A perfect world..

In a perfect world pain wouldn't exist
In a perfect world your heart would do what your mind tells it to do.

Love wouldn't hurt, in a perfect world.

In a perfect world we would see flowers in the winter time,
And snow wouldn't be so horrible.

In a perfect world we would plan our future since we were younger and things would actually happen the way you planned.

We would fall in love, in a perfect world, and we won't regret it.

In a perfect world we would go back in time and make things right.

A perfect world would be, loving someone unconditionally forever NOT because you are comfortable with each other but because there really is love.

In a perfect world there would be no such thing as lies or infidelity.

Since this is far from a perfect world, we have to deal with liars, cheaters and bullshit,
Grow old with someone and be unhappy because you have been together for way too long to let go now,
Believe in someone who will eventually break your heart, steal your soul and your ability to ever love again..

And wish that maybe, just maybe someday you will have the strength to forget..

Wishful Thinking..

Dreams- an unconscious thought of how u wish things would actually be.

So in this case.. I was having nightmares. Or maybe just a nightmare because it's the same one over and over.

You would think I would grow bored of it already,
At least grow immune to it, after a year and sooo many months have come and gone.

I didn't feel as if the pain had weakened over time.

Instead, I felt that I've become strong enough to bear it.

I go days, even weeks, without thinking about it at all.
Then.. Something always takes me right back.

I don't want to think of it, but I must remember it.

Sometimes I worry that it's all slipping away.
That my mind would go blank someday, and I would not be able to remember...

For some reason.. that I don't yet understand, I can't get myself to forget.

Regardless of that hole in my chest,
That burning feeling I get when I think of it,
The nights I miss you like crazy,
The days I remember.. Good times I wish to forget..
The nights I try to sleep while I fight back my tears,

But tonight...

Tonight I will let myself cry..
Tomorrow is a brand new day..

The Chocolate Hustle

I love the subway. I took it everywhere – except when I was elementary school, when we walked to school.

There was something about that rusty, tagged up, steel exterior and cold, piss-smelling interior that defined the very city that I lived in. In a weird way, it described the character and essence of New York – the place of endless dreams…

In Junior High, I rode every morning at maybe 7, 7:30. All types of students rode the train, but there were two in particular who looked like students, with bookbags and all, but were anything but students.

I caught the 4 train first, and it seemed like I would see the same girl -- a tall, caramel-skinned teen who wore a sloppy ponytail that tried to inch it’s way past her earlobes. She always wore the same pair of raggedy green and black Nikes.

On my way from school, on the 6, I would see the boy. He wore dirty sneakers and was a short and dark-skinned kid with hair like a nappy brillo pad.

They both wore huge turtle shell-like backpacks that caused them to wobble as they walked. Every time they stepped foot on the trains, they sang similar sob songs:

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, my name is (insert name here) and I am NOT selling chocolate for my basketball team or for any church or charity – I am selling chocolate so I can buy myself and family something to eat tonight when I get out of school. I sell M&Ms, Snickers, and packs of fruit flavored candy, all for one dollar each. I appreciate your support and have a blessed day.”

From the looks of it, he seemed to be selling a lot of candy – I don’t think he had much left in his box, but he was definitely sellin’ em. I imagine that the chick was selling even more because people sympathize more with females than they do males.

To the naked eyes, they seem more vulnerable and less strong – and less likely to develop into a grown ass misfit. Males aren’t shown sympathy – I’m not sure if they’re supposed to be shown any. Over here, men are supposed to be the strong ones, so yeah, his situation sucks, but you don’t feel bad for him – you’re just glad that it isn’t you.

His skin color probably didn’t help, either – charcoal black, especially in New York, where despite all it’s culture and diversity no one trusts the brothas – especially not like the kid on the 6, with his nappy hair, baggy jeans, and Adidas – he looked like hip-hop, real hip-hop – the way the shit was meant to be.

I grew up poor, in a spot that they call the “inner city” – I guess that they thought that it was a proper way of saying the ghetto. A product of my environment, so naturally, there were only a few things in this world that interested me -- money and new videogames. Especially Sonic the Hedgehog, even though I always thought Tails or Miles was better – I never understood why they changed his or her name.

Even the chump change my mom used to give me as allowance got my hyped back in the days.

But I was a little different from the other kids, they used to get their daily nickels and dimes and spend it fast on JawBreakers and Super Bubbles -- me – I put mine in my pocket until I could get better stuff, and more of it.

Kids spend the little that they had recklessly, I guess because they weren’t used to having it, but they always wanted someone else’s candy. My big bro, who is 11 years older than me, used to tell me to cherish the small things, “If you don’t have it now, and you’re fine, you don’t need it,” he would always say.

Students were like crack addicts waiting on the dealer. Every time I would walk out of the store with a Snickers bar or chewing on some Spearmint gum, it would never fail. It seemed like they would surround me like vultures just waiting for me to peel off that wrapping paper.

“Ooouu, can I have one?”

Or

“Yo, I could get a piece…please?”

“No,” would almost always be my reply. One thing about addicts, man, they are as persistent as the devil.

I would go to the store maybe twice every two weeks with all the money I had saved up. And every time I would go, I’d exit the bodega with a bunch of candies and a few chocolates. Eventually, I caught on and started selling the kids candy, but cheaper than the stores did. It was small, petty stuff, really – nothing crazy at all. I was able to sell shit for like 5 – 10 cents cheaper. It was basic math and it helped my pockets in the long run.

Priorities usually change as one gets older, but for me, money was always a priority, and my ambition to fulfill my addiction, as I realized later, was just like theirs. That chump change I was making from selling candy wasn’t shit – it ain’t help nothin’, all it really did was give me enough for re-up, and if I was lucky, a few bucks to get something to eat on a lucky day.

Every month, our lights would flicker like lightning on a dark, cloudless night. At least once every two or three months, our electricity would take a vacation for about a week and I missed out on all the television shows the students would talk about, especially the ones on cable.

But when our television was on, my Uncle Marteen found a way to tap into our neighbor’s cable that allowed us to enjoy so-called quality television for a little bit until the connection was lost somehow, maybe it was the wind or rain, or maybe that raggedy bitch who went up to the roof her damn self and messed it all up – she was one of those women who couldn’t stand to see anyone else happy or enjoy themselves. Fuck her—who cares.

I realized that I always focus on the negative things because I’m always focused on changing them. I wanted bigger, better things, I wanted to sell those chocolates like those kids on the trains – I know they were really bringing it in.

On my way home one night, at a distance -- about two train cars length, I followed the boy. I could never forget his face because I knew he was a faker, and that bookbag – that horrid bookbag, is just unforgettable.

But shit, frankly, I’m not the one who should really be talking about appearances at all. I only got like two pairs of jeans – one of them is a hand-me-down from my brother and the other I bought with some birthday money for my auntie. I had two pairs of shoes – one for special shit and even they had a small hole on top of them, and one pair of black Nikes – the pieces of shit I did everything else in.

I’ve never done something like this, but I need money – we needed money…bad. I didn’t have a plan nor did I know what I would do with anything really, I just knew that he was making money, despite his appearance.

I know what struggle looks like, I know what pain acts like – and it wasn’t really like that. Where the fuck was he getting this candy?

Struggle just didn’t stick to the script and ask for donations in exchange for candy – struggle doesn’t have the pride to just move on – struggle begged you for donations because pain really needs something to eat.

Struggle would keep on asking, begging the same people – fuck the sob song. There are only two choices when it comes to struggle and pain – you’re lucky enough to have it given to you, or if not, which is usually the case – you take it.

I got off where he got off at, the Brooklyn Bridge station. I watched him from the staircase further down in the station as we waited on the J train. There was no way he suspected me of following him, it’s not like Brooklyn Bridge is a small or unpopular station – it looked completely natural.

Before the J arrived, a few trains passed, this was my first time ever doing something like this…I was nervous, and thinking, maybe I was over thinking --I thought of a gameplan. Dude was definitely selling for someone – he had to be, and I needed to find out who.

If I could somehow convince him that I wanted to sell too…I definitely looked the part, and certainly needed the money – enough so that I didn’t care about rejection – it’s a yes or no thing, and when he introduced me to his boss, I’ll just get in tight with him and start making some money – that’s all I really wanted to do.

It was a quarter past six when we got off at the Broadway Junction station in North Brooklyn, a place of utter unfamiliarity, but I knew I had to do it.

I was usually home by then, but I knew they weren’t too worried. Maybe big bro is, but the kooks don’t usually mess with me, maybe they realized that I had nothing to offer them, had they messed with me. Maybe they realized that I had nothing to lose, so it ain’t a thing for me to dig my rusty ass pocket knife right into them like a fuckin’ undertaker in the ground.

Dude was walking so much -- I got so tired of being in that underworld. But I still followed him as he made his way toward the Long Island Railroad. He stopped at an isolated spot in the concourse and threw his empty boxes in the trash, he held a payphone to his ear – I went into the Blimpie’s right next to it and sat to think about my next move.

I had to think fast – to fast for my liking, so it was time to just do whatever my gut told me to do.

His head turned from left to right as he spoke and we made eye contact. I nervously put my head down and sucked my teeth in disappointment because I noticed how suspicious I looked. Luckily, he thought nothing of it.

Despite my desperation, I was still nervous on how to approach the kid, I mean, I just can’t walk up to him and be like, “Yo, I wanna get down, I need some dough, man.”

I had nothing to lose and as I approached him, something in me – deep in me came out, my inner-beast, I assume, and I snatched the phone from him. I grabbed him by the straps of his backpack,

“Why the hell do you ignore me all the time!? I just want money – I fuckin’ need money, man,” I looked right into his eyes. Before he could say anything, my rant continued,

“Don’t give me that shit, man – I know what’s going on, man,” and I slammed him on the wall – I couldn’t careless about the people who were there – we were teens, maybe less – no one really cared, they just walked on, about their business. Maybe if a cop came and had to make his monthly minimum, he would’ve said something, but nobody said anything.

I slammed him on the wall again as burning tears slowly forced their way out of my eyes, “Take me to ‘em! Take me to the motherfucker you get your shit from – the motherfucker you’re selling for, man…”

I started to sob, and as the salty liquids from my nose dripped into my mouth, I shook my head in embarrassment and cried,

“I need money, man -- I fuckin’ need some money, man.”

He walked, and I followed, we hopped on the LIRR all the way to a large house in Freeport, Long Island – where I first met Tommy. In a way, I admired him – the way he operated. If the kids needed something to eat, he got them fed, he had a few extra rooms for them to sleep in, too, if need be. It was just like a regular business. He held the kids down – whatever they needed.

I turned into those candy fiends at the corner store back in the day – those crackheads – one of the sharks in a pool of blood, circling…waiting for my fix.

The Uncool

Don't come find me

I left you sitting on front stoops
stairs descending into street cement
stepping on cigarette butts because
I was sick of seeing you shine like
it was acceptable to wait and fade
into my memory

dwelling as statues, still
existing only leaving
taking late night walks – somewhere under streetlights
because there was no one
left to visually own you
since no one else saw you differently

from one dimensional sorrowful subjects of sight
sons bathing in light rays off
mirror iris’ reflection
graphic shirt prints “This is that new shit” and
old kids born after the trends been set
I can smell the desire, the demise
of their own odor
they were clean

cut-ting glances past me to the next


Well don’t remember me cuz I’ll be the kid
eaving home at 3a.m. when no one’s around
with ice on my teeth because
conversations about style kept calling cavities
and I just wanted to numb the pain of
castigating tight pants and color confused nikes
of this America
say goodbye to this American
I’m history
put my teeth on the curb and X
me out

Please God
or
whoever is up there,

eclipse the moon
rain clouds blot out these stars
white light has become too bright to see hope
floating like a prayer stated once too many times
purgatorial neglect
lies at the cost of self for
stitched seams
and I just want to rip
the runway with box cutters…
tear that shit apart

so thank you

for that blink,
that second you gave me
and the eternity you left so I can feel
like a ghost and wander
still translucent
unable to
be shined upon.

Editor's Note

Writers:

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Finally, the annual Writer's Digest is coming up -- what can you lose? Do it up.

My life.. Through my mind..

You don't understand why I behave the way I do

If only you seen the things that she has seen

If only you've seen the things these eyes have seen

If only you felt the way that I feel

Pushing those surrounding her farther and farther away without reason
Trying to run and hide but from what she asks?

She doesn't let people near her or even close to her heart

She doesn't want pity

I'm a strong woman

She doesn't need support
Because I have plenty of balance

My mind is right
So go ahead ask me twice
And i will say..

Because you don't understand my life
Because you... Don't... Understand... My life..

Room 103

(ring ring ring ring)

After the fourth ring I turned over to look at the clock on the nightstand next to my bed.
I said to myself, "Who would be calling me at this time?" when I realized it was 5:20 AM.
I reached over for my phone and cleared my throat before answering.

Hello?
"Is this Veronica Perez?" a female on the other side asked.
This is she.
"Do you know Andrew Martinez?"
Yes, I answered nervously.
"I'm sorry to say he was involved in a car accident and was rushed to the emergency room in Beth Israel Hospital."

I threw the sheets off of me and jolted off the bed. My heart pounding and racing as if it was going to burst out of my chest.

"How is he doing?" I asked with my voice shaking and cracking.

"He is now in critical condition, he lost a major amount of blood. You would have to come down to the hospital for some more information, I'm just the cop who was called to the scene."

I hung up without even realizing and got dressed in what seemed like a second. I grabbed my keys, ran out the door, and jumped in my car. I got to the hospital so quickly I didn't even notice how fast I was driving. I ran up to the front desk and said "Andrew Martinez."

The lady quickly looked up from the papers she was signing and asked, "Veronica right? Are you his wife?"

I hesitated to answer - I didn't know how to respond. He was my ex-boyfriend. We have been broken up for a little over a year. I'm assuming that they got my name and phone number from the license plate on the car he was driving, which was registered under my name. We went half and half on the car when we were still together. I never fought or argued to get it back because he was responsibly paying for it. We haven't spoke since the break up, but I always checked my account to make sure the deposit for the car was in because the Toyota financers would take it automatically since the car was a lease.

After a minute of daydreaming, I responded, "Yes I am his wife." I figured if I said I was his ex-girlfriend they wouldn't let me see him or give me any important information.

Can I see him please? How is he doing? I asked impatiently.
"He is in room 103, the doctors can give you more answers than I can," she answered.

I ran towards the room pushing people out of my way. He was coming out of the operating room and they were pushing him into another one. As I walked over, I met with the doctors who told me that he suffered some major internal bruising and bleeding, a few broken bones: ribs, left leg and left arm, and a slightly injured his neck bone.

They let me see him. I entered his room and pulled a chair right next to his bed. I just stared at him in a daze. I didn't know what to feel or think. A million thoughts were running through my head. The first one was, 'Why am I here?'

Should I feel pity? Should I feel sorry? Sad? For some reason I wasn't feeling anything. Nothing at all. I was as cold as ice.

He left me after a 5-year relationship for some other woman he met at work. He taunted me and reminded me constantly of how much of a better woman she was. I cried for weeks -- even months after the break up. After 5 months of them being together they got engaged and then married a month later. Everything happened so quickly, I didn't know what to think when I was told that he was married. I was heartbroken, hurt, betrayed. I haven't dated since. I always loved him. Never forgot him, but never forgave him. Let alone see or speak to him. This was the first time I saw him in over a year.

Then I wondered, where was she at this moment? His wife. Does she even know? Why wasn't she called instead of me?

I stayed by his side that whole day, I even slept there. And nobody ever showed up to visit him. The next morning I heard someone enter the room, riffling through paperwork, and I jumped up.

"Sorry, I'm just checking up on your husband's status. Has he woken up yet? Or moved anything or flinched?"
No, Nothing yet, I answered, half awake.

She put her head down and left the room.

After three days of sitting and sleeping by the side of his bed, I didn't know what else to conclude from the fact that nobody has showed up to visit.

I sat by the window playing a game of Sudoku. When from my peripheral vision, I noticed his right hand slightly twitch. I ran over to sit by his bed thinking I was seeing things. Concentrating way too much on his hand, I didn't look up to realize that his eyes were open and staring at me.

I looked at him as he struggled to get a few words out. He grabbed and held my hand tightly. His throat dry and voice raspy, I was able to understand a few things that he was blurting as he paused in between to catch his breath.

"Veronica listen...I...I...am very sorry for all the pain I caused you in the past.
Never...never did I ever...stop thinking about you. Not one second of everyday for the past year. I regret everything I did and I never stopped loving you...I gave the cops and hospital your...phone number...I...wanted you here. My family was informed and told not to come due to my wishes. I hope...you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day...and if you...don't I understand...I love you so much...and...always...will...until the day I die and after that...too..."

I was so silent and had nothing much to say when a loud screeching noise filled the room. (beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeppp)
And just like that...he was gone.

I loosened his hand from mine and laid it on the bed, gathered my things and grabbed my purse, as a few nurses ran in. I walked out of the room and out of the hospital and never looked back...

Not even one final look..at him...

Fear of flying..

Afraid to love
Afraid to open up
Afraid to trust
Afraid to believe

Fear of flying..

Scared to love
Scared to be lied to
Scared to let the walls tumble down

Fear of flying..

Paranoid that I will get hurt
Paranoid that it's all the same
Paranoid that things will never change

Fear of flying..

Knowing that it's not right in front of me
I'm not afraid of taking my time
You may think I'm losing time
But what you don't know.. Is that I'm doing things right

This time will be different
This time I AM different
This time I'm taking it for myself
This time I'm completely happy with myself..
And nothing else matters anymore
Not even..

The
Fear
Of
Flying..

Someday...

Someday

Oneday

You will find that guy who is gonna change your life
Just wait and see, true love is waiting out there for you.

The words he speaks will melt your heart away
His touches will give you goosebumps
The scent of his cologne will drive you insane
You will hold him and never let go

When it's cloudy, you will see sunshine
When it's freezing, you will feel warmth
When it rains, you won't use an umbrella

Nothing will matter when you are in his presence,
In his arms,
In his strong embrace..

Nothing will come between you two when all you have is love everything else is extra..

The best things in life are free..

Waiting for you...

Five states, a million hours later...
Determined, anxious, nervous and excited.
Negative two degrees, Wind blowing snow all over the place
in my eyes and on my face. You can actually hear the tree branches slowly snapping off.
That cold frozen feeling that feels like your face is getting cut open.

Walking as fast as I could.. actually almost running to this little cabin house I see a little further up the road.
Twenty minutes later..
Body completely numb
I make it to the cabin only to be told "sorry no visits today."

A blank stare on my face
No emotion
No response
No movement what so ever for about a minute

Then the tears
I started crying and screaming threw myself on the floor and just wanted to die.
I'm freezing cold
Been traveling for the past 10 hours
It is now 7am and I left new York at 8pm yesterday!

I felt helpless... Didn't know what to do.

I just wanted him to know I was here
Just slip him a note at least if possible
Just to say,
"Hey
I was here
I came ... I'm sorry they didn't let me see you
I love you
Can't wait to see you
I'm slowly dying without you!
I just wanna see your beautiful brown eyes
Your smile
Hear you laugh
That laugh that let's me know everything will be and is okay!"

I cried all my makeup clean off my face. Got myself together and picked myself up off that cold floor.

A older man comes up to me and says "Hi pretty lady, I'm sorry for the mix up in the visiting dates, but right up the block is a bus stop, the bus will be here in about 10 minutes and will take you back to New York."

I get on the bus and walk towards the very last seat in the back of the bus.
I remove my heavy coat, put my headphones on and get comfortable. It's going to be a long ride.

As I listen to R. Kelly "I Can't Sleep" I slowly doze off and dream about the day you finally come home...

The Amsterdam Repentance, Part 1

ONE

“Dear God,” he mumbled under his breath as the train whisked past the trees. It was autumn and they sported red-orange leaves – the type that showed the true beauty of nature, the type that he gazed at in true admiration, envious of their grace.

Every time before an expedition, he made the trek upstate to gather some supplies and to gain some sort of reconciliation as he prepared.

Internally, he was a fairly religious fellow – he knows that there’s a God, but he doesn’t take the Bible literally, and doesn’t feel like it should be interpreted as such. Externally, he looks like everyone else -- a fair-skinned man with a reasonable, or, depending on how you look at it, an unreasonable amount of facial scruff.

He wore his pair of immaculately polished black army boots to with his Military Service Uniform and badly craved a clove, to the point to where he was jittery — that was the only thing he was jittery about.

There was something about the uniform. Something that tricked regular folk in to tolerating corruption in its truest sense. It blinded people into believing that everything that soldiers do is for the good of Country. The good of Country is really an illusion, no one really obeys the Constitution and some of these commanding officers lead by example as they wipe their asses with it, just like every other criminal.

“Have mercy on me…I pray that justice always be served, and your will always done…”

He always spoke to God, He was like the only friend who listened to his problems and didn’t interrupt or offer any ‘better’ solution. But he wasn’t seeking solutions, just someone to vent to about the only thing that really had him vexed -- his love life.

Asking God for His forgiveness was a daily routine, he probably committed at least one sin everyday, but he never asked God for protection from his enemies…or his friends, who are always more likely to cause harm.

As a wise man, he understood that not even God could protect us from the insanity of humanity.

“They say that you’re a forgiving God…I pray that they are right…,” he mumbled.

The ticketmaster came around and collected the proofs from new passengers. The train car was suddenly occupied by a group of young girls, ranging from preteens to about 16 or 18 years. They were directed by an older woman with short, silver hair. She was at least 65 and wore an olive green v-neck sweater and blue denim jeans.

“I hope that you girls enjoyed yourselves and learned a lot. It was fun, but now it’s back to school tomorrow, young ladies,” the elder proclaimed. They countered with expected sighs and groans.

They spoke of morality -- shit like no sex until marriage and about how ‘inappropriate inter-gender activities’ were heavily banned and reprimanded. He silently scoffed.

He thought that you could tell people what or what not to do, but when it comes down to it, people will always obey what their bodies crave. People have told him and others to put those cigarettes down for years, but once that itch comes, you just have to scratch.

He entertained himself by thinking about how many of the girls will actually value those morals ten years down the line – five years down the line.

It seems that girls get faster and faster as times goes by – just like the newest technology, from cars to computers – everything. Speed = satisfaction – the faster it is, the more satisfied you will be. The faster she is, the more satisfied he will be, in one way or another.

But the boys aren’t much different, although there is an awful double standard.

Men applaud when their sons act lewdly – they encourage it – it is natural for men to act like beasts. Predators on the prowl for prey. Hunting…pouncing…hiding…attacking.

Denying them won’t deny them, men are naturally persistent. Men are like hungry lions willing to voyage across an isolated desert just for what they want to eat, not necessarily for what they need to.

But the argument that a lot of women make about how all men are the same is bullshit. Some men apply their natural beast mentality to other things besides women -- other goals besides sex and power.

Boys get more help at mastering the art of savagery than girls do. The father always takes the son hunting and leaves the girl at home with her mother – tamed and domesticated.

Ironically, the fathers are the very first ones to bitch and complain about their daughters when they want to break out to learn more about the world…and boys.

She wants to explore, to maybe even get in trouble. Girls are observant of how to get his attention and will usually do whatever it takes to keep it. And that’s what they’re taught to do – serve him, especially by these so-called God-fearing Christians -- people like the old woman in the train.

He knew this because he had children, Scotty and Joanna. That’s one of the reasons why he was on his way to Amsterdam – he hasn’t seen her since he and his wife separated about three years ago. She’s 17 now. Scotty is on a baseball scholarship at the University of Cincinnati, he’s 19.

They had a decent relationship, but it was a lot better before the separation. He was always a bit distant, especially as they grew older. Like most working Americans, his career ruled his life, and there wasn’t much he could do about it if they planned to eat.

They separated because he was never really there. He didn’t spend enough time with her, with them, as she wanted and especially when she needed him most. When her father passed, he went on a hunting trip up in Elmira.

Essentially, he just paid the bills, he might as well have just sent checks through the mail – they might as well separate. Women, especially today, have more needs – more demands, and if you don’t meet those standards, as Slim Jake found out, you will be replaced.

Adam Sylvester is the typical corporate business jackass, and pretty much nothing more than a dick for Flora to sit on. He practically lives at the house, but doesn’t pay for anything. Jake insisted to pay the bills – just to maintain some form of ownership, I reckon.

On the train, a pair of the girls shared headphones and danced to a song that whispered through the train car. They didn’t seem to know the words until apparently the chorus played. Bending their knees and jolting up and down, they screeched harmoniously,

“Boom boom boom boom, I want you in my room, Let's spend the night together, From now until forever… Boom boom boom boom, I want you in my room, Let's spend the night together, From now until forever… Boom boom boom boom, I want you in my room, Let's spend the night together, From now until forever…”

The lady squinted at them, her head angled -- favoring her strong side, “Only when you’re married, right girls?” she asked.

The young girls laughed – busted out laughing, almost as if they were mimicking her.

The elderly lady laughed, too, they laughed together – it was clear that the old woman didn’t believe what she preached, she couldn’t – she didn’t take it seriously, she couldn’t…something in her, in her mind, in her gut, had to let her know that her theological standards are delusional.

Maybe it was God.

The Amsterdam Repentance, Part. 2

After Reagan’s whole speech on how ‘Drugs are America’s main threat to security,’ and not all the kooks running around in this damned society, he was shocked at the lack of surveillance on the train. He expected more ‘random bag searches’ and so on, or at least some canines to sniff around.

But nothing like that happens in upstate New York. Up here…it’s not like it is in the city, where dirty immigrants come from all over the world, spread diseases, sell illegal drugs, and take American jobs. The savages don’t even pay taxes.

These gun laws under Cuomo are nothing but trouble for people like Jake and Boss…what ever happened to our constitutional rights? The governor and the rest of those left-wing liberals really annoyed him, and the funny thing about it is that it’s guaranteed that Mr. Governor himself own a few firearms.

“Next stop, Amsterdam, approximately 25 minutes!” yelled the conductor as he stepped his way through each car. He was twenty-five minutes away from seeing his Joanna again, from seeing Flora since the separation, from another job that he had to complete.

The notion that he only had 25 minutes made pry his forehead off of the brisk window and get in the right state of mind. He couldn’t worry about how the girls sounded, or how Christian-like they really are, or any other annoyance – he had a daughter to see – a job to do.

“Slim Jake” was given strict instructions by Boss – this could be his last job before retirement, where he’s free to go off to wherever he wants and able and enjoy the remainder of his life. He may even die in peace. But Boss knew that that there was no other place where Jake would rather be.

The rental car was good to go; all he had to do was show proof of identification.

A moderate-sized sedan. Boss figured that it would give off a friendly, family-man type vibe – to allow people around town to trust him and cops to back off, especially regarding his service uniform; it was as easy as cake. He had no real good memories in Amsterdam, outside of his children.

Everyone knew everyone else’s business, and he was certain that it was one of those loud-mouth good-for-nothing Army wives who convinced Flora to just leave him the way she did.

You see, Boss and Jake have a very close bond, and despite the fact that Jake hated doing jobs for him, he would do anything for him and respected him immensely – which is crucial in any relationship. They served in the Army together up at West Point -- Boss took him under his wing.

Jake was skilled with weapons and especially handy as a sharpshooter. Boss favored Jake so much, that he even allowed some forbidden shit to go down while Jake was serving. Shit like smuggling pills for the “prescription” that they put together for Jake’s “anxiety” and other type of paraphernalia.

The fact that Boss never got promoted higher than Major in over 20 years of service also had something to do with him helping Jake out with slanging pills to soldiers. The catch was that they split the profits – right down the middle, no bullshit, no monkey business. Although it was Jake who was seemingly taking all the risks, Boss had much more to lose.

He was never short on words when it came to telling Jake how he was putting his ass on the line for him, so in his eyes, Jake owed him. His debt only got deeper when Lieutenant Colonel Sanders put two-and-two together and discharged both of them without any hearings or excuses.

Boss is a bitter guy, and not the easiest person to get along with. He loved to talk shit about everything from pool games to who jogs the fastest; from who did the most push-ups to who puffed on their cloves the manliest. Sometimes he tried too hard, and he’s made quite a few enemies in his day – foreign and domestic.

Jake’s quiet nature was the exact opposite of Boss’s, which is probably what attracted him, when he found out that Jake was all about his business and kept quiet – he needed no more evidence, Jake was his guy. Boss is a bitter man.

He couldn’t quite grip why he wasn’t at least a Brigadier General yet, while serving for so long. No one could have possibly figured him out, he was the typical loud-mouth Army superior. What grinded his gears even was the fact that Sanders shot up to Lt. Col within 10 years!

Boss felt betrayed by his brigade, the Army, and his country. Slim Jake – a natural rebel – anarchist almost, but ironically very mild-mannered, was his reparation. Boss nicknamed Jake “Slim” because, well obviously, he was as skinny as chick. But no one could really tell just how brutal and relentless he could be, so he nicknamed him “Slim.”

Luckily for them, they wound up with enough money from slanging those fucking pills than they needed – they didn’t really need to depend on the Army anymore for finances. Getting discharged could have been a blessing, because now, they can just live their lives instead of hiding.

With the money, they bought out a $10,000 timeshare in Elmira and Jake paid off the house that Flora and Joanna were staying at in Amsterdam.

Boss was really close with someone on the inside – an operator who was looking for people to help him eliminate suspected KGB spies on American soil. He wanted the executions to seem as random and natural as possible and didn’t want them to trace back to him or his organization. Although Boss wasn’t necessarily the most likable fellow, he was both resourceful and he knew his shit.

Through the operator, Boss hired Jake as the marksman – that was about two-and-a half years ago. Jake has eliminated all the suspected spies in a fashion so brutal, that authorities didn’t even expect the Army or any other known organization -- they just labeled it as random.

The train slowed to a stop, “Amsterdam, ladies and gents, exits are toward the rear, wherever you see an employee,” declared the captain.

He sighed, grabbed his knapsack and briefcase, turned left and walked off the train and into the terminal – he didn’t make any eye contact, not even to the girls who were still bouncing up and down. At the rent-a-car station, he didn’t even speak a word – just placed his ID card on the counter JAKE F. MARSHALL the card read.

“Your car is ready, sir,” said the worker, an innocent-looking youngster who seemed like he couldn’t yet pee straight. “Here are your keys, welcome to Amsterdam, Mr. Marshall,” he said with a smile.

He took the keys and made his way to the nearest NYNEX booth. He called Boss to let him know he got there and was ready to proceed. A Ford Taurus four-door sedan – definitely seemed patriotic enough to handle his business in relative secretion, “In the glove compartment, you’ll find a gift with the registration…just in case anybody gives you shit,” Boss said.

“Also, in the trunk, you got some extra equipment if you need it, okay? Go make this bitch regret every decision she ever made…” he said in his raspy voice. The type of voice that proves that cloves don’t do much good for the body. But yet, Jake found comfort in that voice – a sense of security. He thought of it as his better half, almost, his voice of logic.

Joanna usually has softball games or at least practice on Sundays. He wanted to make this quick and easy and it would complicate things so much more if she got in the way.

He took a deep breath while he was strapping himself in and lit himself a clove. He kept the windows closed and allowed the smog to swallow him.

He reflected on how everything seemed to go downhill since he got discharged. When he told his fiancée, she didn’t know how to react, she was happy – ecstatic, that he might be able to spend a little more time with them.

But when he told her that he was going to be spending a little time at a timeshare in Elmira, she lost it. She panicked and said that he might as well stay his ass there, called him a homo, and told him not to come back.

A few weeks later, via forwarded mail from the service, he got some divorce documents and a letter from Flora:

Jake, you left me no choice. I had great hopes for this family, but I had to move on. I can’t let you hold me back anymore. His name is Adam, and he is a pleasant man, he loves me and looks at Jo-Jo as if she were his own.

Yours Truly,

Flora

He sent her about $50,000 in the mail the next week to take care of the remaining expenses on the house.

The car was now moving and it instantly seemed like just another job -- just another day. Just in case, Boss informed him of where Adam lived too, but most of the time they stay together at Jake’s. His was also informed by Boss, who somehow got a tracking device planted on Adam’s car, that he was at her softball game and Flora was home alone.

Within minutes, he pulled up across the street and down the block from the house. This gave him an easy place to stakeout for a minute and was far away enough to not build any sort of suspicion.

He rolled down the window a little bit on the passenger side of the blood-red sedan. He hated wind directly in his face – it likened the chances of getting a piece of dust in his eye, which would then break his concentration.

Boss tried to convince him not to be fond of Flora, not to be too fond of women at all. To him, they weren’t equals -- they were sneaky, conniving, and would never be as loyal and respectable as men. He felt that women should be used just as trophies to show up with at shit like banquets and high school reunions.

The clock switched to 3:14 and he stepped out of the car. It seemed as natural as possible, almost slow-motion. He fixed his clothes a bit.

He put on his leather baseball gloves, chucked his knapsack on his back, and camo duffle on his left shoulder, locked the rental and made his way toward 930 GORSKI ST., right off of Church St. and a few minutes away from the cemetery.

An experienced marksman, he scoped the pad out a little before he proceeded. He forgot how it felt and what led to where. He spent too used to the house in Elmira, and he was only concerned with the moans and groans that that house made when someone invaded its surface – he forgot how it felt. He was too used to feeling Boss’s presence and listening to his silent movements.

But it was all coming back to him.

He remembered that the basement window was always unlocked and made his way toward it with no sign of hesitation and the stealth of a saint, but.

He jittered -- almost uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop shaking, all over his body, from his protected breasts under his tightly knit long-sleeved shirt, to his engulfed toes, buried snug in his thick socks.

A match lit his clove as he sat on dead grass, soil, and twigs for a minute to get it all together. He knew that he had to keep on moving; he had no idea when Joanna was going to be back, so he had to make it fast.

Just as suspected, the basement window was not locked and it was large enough to maneuver his way through without any disturbance or much struggle. It was frigid and he left the window the way he found it – closed to prevent a draft from getting in and alerting her.

He stepped lightly. From the sounds of quarreling pots and pans, the ticks of a flame starting on a gas oven, and a television blasting the script from her favorite sitcom, Scarecrow and Mrs. King, he could tell that she was in the kitchen about to prepare something to eat or maybe tea.

The timing of her activity let him know that he didn’t have much time – no one likes a cold supper.

He took off his boots and left them in the basement. He knew that if he dared step foot on those aged wood stairs in boots, they would squeal and let Flora know that someone is here.

But those silly stairs – they are heavy sleepers. Slim Jake knew. He knew that if he stepped lightly, on his tip-toes and with careful haste, they wouldn’t even know that he was there.

He got to the top of the staircase successfully and Flora still had no idea as she hummed a peaceful lullaby – she had no idea what she was in store for.

The entry door for the basement was adjacent to the kitchen. By sneaking a peek out of the door and using his great sense of sound and awareness, he was able to determine whether or not she was still in the kitchen and whether or not she was facing the door.

He stood there -- cold and jittery, but with no time to waste. He could tell that her back was facing the basement door and he cracked it a bit and stuck out just enough of his face so that he could see her.

She hummed…

“Are you just going to stand there, or sit down for a cup of tea?” she asked as if she had the eyes of an elementary school teacher.

He shut the door in a hurry, without a sound, assuming that she was having a conversation with someone else who was home.

“You didn’t really think…that I didn’t know you were here…?” she begged.

Jake held his breath and stood still behind the basement door.

“You know, Jake, you’re probably the only person who still smokes those fucking cloves. How would I not know that you were here? You know, you’ve always thought that you were too good for me, too smart for me…”

Itchy, sweaty, and jittery, he gripped his stainless steel as if the roles were reversed. As if she was KGB and sneaking up on him.

The basement door creaked as it stretched open. He walked out and made his way to the kitchen in his white tube socks. She turned…

They stared at each other. He gave her a deep, blank stare -- like a mouse in a maze – a blind child in a soundless labyrinth.

She stared at him with curiosity, synonymous with fear.

He let go of his weapon and all of his annoyances disappeared.

His sweat evaporated.

His itch was relieved.

Euphoria hit him as if he inhaled the best clove ever made.

His eyes were bloodshot as he approached her. Innocent and vulnerable. He grabbed her at the biceps, put his arms around her, and held her tight.

No one else in the world existed. He loves her…just as he loves Boss, the way Boss loves him, the way she loves Adam…he gave her one last look, a deep stare in the eyes and left.

“Thank you,” he mumbled to God, on his way back to Elmira.

The hard task of being a mother......

Have you ever thought that there is no harder thing in this life than to be a mother? Being a mother is one of the greatest gifts that God gave us as women. As we grow up we always dream of getting married have kids and create a beautiful family. We leave our parents to become parents ourselves and with pride we celebrate what we believe is one of our biggest accomplishments as a human being - having a baby.

Though we women have to go through the hassle of the nine months pregnancy (morning sickness, nausea, headaches, dizziness and even throwing up everything you eat) and see our bodies getting all discombobulated with stretch marks, cellulite and the overweight, we still enjoy to see our bellies growing and can't wait to have that little person who is part of us, soon in our arms.

The day we go into labor no matter how many hours you spend with those horrible contractions, how long we suffer pushing and not caring how many people sees you almost naked, looking at your vagina, you are still patiently waiting to receive that baby with all the love of your heart.
Once it's here; as loving and caring mothers, we give up our hours of sleep, our leisure and pleasures, we hardly have time for ourselves all to do the best as a mother.

We celebrate their first tooth, their first word and their first step. We spend years watching and taking care of them. We feed them, bathe them, spend long hours on a rocking chair during midnight when they cry and even long nights in a hospital when they get sick.

As they continue growing, we celebrate their achievements and suffer their disappointments with them. When they have problems, we are there for them to try to find the solutions and when somebody breaks their hearts, we offer our shoulders for them to cry one more time, as when they were babies, when we see them falling, we go to help them stand again.

We wish nothing could hurt them and try to do our best to avoid them making mistakes. However, no matter how much of a good mother we are trying to be, they never appreciate what we do for them. They consider us over protective, demanding and too strict. The typical pain in the ass who anybody would like to get rid off. They don't care that we are worried when they go out and it's four in the morning and we don't know where and how they are. They sometimes disrespect you, curse you out, they don't care to see you crying and don't respect our sufferings as mothers. If we are too strict, they hate us and if we spoil them, we are not doing them any favor.

We try to be the best mother in the world, still to their eyes we are the wicked witch because we don't allow them to live their lives the way they want. At times they make us doubt if we are a good mother or not, if what we do as mothers is right and we just don't know anymore if we should make them understand their mistakes or let them learn from them.

The truth is, kids don't come with an instruction booklet under their arms and we mothers are learning at the same time with them as life put us through all this. What they should never forget is that as we were kids one day and now we are mothers the same way they will be parents one day.

Unfortunately, it's not going to be until then when they would finally realize the sufferings and tribulations that comes with parenthood.

Love Letter to "Blackness"

When did you first realize you were black?

Babies are born with such innocence that genius’ debate nurture vs. nature.

Sexuality is now being debated also, so when does a baby realize he or she is different from other babies?

If you are like myself , who grew up with lack of television and your whole world is black, when do you realize that there are other people in this world who look different?

My first time realizing that I was black came when my mother applied to become a permanent resident of the United States. The question related to our race and I wondered why that mattered; don’t get me wrong being black as a skin pigmentation was always of my knowledge but being black as a race came on that day.

Does your knowledge of race become prevalent the first time you encounter racism?

Being West Indian, black and white wasn’t a part of my training. When someone asked “what are you,” our first instinct was to say the Island we belonged to.

Now, when someone asked my sister, she says she is black.

What happened between us that I can relate to my culture where she resorts to her skin color? Black history month is an insult to me!

Being an Afro-Caribbean-American woman; this title to me means influences from every aspect of the title, I am insulted that the need to give our history a month is crazy. No other people have this, is this the only time it is acceptable to make children to learn about African-American history?

The idea that young African-American children live with today is that we have no culture or little culture may be linked to the fact that “our” history is celebrated on the shortest month of the year.

Giving our history a month is saying that we are different from everyone else. Black can sometimes be viewed as a hindrance, but to me it is the biggest part of my existence.

Love letter to "blackness"

Hiatus

I noticed that we all need it eventually. Without it, we would be like blind mice hoping to avoid mouse traps.

Take a step back -- a few days off, to reflect, embrace, or to get your mind right -- we all need it, and so I did it.

The hiatus makes you see things from a bird's eye view -- if you're an independent thinker. If not, you probably won't change -- won't adjust or adapt -- and there's no growth in that.

There are two kinds of people in this world, independent thinkers and dependent actors. And that's not an attempt to degrade anyone who might be the latter by labeling them fake in any way. The term 'actor' is meant to be a verb -- the actual action of doing -- not a noun -- an actor, fulfilling a imaginary role by assuming different facades.

Independent thinkers is self-explanatory I hope, people who think and act independently, almost objectively, and think the same way. But I'm not implying rebellion, not at all, just freedom -- but maybe they go hand in hand.

Independent thinkers -- those who think before they do, and only need approval of a chosen few. Think outside the box, and ultimately, they themselves determine what's best for them -- but that's open to debate.

For me, being an independent thinker is hard work -- almost overwhelming, but as necessary as anything else in other to really progress -- and that's about all I'm interested in. I'm never comfortable, I have an undeniable desire to progress, by any means.

The polar opposite would be the aforementioned dependent actor. The person who lets others makes decisions for him/her and just does it without too many questions -- it's sort of like settling without addressing anything.

They let someone or people decide how they live in almost every aspect of the word -- and they just act on it -- they seek their approval. Dependent actors don't make decisions for themselves because they don't want to make decisions for themselves -- maybe they feel like there's too much pressure, or maybe they're not strong or resilient enough, or maybe -- they just can't.

They are pawns, and as you can probably imagine, dependent actors cannot be trusted or depended on. Maybe they settle or maybe they just seek approval because they can't find it within themselves and so they act how they act -- to each's own. I'm not knocking it. Everyone's different, but this is just not for me.

I needed this hiatus -- most people do. Not necessarily to bring about change, sometimes to truly embrace or address a situation -- I did both. And maybe you'd be able to see differences in my style.

Clearly, the use of "I" a lot more. I strongly oppose getting too personal on a blog or writing about my life, pretty much, because to be honest -- who really wants to hear that shit? Not yet, at least -- that's later on.

The use of "I" is for me to include my opinions -- straying from my usually diplomatic nature. Opinions that are valuable and easy to relate to.

Another change of style is thematic writing. Everyday, there is a theme and I think too much to write all of my thoughts down, so the use of a theme every now and then will help organize my most important thoughts.

I'm still going to write how I usually write, be it creatively or some form of my fake poetry, I just needed a hiatus.

A hiatus to set me back on track and handle some other things -- an adjustment to set an adequate balance between writing and everything else -- but maybe, they too can go hand in hand.

Everyone should need a hiatus, everyone should use a hiatus -- more seldom then frequent, but it assures more clarity than yesterday. If you don't need a hiatus, you're a blind mouse -- how are you going to avoid the traps?

What's Love Have To Do With It...

Who said a man has the right to hit a woman? Do you know how sad it is for a woman to look at herself in the mirror and see her face or her body all full of bruises. As a man, how would you feel if the victim was your sister, your mother or your daughter?

Physical abuse is a reality that is affecting the life of many women nowadays. This reality rises a lot of questions that might have the wrong answers for the women that are victims of this problem.

Why is this happening to me?

The worse part of it is to think that it's her fault, but no matter what a man is physically stronger than a woman and she will always at a disadvantage. On the other hand, even if is the woman provokes the fight (provided he is in his five senses,not drunk, on drugs or anything like that) he should keep control over the situation and either walk away or try to stop the altercation with out hurting her.

Why do I continue taking this physical abuse? It is because of love, habit or fear?

The truth is you shouldn't love somebody who instead of loving you, respect and protect you is hurting you. Never let a situation turn into a habit. Remember after all, if you allow this to happen once, it's going to continue happening and if you have kids they will get the message that this situation is normal which in turn will create a cycle that will never end. Unfortunately, most of time women stay in this abusive relationships because of fear. If this is your case, seek help.

Start by preparing yourself mentally, analyze the situation and ask yourself:

1. Do I really love this person who is not only hurting me physically but also emotionally. (Don't forget that this abuse damages the person more internally than physically.)

2. What's coming after? Is my life or my kids life in danger? Is this the right environment in which I should raise my kids?

3. Picture your life before, during and possibly after the abuse.

4. If it's fear what's keeping you there, do your research with a best friend, a family member or an agency and get advice, protection and the help you need.

5. Finally, value and love yourself first before anybody, you deserve it. You don't deserve to live in this situation. Give yourself a new chance to start all over again with someone who loves you. Life is too short don't waste it and what's even worse don't lose it in an abusive relationship like this.

The Real World (not the show)

This is the real world…
This is the level that we find ourselves at--

A place where only the privileged get to do what they love…
The rest of us struggle to get there...

And settle for what pays right now…
Not in the long run…

We don’t have time for that…time is money…
So we hate our jobs.

Disgruntled employees living disgruntled lives--mostly because we’re disgruntled employees.

This is the level of which we live…
A level that changes everything.

I used to be pleasant, but who you are and how you see and perceive things
Change dramatically when your back is against the wall…

When you’re climbing the mountain—what seems like Everest with no harness…
No protection, no insurance.

Everything you knew, everything that used to bring you joy…gets unpleasantly thrown out the window…
With intentions to destroy, not preserve, reserve, or to save for later

And then I think about…it dawns on me that this perspective that I have—the awakening, if you will,
Is shared by millions just like me who are not give the fair shot, the proper opportunity and have no choice but to live with their backs against the wall and don’t worry about anything else because they can’t worry about anything else.

But they’re labeled as thugs, miscreants, etcetera, etcetera…
but they only care for you as much as you care for them..

The only time you even think of us is when you or someone you love is walking down a dark alley, where no cops are around…

Why should we care about you? About what you stand for? About who you have at home? Fuck you. Fuck this.

There’s only one thing that keeps people going, and that’s their personal pursuit of happiness…whether its money or murder. People who give a lot, not to give to others, but to feel better about themselves—to better their egos…the same reason why people take a lot.

We’re not too different after all.

Editor's Note: New Pick of the Week

The new Pick of the Week feature will typically include pieces written from Sunday to Sunday, instead of Thursday to Thursday. Only this time, because of the change, will it be from Thursday to Sunday.

Let's get serious..

For those of you that know me, you know my life is an open book. I've always put my life out there and I don't hide anything because I don't feel I need to.
However I have never put my family life out there. Its a very sensitive topic but I have a lot to say that can maybe and hopefully help a lot of people out there.


About a little more than a year ago my sister was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (known as MS) .
MS is a cronic and sometimes disabling disease that attacks the central nervous system which is made up of the optic nerves, spinal cord and the brain. The cause of MS has yet to be determined. Most say it's an Immune system disease. The bodys own defense system attacks the myelin (the subtance that surrounds and protects the nerve fibers in the central nervous system). When any part of the myelin is damaged or destroyed the nerve signals going and coming from and to the brain and spinal cord are disturbed or interrupted which causes the symptoms of MS.

There are three stages of MS the early stages, moderate and severe. Severe causing paralysis and blindness.

The symptoms and causes of MS range differently in people. Some get it early on and quickly and some don't get any symptoms at all for a long time since being diagnosed. Some signs of MS can be dizziness, numbness, not being able to stand or walk without being in a great deal of pain.

My sister found out because she said her arm was numb and at times she wasn't getting any feeling in her right arm. One morning she could barely stand and my mom had to rush her to the hospital. They ran some test and did an MRI and which showed spots on her brain. Luckily she was early on in the stages of MS and with treatment she was able to slow down the symptoms and the process of MS getting to the level of severe.

People diagnosed with MS include TV show host Montell Williams (who is actually being diagnosed by the doctor that is diagnosing my sister), R&B singer Tamia, it's been said that Ozzy Osbourne was but then it turned out to be a false alarm even though he was getting the symptoms of MS, actor/comedian Richard Pryor and many more.

My sister was doing well in the beginning keeping up with her medication and daily shot. There are different treatments for MS and my sister was on Copaxone which is taken by injection. It basically acts as a myelin decoy blocking the myelin-damaging cells. However lately she has refused to take her medications. The doctor told her as long as she takes the medication the spots she already had won't go away but at least new ones won't form. Recently she went to the doctor for her check up and they found more spots on her brain since she refuses to take her medication.

Her excuse of not taking it isn't valuable either. She wants to party, drink. She doesn't get enough sleep at times she comes home in broad daylight changes clothes and goes to work. She is stressing her body and her brain which will just cause the symptoms to appear faster. Apparently she doesn't care one bit! The doctor himself told her he was surprised that she wasn't getting symptoms yet and to consider herself lucky. She wears heals everyday while some women with MS can't wear them at all and some can't even walk I. Their own but she keeps on taking this as a joke.

My mother constantly fights about her ordering the shots but she refuses. I feel bad for her but we can't force her to take the shots. Sometimes I believe she is still in denial. She tells my mom she is and feels fine. But MS can change rapidly from one day to another. I've heard of cases where some have woken up, not being able to move and get out of bed because they can't walk or feel their legs.

I don't know what goes on in her mind or why she doesn't want to take care of herself. It saddens me really but what can I do??! Her excuse is that she doesn't want to inject herself for the rest of her life but she doesn't understand the millions of people that have to inject themselves not only with MS but how about diabetes? They still go on to live a healthy happy life. (Halle Berry, Angelina Jolie, Nick Jonas from the pop group Jonas Brothers).

I don't understand a person who has a chance to live better why won't you take it? She sees all these girls in the doctors office that weren't as lucky as herself and already suffer on a pretty bad level with the symptoms of MS.

I just hope she doesn't wake up without being able to move or walk and then she will want to take care of herself. When it's too late. Hopefully she will wake up from her stupidity one day soon and start taking care of herself..

For her own good and well being because she is just hurting herself..

Re: Writing Prompt: Coming of Age

Sure life is short, but it is full of learning experiences or profound moments. If we look hard enough, we would be able to identify something that we learned or a profound moment probably everyday, so writing this, for me, is difficult because there are so many moments that I consider profound, and because I rarely do this.

I rarely include myself in my own stories. Already, I probably set a record for how many times I used the pronoun "I" in a story.

Everyone experiences a coming of age, or at least everyone should. A stage of maturity--an awakening.

If you're on the right path as far as your job, school work, or what have you, that coming of age might be actually growing into and accepting that role and realizing that you have to keep it up.

And if you were like me, that coming of age is realizing that you have to change your life around. That you can't keep on living the way that you're living and expect to be make it anywhere or even be successful at much of anything positively productive.

Luckily for me, I noticed that a change was needed, and was definitely pass due, at a young age--much younger than usual, I suppose. I always have had a firm grip on reality, but like millions of other struggling teens, it was hard to stare at reality in the face--painful even.

At 13 or 14-years-old, bad skin was synonymous with who I was. I was disturbed--aggravated, full of blemishes, like bad skin. But when your skin clears up, you feel brand new. For me, as my skin went through a metamorphosis, so did I as a person.

I was a bad kid, I'd be the first to tell you. I was involved in things and with people I shouldn't have been involved with. I've done things that most people would pray to forget about.

My actions were regrettable, but I don't regret them--let me explain. Everything deviant that you can imagine at that age, I probably did it--or came close to it, but I don't regret them, and I will try my hardest not to forget them because they keep me humble and are partially responsible for the man that I've become.

I needed those days, and I'm thankful that I woke up before it was too late. In addition to being a deviant young teen, I wasn't performing the way I should have in school--I barely got out of the eighth grade.

But I had a role model. A positive role model. A role model who was almost the exact opposite of me. I followed his every move and still learn from him to this day. I looked in the mirror--I stared at my face and I cried. I cried because I knew I wasn't shit.

I saw my role model excelling--exceeding expectations and I witnessed what a huge gap there was between what he was doing and what I was doing.

My brother was getting 90s in his classes, he was getting scholarship offers from the best, distinguished colleges and universities, he was well-spoken, and well-liked by everyone, including teachers, who because I went to the same schools as he did, had great expectations for me because he did so well. I was one of the biggest disappointments they had ever seen, the biggest compliment that I got from a teacher was from my eighth grade English teacher. She said that I was a hoodlum, but I had a heart of gold as she shook her head in disapproval.

I realized that my brother worked harder than anyone, and hard work demands a reward. I stepped it up in a major way. I was always smart, I just applied my intelligence to different things--I didn't have to change my aim, I had to change the target.

And so I did. I dropped friends and became committed. Along the way, I found people who have shaped my life in different ways and I've developed skills that will stay with me for as long as I live.

My work isn't done--there's always room for improvement, but I'm in a far better position because of the realization of my coming of age, by embracing that profound moment.

Expanding The "Parameters" of A Rap Battle: Did 50 Cent Go Too Far?

We've heard this story before...in anticipation for an upcoming project, we've seen 50 Cent go at other hip-hop artists to build hype and promotion.

But this situation is a little different. In "Mafia Music," one of his latest songs for his upcoming album, Deeper Than Rap, Rick Ross took a shot at 50 Cent regarding the fire that burnt down his multi-million dollar mansion on Long Island.

It was a short, four-bar shot in which he called 50 jealous and boasted about how he would love to take his son's mother (who resided in the house) shopping...you'll peep the irony later.

As you can probably imagine, 50 responded promptly with "Officer Ricky, Go Ahead Try Me." One the track, 50 Cent disses Ross about his past as a Correction Officer as well as his rhyming style and DJ Khaled.

50 also brought up how Rick Ross lives a lie by naming himself after the currently incarcerated "Freeway" Ricky Ross, who along with the CIA and Ronald Reagan created and used crack-cocaine to fund a war in Nicaragua--the Iran-Contra Scandal. If you don't know about it--please do your research.

On a side note, "50 Cent" is also named after a former convict, Kelvin Darnell Martin, who was a stick-up kid infamous for the robbery and murder of hustlers.

Back to music. Typically, what would happen next is a few radio interviews on nationally popular hip-hop shows, and they would go back-and-forth with songs until one of them waves the white flag. Hip-hop fans know that 50 Cent is veteran in beef on wax and he's not going to stop dissing his opponent (unless your Jadakiss.)

Going into the music battle, some speculated that this might have been the begginning of the end for 50 Cent's rap career because of Ross's affiliation with other popular hip-hop artists, especially in the south, and that if they combine their efforts, it could put 50 "Curtis Jackson" Cent away from mainstream radiowaves for good.

Rick Ross, whose birth name is William Roberts Jr., did an interview with radio host Angela Yee on Shade 45 (Sirius Satellite Radio.) Ross essentially called 50's response weak and gave him 48 hours to come back harder.

Within 48 hours, Jackson took the beef to a different level. First, on his website, 50 vowed to "fuck [Ross's] life up...for fun." He then flaunted some public records that he retrieved and warned Ross--saying that he (50) is very resourceful.


But that was just step one. The proof is in the pudding and 50 seems to be as resourceful as he claims. Within the next two days, he released a brief animated cartoon depicting Rick Ross as the cop and himself as the person in jail. Jackson took the liberty to diss Ross's mother and one his baby's mother.

But that was just step two. 50 continued his onslaught on Ross by flying his sons's mother (not the same one he dissed) out to New York for an interview, which essentially was the airing out of Ross's dirty laundry. 50 released video of the interview and then had the cameraperson follow them to Fifth Ave. in New York, where they went shopping.

In the video, Ross's baby's mother, Tia Kemp, verifies that William Roberts a.k.a. Rick Ross was a correctional officer, on top of a bunch of other details including his evident failures as a father.

Afterwards, 50 Cent took did an interview with Funkmaster Flex on Hot 97 in New York and explained it all.

Before 50 released the video, Rick Ross did an interview with Hot 97's Miss Info and said that he knew about his son's mother flying out to go see 50, and added that "Mafia Music" ended 50 Cent's career.

Finally, 50 is planning to put the final nail in Ross's career by publishing a book by Ross's baby mother, called Tia's Diary: Deeper Than Rap--ex[ect it in book stores in March--the same date Ross releases his highly anticipated album Deeper Than Rap.

We shouldn't expect this to be over--it's probably far from over--let's just hope that they keep it on wax.

NOTORIOUS BIG

^^BIG & I ON OUR ROMANTIC DATE LOL ^^

So I finally saw NOTORIOUS yesterday..
HUMMM..
In my opinion the movie was good. I felt that it was a little rushed as if they were just trying to get to the death part.

I also felt it was a little mixed up, of course the movie was based from the eyes of Ms. Wallace (BIG's mom) but there were a lot of important parts of Big's life that didn't come out in the movie.

Lil' Kim is upset about the way she was portrayed. I do believe they had love for each other, but his girlfriend at the time of his death was Tiffany (now known as rapper Charlie Baltimore, former member of Murder Inc.)

After his death, Lil' Kim constantly went on and on about how she was his girlfriend and he loved her. I think it was one of those things where you keep repeating something over and over because you want to end up believing it yourself because you know it's not true. LOL.

My question is why wasn't Tiffany portrayed in the movie? Yes the movie was based on his career NOT his life so maybe thats why. And they didn't wanna juggle back and fourth between women in the movie.

However, Tiffany was a major part in Big's life.

For example:

In the movie, there is a car accident scene. They make it seem as if the accident involved BIG and Lil' Cease, when in real life the accident involved BIG and Tiffany. That accident was a big part of his life especially because the reason the Life After Death album was stalled and then was released as a double album was because of that accident.

BIG was in the hospital for three months and there was nothing left to do but work on it and recover. He was told that he would never walk again and if he were to walk again, he may have a wheelchair or a walker. That accident was very much downplayed in the movie. To me that was a huge part of BIG and Life After Death coming out the way it did.

For some reason, all of that was left out of the movie. Maybe it’s because so few people recall Biggie and Tiffany's relationship. For those that didn't know about Tiffany because it has always been as if Lil' Kim was his main chick.. Tiffany was his real girlfriend.

If you haven't read the Faith Evans book Keep The Faith she talks about all of it and the accident as well.

He even bought Tiffany a car that at the time of his death Faith called her and told her she had to return it and Tiffany refused but eventually it was taken from her.
She even showed up at the funeral and is also in the "Get Money" video after Faith decided not to be in it because she thought the song was written about her after they separated.

So in my opinion, Tiffany should have been in the movie more than Lil' Kim was. However, Lil' Kim was coming up as an artist at that time so it makes sense of why they did it.

Other than his personal life, the movie was great. Especially the end..
The footage when they drove through Brooklyn and they turned a radio on and played "hypnotize" all of that was real. That was the actual footage from the funeral. I even remember when they showed it on the news that day.

Overall I give the movie a 7.
Only because not everyone was portrayed the way it should've been. However maybe in two or three years they will make another movie about his WHOLE life.

It's sad that he didn't even get a chance to see the release of his second album. Which was released two weeks after his death. We will never know how big he would've became.

Tupac had his chance--he had about 10 albums at the time of his death, while Big only had one. And making it to that level with just one album... I think that makes him great. NOT the greatest of all time...but great.

As for now, go get the Faith Evans book Keep The Faith and be on the lookout for Lil' Kim's book The Naked Truth, as well as her movie.