story

A Field Of Dreams

It was a day of Decapitations
All you saw was a field of MAGA hats

These poor bastards

Apparently, the night before they had all been decapitated by The Decapitator. He’s a man with blistering strength and speed and he never wears a shirt. He also wears a stocking cap. He is The Decapitator.

As I made my way thru the field, I saw the backdoor entrance to a Kohl’s. Two employees were on cigarette breaks.

Can I have one?

Now we’re all smoking. Talking about the field of hats. Next thing you know…

Flashback To The Present

*I’m at a preschool. I’m talking to a group of children.*

“What! What! What happened next!”

Well, kids. They’re gonna have to book me again for you all to find out.

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Journal

No Home-O

If not for my parents…I might be homeless
I’m 26 and if not for my parents
I could very well be homeless
I’m so lucky because my mom
She says I can stay here forever

Obviously I don’t want to
But I can’t afford to live
Somewhere else
And I’m 26!
Am I supposed to be embarrassed?
If not for my parents…I might be homeless

And that is NOT sexy

Sometimes reality is not sexy

Sometimes it is

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Poetry

Umm Boy

Umm I want to play the drums
By banging flutes on them
Let the stray winds whisp by
And play a note on them

Musician, turning down scheduled intermissions
Mathematician, writing diatribes against division

An oppressed country, dreamy
Eyed dreaming of regimes
Richard Dawkins coined the term
The term we know as Memes
Things you didn’t know
We always here of death blows
But never hear of life blows
Just like you never hear of
Positive psychos
One kid’s glow stick
Held up to make a night glow

Go figure, my man
Catch me in the first week of Jan
Being born in a random hospital
25 years later, I’m here
Feeling like…
I gotz ta flow

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Poetry

After-School Fights

A kid in your class
Pointing at the clock
And telling you, your ass is grass

Trying to concentrate but failing to
Because in a few hours you’ll have to wail on this dude
And him wailing on you

Everyone telling you with much glee
That they cannot wait to see
The fight occur
Your stomach turns, like damn
I wonder if anything can save me from this
And even if I avoid fighting today
Tomorrow I’ll come back to the same shit

Fucking kids!

Kids can be real jerks!
At a young age can be real assholes

At what age do kids start to become assholes?
At what age can they start to become assholes?

Is there a study on this?

Lotta drama & bullshit

Even as kids.

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Novel Excerpt

They’re Living In Hell (Limerick)

A woman gave birth to a boy

12 years later his life was destroyed

The kid joined a gang

The mother’s in pain

Cause now her young boy’s in a morgue

Source: RevitalizedPoetry

***

Black Elizabeth in no way knew a night of passionate sex would lead to a day of such suffering. Such hollow feeling of being hollowed out clearly what was in her was no longer. She paced from one end of the living room to the other as if to escape disbelief like a game of Pac-Man. But the problem was belief. The belief that her seed had sprouted only enough to be crushed by the soles of the beast, the elephant called Violence. Why was it that such violence came to Black Carl at an age so young?

“Carl,” she would say, “getchyo black ass inside before mama put a whooping on you.”

“Mama, I wanna be an astronaut,” he told Mama under the lit moon. They were laying cradled on a hammock tied to two poles used for a clothesline. “I wanna be a juggernaut.”

“A what?” asked Mama, in surprise of the vocabulary more so than the definition. For the definition, she knew not. But the connotation she kinda knew.

“A juggernaut of space,” said Black Carl.

“Oh. Ok. See son, you can be watchu wanna be whatever it is at any time but you gotta keep in mind, you know, that things ain’t always come to you – like air. You know how air just come to you? Yo dreams ain’t gon’ come to you like no air, you hear? Dreams ain’t like that. Dreams you work for like a good woman. Like poppa. Yo poppa was finna get a second job when we had you. That’s why I was finna stay with him…till they killed his black ass. I can’t stay with no dead man. A dead man make no money. Less he Tupac on some posthumous shit.”

“Thanks for teaching me that word, sweetheart – posthumous.”

“You’re welcome mama.”

Carl smiled a smile wider than a watermelon wedge and whiter than the coke going up Michelle Pfeiffer’s nose.

The city loomed large. But remote. Black Elizabeth examined the scene and like always liked to imagine that the two metal poles connecting the hammock were actually palm trees. She even took the additional imaginative step and detailed the trees with a few coconuts on each. A vision which she smiled to. She smiled like Carl. “Like mama, like son,” thought she, “no shame in that.”

Meanwhile, Carl conceived of his environment as a map in Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. He internalized this notion but never expressed it. Not because he couldn’t but because he never found it opportune to do so. He remembered wondering why the creators of the video game based the game on his neighborhood. Carl wondered if CJ was the ideal nigga.

He beat the game.

“Goddamn it Carl! I shoulda never had you!”

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