To tell a story....

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.

Death.....my opinion

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

Pulse Night Club

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?

As A Writer.....

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.

To Succeed

W-UP1
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 :-)

The Coffee House method

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?

The Dreamers Call ( a poem)

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.