be let free.

I'll simply smile, answer the question and return to living, the same thing I would do if you swallowed your whack, held your demons in your hands, and approached me in Whispers.

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