Monday, September 19, 2016

September 19th

Writers have always been in the center of the industry. Film and theater both snap to the artistry and masterwork of a pen and while I continue down this journey of story telling, plot twist and emotionally driven characters I have to pay my respect to the authors before me.

Words are what keep the world turning. Documents of agreement and signatures of love ones tucked in the end of a letter destined to travel hundreds of miles.  My ancestors fought for the right to read and write for God sakes. So life and the recording of life seems to work in union. History as we read it often dictates life as we live it presently and the future will be written down and recorded once it's past.

I am a writer, yet I don't feel any different than before writing down the statement. It doesn't call out to me as being my end of all ends decision in what I want to do. I've been watching movies(For research and pleasure) like Devil wears Prada, a film where the central character wants to become a writer for upscale magazines but must first get a recommendation from the most terrifying employer in the business.  This film spoke to me because of the emotional journey of this character and the result of her reaching her goal after regaining integrity, something she had been losing towards the end of the film.

Julie & Julia is another film that focuses on a character who wants to be a known writer but goes through more emotional hurdles to get to it.  Californication is a television show recommended to me by an old roommate that focuses on a dysfunctional character who has reach success as a writer but must still deal with his life and the everyday struggle of a typical writer in the industry.

I'm starting to notice that with the title of a writer comes  problems, regardless of  being called an author. So since life is gonna provided me with problems anyway,


Monday, September 12, 2016

What is it to tell a story? Does it represent out sight as authors in the world or is that everyone inflicting their opinion on the issues of the world?

This is what I think.
The entire history and day to day life of humans is the story that keeps us going. Every story from our religious book, every dream ever had, every emotion we as humans have all shared and had at one point of our independent lives as a collective; all results of society keeping the tradition of life going, learning from the past and looking to the future...

So tell me. What do you think? Does the world seem like a Star Wars film or a Game of Thrones novel to you?  Isn't every memory as a collective a story that we all have to ourselves, choosing to share some while burying others.

I write to re tell the story of life through the eyes that I was born with. I can hope that you understand that more than I can. At times, I feel like it's a foolish decision and that if I wanted to become someone that won't have regrets, well, here goes nothing.

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Death isn't something that bothers me as much as it used to. People die, that's the truth about life that no can deny or look past. One day you're here, the next you're not. It's the one's that don't see it coming that are the lucky ones.  Everyone else who drags out their health, hoping to get better from whatever afflictions and diseases are the ones who learn the hard way that not only does God exist but he has a sense of irony about him.  I mean, his own  son died in pain and tortured to death, so why would we as people think going out similar to that is so terrible. People die.

I find myself dreaming a lot about death. Losing friends or family members. At first, I'd call whoever my subconscious kills off to make sure they were alright.(Even though I am not psychic) And after a while, I thought about how important that person is to me and how helpless I would be to save them.

I can't save anyone because I'm not a hero, doctor, firefighter, or army guy.  This isn't the way I wanted it. Of course if I had a choice, A super hero wouldn't be bad. Secret Identity
June 2016

The nation is mourning the loss of individuals gunned down by a religious extremist who's only  true goal in this writer's opinion was to draw attention to the insane method of religions role in society.
No, I'm not an atheist, I do believe that there is a creator ,although ,why is it this creator thought it would be a great idea to create so many different degrees of separation is beyond understanding.  People are different from one another ,yes, but in each separation, hatred forms against another.
And I truly want peace after such a hard life, I should dedicate to one of these religions whole heartedly to one of the practices that's been on the planet long before I was.

What does that make the world? An experiment, A bad experiment, To see who will pull through at the end? Who will love and hate?  The popular campaign slogan of gay's wanting marriage right is simple that love wins, If that's the case, Is God simply hate, or the people that blindly follow his ancient laws, are they representing hate?

Are we as people trying to make the world a better place by welcoming people to our beliefs or do we simply think we are better than them? Chosen by the most high,  to carry out his will, even if it is to kill.
Taking of life is a violation in nature's law some bellieve, Thus the creators law. How would he tolerate murder in his "Heaven". Is it not considered murder to the killers?
And if you love you God so much, Why does he not make the world around you more better than the way you were given it.

Like I said, The taking of life in Orlando was awful for the nation but will it define the ideals of people even more, The murder might have thought of himself as a martyr but just think of the victims and the people who will rally in their wake.Who's the martyr now?

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

As a writer, Do I constantly criticise myself  on a daily basis?  And by the word "daily" I mean every minute of every hour. I've always been insecure since my teen years ,I know, but now it's something that I find myself trying to live up to, this ideal writer that I keep trying to be.

I still don't feel like a novelist or even a poet at times. I know I have self-doubt in my work before but this feels incredibly different because of my own knowledge of everyday people I see and man, it's something to behold if I don't make notice of everything I see.

What Is it to be a writer, not a successful one ,because I'm still in college for it still , but I still want to know. I know I'm not doing anything to pretend, not like I did when I was younger and unsure what I really wanted to do with my life(Oh please, Like I Know Now) and going to Barnes and nobles unable to even finish a chapter of a book because it was always so cold. Like they didn't want  people just reading their book and just buy them instead.  I've come a long way since then, though.
Blogging helps me release a lot a tension and voices overlapping in my fat head.  Reading to me is as entertaining as watch television, something that according to my parents, I've been watching before I could even speak. When I write and story and tell people about it, I'm proud. I guess that's what makes a writer themselves, knowing their work is theirs and theirs alone the moment they close their laptop, put down their pen and breath fro the first time in ages.

Friday, May 6, 2016

When one is faced with the question of failing, One is prepared for the worst. The unbelievable truth that we aren't good enough to make things happen the way we do. We want to succeed so bad sometimes we make the worst mistakes that we could make in the name of our goals.
In that sort of understanding, all actions of an individual seem justified. Every war seems not on required to maintain balance with peace but it changes to something else. Something that each person knows in their own selfish way that we are right in wanting some of the things we want. We have a reason to be angry when it doesn't go our way. That our time of being on top isn't waited on, but taken with strength and forged in will and tears and sweat and blood.

What is it to want everything in the world?
When I was a child in church years ago, My pastor would put on a stage play titled "A Fool's Philosophy of Life" which, in it's on respective way, followed a character who commits to his sin and flesh  to the very end and the people who he encountered on the way to his death. The final act, of course, focused on a person who was tempted to live a life a sin but because of the first character, she remains faithful to God. The theme of the play was scripture the says roughly "What good is it for a man to gain the world and lose his soul." Hardly enough to build an entire play around in my opinion but still, to a kid who never been on stage, it was great.  I loved my church and still do. Even though my spotty attendance(I don't go.) may suggest otherwise, when I do go, I feel better being around these people who's known me three days a week from age nine to age sixteen.
I've grown apart from them when grade school ended for me and adulthood. I don't want everything in the world, only to enjoy myself on the ride called life to the fullest. I want to succeed, I am afraid of failing and I do make mistakes. A fool if I ever saw one every morning in my bathroom mirror. But I like this fool through and through, no regret. (well, I've had a few, too few to mention)
Well I guess that concludes my warm-up :-)

Monday, May 2, 2016

Back in the cafe, I'm finding new places to sit every new visit.
Mainly because I'm looking for a spot I feel more comfortable writing with the lease tension when I arrive.  So far, no such luck in that department. It's difficult keeping up three blogs after all and I'm trying to keep one up for every aspect of my writing. Personal, Professional, and Creative outlet.
This is all that I can say about the writing in general, it's not to be taken lightly if you really want to be heard, notice, if you want to embark on a new way of life and find those who you thought wanted the same thing rather just feel sorry for themselves. It's something you have to want for yourself. I mean really need.

This morning, I woke up, brushed my teeth, rinsed my face off, grabbed my laptop, my notebook, a pen and enough money for a coffee and walked out the front door. Did I feel like a writer because the first thing on my mind and wasn't drinking,or smoking, or fucking(Well, maybe a little of that last one, it's morning wood, sue me.) but I just felt like getting up and making the walk here because I really wanted to keep writing. Funny thing is I haven't felt like this before when I started but now, It feels good to have a place to go, away from distractions, away from my best friend, brother, house, car, phone calls. And I felt better. Is that what it is to want to write or just be a writer who wants to get away and if either....why the hell is it so hard to find a suitable place to sit in the coffee house?

Sunday, May 1, 2016

A poem I wrote today. I hope you like it.
Fun Fact: If you listen to jazz while reading, It feels personal, at least to me.

The Dreamers Call

Tell me how do you see yourself on the mountaintop.
Mr. Dreamer, Boy Willie, drifting on the August wind,
Sailing ships on clouds, tasting each raisin in the sun. Dried up on the grapevine and I heard it,
Calling out for you. Rap God Supreme, shattering sound waves with do-wop, jazz, rough and black, the cakewalk. With my ragtime piano tunes, rocking and rolling pass the blues.
Mr. Walter Lee Younger, I’m calling you, back in 1961, back on every momma on the couch play, dancing in the street to African drums. Graceful voices of Holidays, Dukes and

I’m shouting to you men at Morehouse, Howard, and HBCU.
Negro, colored, niggas of the good times, counting your numbers and throwing your craps, 7, 7, snake eyes
And I’m putting all on this dream. Dollar bills with dead white men and white papers inked with dotted lines and waiting for you. Dreamer. Nick and dime keeper, Blues, Blues, Years, and Time.

Tell me how you see yourself, man in the mirror, smoother and clearer, what became
Of the dream, movement of the people, love
Movement of the people liberation
Rights, Change, Aren’t I a strong black man.
Aren’t I a black man
Black. Man. Dreamer, dreams. Dropping instrumentals with auto tunes walls  of Billboards and Grammys.  Uncle Sammies and chicken George's
Augusta paintings smear red roses across the canvass, elegant strokes of Georgia Boys in the fields with water girls in orange horizons.
Dreamers can you hear me now, I’m calling you before my time.
Before the creation of the creators of me came, Where you here then,during the rise of the formerly known prince who soaked in the purple rain,staring up at spotlights on rooftops for it to happen for you/I say, dreamers, best friends of mine,
Look at how old you stories are,sitting with smokes and drinks, scars of mending in doses and blending emotions.
God, give me strength, God ,Aren’t I a black man.
Regardless of my pasts sin. Who am I too? Who am I?
And he says “Tell me how you see yourself from within?”
I answer a dreamer loudly. Not carrying about why.
No reason
Fucking Right
No cause or illusion of success
Just a need to do it.
Just a want, That’s all I have
Just this moment. Dream, Dreamer. I am a Black Dreamer. Dreamers come and be heard.

Saturday, April 23, 2016

I can never guess when I want to write some days. Today the sun is out and I'm at home alone with no money, no plans for today if i did have money, and no one to soften the punch of being alone. Don't get me wrong,I've created a solid home for my brother and myself but when I am here alone, I start dissecting myself. My past choices, my life so far, the connections I broke, all of it. It's like I'm standing in front of a full-length mirror of self-loathing. Like I was back in high school trying to sort myself out before I got off the school bus. This is what I hate about myself sometimes. I can never be alright with being alone even though I assure others that there is absolutely nothing wrong with it.  Is that crazy, Tell me I want to know?

Truth is my whole dream of being the best storyteller of my time is meaningless if I don't have anyone to tell them to. Even when I do tell stories now, I relentlessly doubt if they are interested in what they have to say before I finish. Something always worries me, a distrust in them that kicks in. I bet myself to the disbelief of my story before they even notice I'm telling it.
a word that I felt for everyone in my life at one point or another.
Childhood truma aside,  My days are even now filled with doubts of the average friend.
I find myself thinking up alterior motives and lies upon lies.
Sometimes I would like to be wrong, often times I'm not only am but I stick my foot in my mouth before I can prevent a mistake from being made. What Is friendship without trust?
A broken one as it turns out.
I knew a man I grew up with in my teenage years, This man has a family, a belif, a mission, and a heart. I knew a man once that called me his brother and godfather to his kids but because of distrust, I no longer know him.
It was hard to write that last bit. I burned that bridge and left it with a text unanswered.  Is that what I'm doing now, getting rid of people in my life to work toward some solitude that will end up killing me in the end. It's hard to tell what decisions are mine and what aren't that of a distrusting coward afaid to admit when he's wrong.
I regret what I did. It's true.
It was not without reason mind you but my reaction was rotten all the same. Missing the good times don't do any good along with changing how everything went down in my memory. It was so fast. I wasn't even in my right mind but I know how it looked. I was a snake, I am a snake, a serpent of distrust slidering my way in and out of peoples lives, unsure of my purpose, unsure of my status, unsure of my value in the eyes of thoses who say they love me.
I have been betrayed and taken advantage of but it was me. Me.
It wasn't thoses who lied, stole from me, abused me, it was the weak person they left behind afterwards. The "toatured soul" as my drama mentor put it.  Writing about it doesn't make it better,it doesn't stop the dreams of me telling him I'm sorry and I'm stupid and I don't know what I am anymore. A friend? A jealous prick? a fool? all three?
When do we as people learn to become better than our previous pain and the result? when do we open our eyes to see the reflection in the mirror as a companion that desrves companions who trust us and who we trust in return? I don't have much to say now sitting out side on my pourch with my laptop in front of me. And maybe it's enough that I wrote it. Anyway, thanks for reading.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

April 12,2016
I find myself in a coffee shop in Hapeville called DRIP. It's my first day in here after discovering in existence on my walk this morning. And since I have found a new haven for my caffeine driven rants, I decided to start another blog.  My name is Antonio Douglas. I am a student at Fullsail University Online School Program  and I work under a delivery contract with my father and grandfather. I live with my brother and best friend in a two bedroom duplex about a block away from a corner store, Hapeville's Fire department, and a series of restaurants both fast food and traditional. I love where I am at life right now. A certain voice in my head reminds me from time to time to be grateful so I am.  I have my life, People who love me, and I love them.  In the end, I feel everyone who has that are lucky regardless of where they are in life. Old, young, pretty, ugly, rich, or poor, we are humans who need things. Need connection with one another. I have always believed that. Love is a connection just as much as hate is one. The difference is the action taken on behalf of that connection and the results.
People who know me considers my approach to situations a bit too lightly. I don't boil over easily as others and I try to remain as neutral as possible when It comes to picking sides opposing each other.
I don't vote(By choice) simply to avoid decisions based off of a person's words if I've never met them.

I find myself wondering if my approach to life was too lightly taken, Which isn't a surprise to me considering I've been almost killed three times, robbed at gunpoint three times, Hit by a car at the tender age of 13(Fracturing my right leg.) and encountered abuse as a child. Yet, I still don't let any of those things in my past bother me.(At least a lot.) No one can get over child abuse, but we can try to get along knowing that life will be better. Right?

I wish that I could see myself in the future if only to cheat and ask what I should do to succeed and how many people will I loose along the way. I don't know why I would want to know about the loss of people I care about. I guess it would be a way a preparing myself.   Until next time, I'll think about it.