These streets…

A few days ago I had a conversation with a friend about giving videos to the cops. The conversation was about the one time I decided to maybe help someone only to see something funny. The type of shit that could get you killed or shot at. So my point to her was basically unless it’s something serious I’m not talking. She said that was the street mentality, snitches get stitches. Well there’s some truth to that.

It actually made me reflect on my past. I talk about it often enough. I feel more comfortable in the worst neighborhoods than I do some uppity puppets. If you’ve read my blogs you can surmise I’m not an idiot nor am I uneducated, but the fact is the streets also were my own teacher. They taught me the shitty side of life the side where you lose everything start over 1000000 times over, they taught me hunger, but they also taught me to scrap literally and figuratively.

The main reflection I remembered because of her comments were the razors. I carried razors in my mouth in high school. Something I had forgotten about. I had learned to flip them around and everything. I was a black sheep amongst my surroundings. I’m fine with that, but it was life that showed me to never back down. I don’t regret it or resent it. That’s why now I’m a force to be reckoned with. You can take the girl out the streets but you can’t take the streets out this girl….



We were joking today that I’m a gambling crack head. I’ve been playing scratch offs. I don’t play to the point I’m starving to death and my kid is panhandling for food, but I am playing to get the fuck out. I show up to work some days, read my email and desperation to flee kicks in. I start day dreaming about all the careers and things I could potentially do with my life that are not involved with the office. At one point, I think I said I loved my job. Today is not one of those days. I cashed in a $50 scratch off win and play a $20 for a $40 win. Its missing a few digits behind it, but I’ll take it. It gives me hope. Hope that I will be free and that I won’t have to just walk myself out the door because all I feel is sheer desperation.

Its a funny thing, I can go work back at a Corporate firm, but the just thinking about it is like Robitussin, gross all the way down. I have to admit, as I’ve gotten older my dance to the beat of my own drum has gotten carried away. So now, if I can’t live with dark purple hair because its not appropriate, I don’t want any part of it. Let me have Britney 2007 break downs and just live.

Supa wha????

Schools across NYC have been having a daddy take your kid to school day clad with photo op sessions and what have you.  “Wear your super hero shirt!” “Take a photo with your child in your super hero shirt.”  You’re going to be offended but what the fuck? Are you serious? Do men really need a red carpet and a god damned photo op to take their children to school? Almost everyday out of the year, plenty of mothers walk their kids to school everyday or almost everyday and play even larger roles as the caretaker of their kids. I’m still waiting to see a mommy red carpet hall of fame for dropping your kid off at school. Its your fucking job. You helped make this child. Are we really fucking living in a society where we need to applaud the stand up dads like they just made wee wee for the first fucking time?

I’m sorry, I think its a nice thing, but at the same time, I find it slightly ridiculous. I know plenty of mothers that do it all and they don’t get a parade for stepping up and being parents, let alone a day to take a selfie with your kid for doing what you’re supposed to be doing. This is not to take away the credit from single dad’s, or great father’s that sometimes do more than mother’s. But it is an insult to everyone else that does take care of their children every single day and doesn’t need motivation in a day designated to take your kid to school, something you should either already do when you can or you should already be actively partaking..

The Weeknd

Litterally, the weekend. I’ve been listening to his songs most recently the reminder. I love him as an artist. Yet.. it dawned on me that all his songs are fueled with cocaine binge references. Since I never did coke, it got me thinking about the people I knew sold coke and the ones that snorted that shit. The first time I saw someone bump a line I was 17. A popular hot new kid in school asked me to hang out. I invited one of my best friends. I just remember the night being a drunken stupor for me filled with cocaine and oddity. I didn’t do the cocaine by the way. But it was the first time I saw someone do a line. I wasn’t bothered by obviously I was curious why the hell anyone would put that shit up their nose.

All of that and the songs have made me wonder if there is something to be said about drugs and genius. Steve Jobs was an avid tripper, Weeknd used drugs to fuel his creativity to write or as he put it dibble dabble. Is there something to be said about drug fueled genius? Maybe just maybe because it lowers your restrictions and inhibitions it allows you to actually tap into the things/thoughts you would otherwise discourage yourself from. Not condoning drug use just saying.

Interstingly enough growing up around people that cooked, cut and sold drugs, I was never curious to try drugs or become involved with that life. Every now and then though, I thought that if I had been born in a different era, I might have tried to be a Griselda Blanco with a callous ruthlessness. But the times are different and my life choices are as well. But sometimes… just sometimes…

Dances with the devil…

Today I was remembering some of my dreams or nightmares. Whichever you prefer to refer to. Once upon a time in my life I was spiritual. Not in a biblical sense but in a spiritual sense of knowing. I always knew things, when something bad was coming, I could read people much much better, and of course, I had the dreams..

I knew the end of my relationships before anyone knew. It was like a rule. If I dreamed about the relationship it was doomed. You could write it down. There was a point in my 20’s where I had dreams about the devil. Yes, Lucifer was constantly appearing in my dreams. Not in the sordid idea of a guy in a red costume. People think the devil is this cartoon image of a person, forgetting he was once called the most beautiful angels. He was a fallen angel…  He appeared attractive and elusive and charming. Each dream over the years was a battle. A tango of the wills. His will to own me, to take me while each dream I called him out and rebuked him. We danced in a few of the dreams. Each time, me telling him I knew who he was and he couldn’t have me. One time though, the dream was violent. He manifested like a 6’3 man that punched me in the back and in places that when I awoke sore and bruised, it was impossible that I had bruised myself. I am not schizophrenic nor do I have any mental disorders, outside what I’m sure some psychiatrists may determine to be antisocial personality traits or full blown..

Its been a long time since those spiritual dreams. Either he’s left me alone, or he knows he’s corrupted the very core of me in some ways. Like a plague. I try to be softer as a person but yet, I find it impossible. You can’t turn on remorse, you can’t turn off sadistic tendencies. You can’t un-know what you know. Truth changes you. Life changes you, but more importantly pain changes you. There’s always been a lot different about me from others. DMX rapped once about the devil in a song called Damien, the question was the snake, the rat, the cat, the dog, how you going to see him if you’re living in the fog?

I was always a spark. For the most part I used my power for good fighting for the wrongs. On occasion, I use my skills to break people down. That’s the truth. In my relationships in all my years this has come up twice. I literally mentally broke someone down. I had no remorse, I still have no remorse. Today, its not the same, but I know how to hurt. I go for the kill if you push me. In my path, if I look back, I may have to one day look back at the faces of those that I crushed in my very wake the question is just how much remorse do I have exactly… at this moment? Not one bit.


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Today while I was showering I noticed hair falling out. Instead of growing now, my hair appears to be falling out severely. I won’t lie I freaked. So I did maybe the worst thing possible. I hit google. Is this the medication? Is this the Sjogrens? Basically, people who have this have mentioned everything I’m going through. Its hard not to fret and worry. Now that I’m home I couldn’t get up off the bed. I literally hobbled off the bed. Its a tough silent battle. Silent? because I haven’t really told everyone. Some of my friends know what I’m up against. There are days, I am ready to take the world by storm and days like today that between losing my statistics text book and my hair falling off, I’m ready to just lay in bed if I could. The meds make me sick, nauseous, sometimes, I just pass out in exhaustion.

I’ve thought about shaving my head before, maybe I can pull a Sinead. I feel bad for my daughter who will be 7. She saw me hobble off the bed and barely be able to take 3 steps and she rushed to rub my back, and help me up. I’m 34. Can I imagine at 60? at 50? People are worried about killing it physically, I went through that phase. I outgrew it fast. I had a body that was envied, and I hated it. I had so much more to offer intellectually that it was always overlooked. Now, I just want to be okay to make it through one more day. To run, to get to the point where I physically don’t “leave” for moments at a time from fatigue. As I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep…

Do you need a lyft..

Like all things in my life everything is exaggerated. I can’t be normal. Maybe it’s my screws upstairs that are missing or that personality disorder is traits that I often talk about. My daughters birthday is coming up. I’m big on birthdays, or was. I would show up to work in a full on bling not plastic tiara for my birthday. My celebration lasted a month. I felt like life itself was a celebration, another year, another day, another chance to change things. 

For my daughters first birthday I celebrated with friends and family in New York and Florida. For her second birthday I did the same. Since my daughter is in camp I opted this year to buy a cake for the girls at camp. A friend of mine who’s motto is “the road to hell is paved with good intentions” comes to mind. I wanted to buy her a cute cake. Not a plain $20 cake. So I went with a unicorn cake. The problem? It’s massive. So much so that on a train during rush hour I would have pancake by the time I got to Harlem. 

So I decided to call a lyft. The problem is that my driver is nice but he’s giving me anxiety as I sit in the back. He’s taken routes that I’m like what? So here i sit wondering what exactly the bill will be since I’m still in Brooklyn and this trip said it would take 30 min has now become 42. I’m trying to take things in stride. Life is short. I won’t always be around with my daughter. She drives me nuts and I probably threaten to spank her at least 3 times a day. But these are the things that I do to make sure she has a great time. It’s the details, the memories. Kids don’t need much, this I know. But I want her to always remember that I always tried to make her feel special.