DONT BAG ON DA RAG

Here ye here ye. Women on the rag. Yes, I know it is a very crass way of explaining it, but what other way to explain it. Now, the thing is that it is something that we men do not necessarily appreciate it, because of the out of no where mood swings and the constant bullshit attitude that goes along with it. Its more like a gift and a curse. Because if the shit doesn't come, man we are shitting bricks, hoping that the calendar on the fridge is from last year, and there has been some sort of miscalculation. And nine months later, while you are feeling queasy, you come to terms that it really wasn't a tumor after all.


It is my belief that women should warn you when it is due for arrival, at least 2 days in advance. However that isn't enough warning, because sometimes the calm before the storm isn't calm at all. Its more like a storm cloud that scares the shit out of you. But because of impending doom, there is no transportation from the general area. In short, your fucked, regardless. Times like these make a woman that has went through menopause already extremely attractive. but, I don't know if I can do this because I don't want to get worms. Sick, yes. True, I wouldn't bet against it.


I used to keep a schedule of this phenomenon when I was in long term relationships. It takes about 6-8 months to really know for sure. I had an ex who refused to ever admit she was on the rag. One day I was cleaning up in the dining room, and found she hid a tampon in a box and threw it behind the radiator. Yes, I have dealt with many a loon boon, but that one was a doozy. Apparently, she didn't want to equate her idiotic behavior to being on the rag. So I just chalked it up to her being incredibly stupid.

My child's mom would throw things at me. Pots and pans and sharp objects. I am not the nicest guy in the world at times. I do take pride in being an asshole, I find it one of my endearing qualities. But, I just don't think that throwing at my head bode to well if you want anything to prosper. I am thankful to all of that mess, because now I can duck all types of shit, bees, flies, hell, even bullets at times. Being an asshole does have its disadvantages at times.

If I were elected into office, I would most definitely design a bill that women would be required by law to wear a color coded bracelet that will let the other sex know what the fuck is going on. Of course it would be green for "it's all good", yellow for "move cautiously", and red for "stop, turn around, holla at her in a week to ten days".

This week, and it is only Thursday where I have found myself defending some said by me that was so harmless, only to blow up to something that wasn't necessary, and wouldn't have happened if they were just wearing a color coded bracelet, and/or had a status message that read "on the rag, don't say stupid things". We do tend to say things that are normally funny 3 weeks out of the month. But that one week. It is the most vile, and insensitive shit that you have ever spew out of your mouth or fingers.

I write all this to say fellas, that we cant win. We are good for only a few things. And one of those things we think we are good at. Wait, I'm Great at it. End of rant. Ah thank you, and ah goodnight!

Personal Space

You know, being a commuter isn't the best thing for me. There are so many people around you, coughing, sneezing, wheezing, smelling. I don't know how I get up to do each each day. When I first moved to JC, I had to get accustomed to the way of life at the bus depot. You see, when you wait, people get in line according to who got there first, second, third and so on. Took me a few weeks and a thousand dirty looks when I was the last to get there and the first to get on the bus. I mean, it was like these people didn't understand survival of the fittest and what not. Perhaps I am the ultimate bigot, so I always found a way to cut in front of an immigrant.

Green card: "Hey!!!!"
Me: "Oh, didn't realize you spoke english, with that dot on your head and all."

Yeah, yeah. I'm fucked up sometimes. But who isn't? But what really pisses me off is the invasion of personal space. Like for instance, right now, some fucker, with all the room in the world on the bus has to sit less than 10 inches from me. That is a total invasion to me. If I was already drunk, I would have faked a yawn, and caught him with surprise elbow. I doubt I'd be charged with anything, because I keep my Full bottle of anti-depressants in my bag. I would have pulled them out, showed him and said sorry. That may be a little extra, but oh well, right?

It is my belief that a person hs a certain radius. I'm guessing about five feet in diameter. Or as far as my arm can reach, depending on the situation. When the sars and the bird flu was going on, the radius was extended to about 7 to 10 feet. 15 feet when in chinatown.

When I am on an escalator, I absolutley hate when someone's face is 3 inches from my ass. Those are the times that I swish I ate bean and cabbage soup. I mean, you will learn a lesson. I'm such a proponent of personal space rules that I'd take a shit on myself right there just to educate someone. I'm all for educating people.

I have had many break ups because of my belief. There are times when I had to go against it, my own rule. I'm nicely packed but I'm unable to fuck from 5 feet away. Its a nice thought, but if I had a dick that size, the only pussy I would be getting is from elephants and sperm whales. Maybe not whales, because I'm not a great swimmer. However, I would create the worlds first pornographic circus...

"Performing Live, The Animal Fucker!!!"

I mean, call me selfish, but sometimes I just don't want anyone in my near surroundings. My ex had a huge fucking head. And sometimes, she would want to lay her head on my shoulder. Its cute at first, but then the shit starts wearing you down. When you can't lift your arm to use the remote, then there's a problem occuring. One night she was sleep on the couch and when she got up, the spot where her head was laying looked like it was hit by a comet. When I asked was she related to rocky dennis, she asked "who?" I gave her some wise chips, said nevermind and chuckled. She did look like cher kinda. Hmmmmmm.

I guess I have a mild case of claustrophobia. It may not be mild, because I don't even think I spelled it right. Another thing is that I don't really like talking up close and personal. I know I may have newport and liquor breath, but those are endearing odors. But what I don't want is someone with horrible breath tlking to me, and their stink breath bouncing off my face, and hitting them in the nose. Leading them to believe that not only am I the animal fucker, but I also perform cunnilingus on said animal. See, people with horrible breath do not realize it. I never understood why when someone tells you a secret in your ear, it travels through your head to your nose.

One time when my daughter was about two, an oodle of noodle got stuck in her nose. Couldn't have been on my watch, because I don't eat them, nor fed them to her. But man oh man. That shit was a horrible smell. I thought it was from her sucking her fingers. The whole time it was a noodle. I felt bad because, I was nervous that maybe she would have that forever. I yelled at her mother all the time and asked if she had food, then why was she feeding the baby bowls of shit. I love when my daughter gave me hugs and kisses, but its messed up when you have to brace yourself for close contact with your offspring. Thank goodness we took her to the doctor who found the noodle. Now I give her kishes wishes all the time. That's my stinkamuffin. I have got to work on appropiaye segways.

I won't even start on the use of elevators.

Like A Brick

During high school, I didn't know what direction I was headed for. I sent my SAT scores to scores of schools, and I'm sure I was accepted to a few. The ones that stood out were norfolk state, tuskeegee and the fake HU.

I really wasn't that supported by both of my parents as far as school. My grades were the type of grades that would only get me a scholarship at hair school, and that's even pushing it. I never really cared about anything in high school except maybe perforing. I was good at it. And I got a shitload of trophies for doing so. If I knew then what I knew now, I would have used that for my advantage to go somewhere. Unfortunately, my drama coach had only one prize student, and it damn sure wasn't me.
A friend from my block joined the navy the year before me.
One day he came to the school recruting. Unhappy with my home life, it seemed like a go. I could get money for college, travel the world, and most important; learn how to swim.
Long story short, I signed up. Since I wasn't a stellar student, I went to summer school. For the subject that I was the best at; history.
The thing was that, I was very good in history. I would cut 3 days of the week, come in the day before the test, and then come in the next day, and ace the test. The whole year I did that. Attendance meant nothing to me. Besides, I'm a fucking genius. And why would a genius have to live by the standards of everyone else? Damned that.
Anyways, that didn't make my recruiter that happy. The military always needs new blood. After summer school, I got a job at the most local mall. The job was okay. My cousin was a manager, and I thought I'd have it easy. Nope, he would be one of the first asshole bosses in my life. I worked there for about 6 months. I kept pushing back the date when I was to be shipped off. Bad move.
D-day finally came. The recruiter came to pick me up. He talked most of the time. He had stories about all the women he slept with over the world, and that he never got burnt. Great, I could play craps with my dick. What more could a 17 year old ask
for?

As we made the trip to the MEPS, I started to cry a little. I don't know why. I guess I just needed to let some things out. At the time, my girlfriend Ifa was preggo, not my kid though. I promised to take care of her and the baby. The dad was a deadbeat apparently. I remember her moms boyfriend at the time took me around, and made me an honorary q dawg so that I could get out the commitment before I left.

So anyways, we get to the brooklyn MEPS center. We take our oaths and all the basic bullshit. I can't remember too much of what went on there. I'm sure there was a lot of paperworks signing and what have you.
Queens Blvd, is where I would wind up that night. I think the place was the pan america, hotel or some shit. What I do remember is that where we were there was hella chinese folks around. Every corner seemed to have some chinese writing.

Its my type of personality to mesh with people right away. I got cool with this white kid from brooklyn. I forgot his name, but it don't matter. He called me Jerz all night, and I called the dude new yawk.

We was kickin it and we discussed how much of it was a mistake it was to join the navy.
We both had a sure fire way to get out of it. About 12 of us decided to walk around where we were and get drunk and smoke as much weed as we could consume.

In those days I didn't drink much, so it wasn't hard for me to get shit faced quickly. We must have pooled together and bought at least 8 fourty ounces, and a few fifths of I think brass monkey. They should have called it brass knuckles, because I got knocked the fuck out that night.

In our drunkeness, New Yawk and me started to reconsider our decision to try and get kicked out. I shouldn't say we, more like He. He started crying and shit, talking about how he wanted to do good, and show his pops he was worth something. Blah blah blah. It was touching, it touched me that I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I was regretting the decision to drink the old english mixed with hawaiian punch, and brass knuckles.

After getting close with the toilet, I went back into the room, and new yawk was mixing up something else for us to drink. I got on the floor and tried to turn it back the right way. I had a feeling I was on the top of a bottle cap and a giant person was tring to twist it off. That was my exact thought at that time. Yawk was mixing up something called the flush. He told me to drink it to clean my system. I was assuming that it would just make me un-drunk. I gulped the drink down, followed by the last of the brass knuckles. Smart, after that, the little man came behind me and flipped the switch to off. Goodnight.

To be continued.

The Climb 1&2

For a long while I have been feeling a certain way. I felt like life wasn't worth living. A week or so ago, I attempted suicide. I drank more then a pint of vodka, and swallowed a gang of prescription pain meds. I was so woosey and delirious. For a couple hours I was fighting sleep. I don't know if I was scared, but something kept me going. I said to myself, this is NOT the way I wanted to do it. I really wanted it messy. Bloody, and full of gore. You know, like they say in movies. Full of gore.
After that, my roommate called the people with the white coats, offering to give me one of those I love me jackets to rock on the way to the hospital. They called first, and was like, "do you want to harm yourself?" And my answer was of course. I also told her how bad they fucked up when I reached out before to them. They were worthless. I mean really worthless.
A couple of days ago, I went out with my roommates friend. He came and knocked on my door, and asked if I wanted to smoke. Why the fuck not? We politicked for a while while smoking. I explained about three of my grandparents dying simotaneously at one time. And other things. Such as the disdain for his friend that doesn't seem to want to pay her share of the rent. But I should have expected that from her july 20 something birthday.
So we decide to go uptown to his spot, smoke drink and chill. His old man is a blues singer, and we went to the club in the villiage where he performed. Pops wasn't there that night, but it was cool because the music was still good.
I got home maybe around 2:45am, but the bus going to my house didn't leave until 5:30am. You do the math. Again, I wanted to die. I spent the only money in the world to chill with some dude I didn't know, with a million white people, who seemed to have more dancing rhythm than I had. It was good that I got out. But it wasn't my element.
When I got home that morning, I felt the same. I wanted to die. I wasn't happy at all. I just thought that the night was another sign that there is no reason for me to go on. I was lonley again. I didn't care about ole dude, nor did I really welcome the guys companionship. I wanted to be left alone without feeling lonley. Perhaps makes no sense to anyone, but me.

Tonight, I decided to pick myself back up. I can't feel like this anymore. I just can't. I look at my daughters pic on my device, and I just start to cry. I cry because I have never felt so selfish. I couldn't imagine not seeing her graduate, go to high school, college, marriage. All of those things run through my mind. And I cry like a baby, because I miss her at the thought of me not being able to see it.

I have to climb back up. I have too. I, on a whim said, let me go to the city. Let me get Flav back. Let me get back the person I knew I was before. Full of life, and passion, and everything I've missed as of late.

There must have been something tonight. No sooner then ten minutes, a couple started a conversation with me. They were evicted, and was asking for something, asking for help. The funny thing is that, they weren't asking for money. They asked for me to pray for them. Danny, and Kara. We talked for what seemed 20 minutes. I told them that I had to move out my place by saturday. At that point, she ran off a list of places in the city I could go for help. We, in that short time spoke on God, jobs, poverty, and other things. I am not saying this is what brought me up. It was just the beginning.
As I walked up the ave, I walked by the garden. Across the street from the garden was the hotel pennsylvania. And I couldn't help but to think that, I should have never went to that place ever. I thought that if I did not go there close to. Couple years ago, how my life, and my feelings for myself would have been different. If I knew then what I know now, I would have never shown up, changed my number, and never would have been online in any name I used before. I stood in front of the place and called it a piece of shit. Because it is. and whom I met there for the first time is as well. So be it.
So I continued walking. I walked and walked further up. I got to 42nd st and 8th ave. I worked around there in an internet cafe for a spell, trying to get people to use my company's voip phone service. It was horrid, but hell with it. Money is money. The company folded, and rightly so. My desk was no wider than 2 feet. And the office stank of cigars and drunken jewish gangsters.
I kept walking up a little, on 8th ave. Past all the peep shows, and the bars and what not. I started to recall when, ten years before that, the peep shows and the smoke shops were not on 8th ave, but on 42nd. There were all on the ave too, but 42nd was a different monster at the time.
Back in the day, it was different for me. When I got paid on a tuesday, I would go uptown. My whole thing was get some weed, bug out for a while, get lost, find my way back to midtown, go to 42nd to bug out, and go home high as shit, and do it the next day all over again.
When I went to the ave, I'd always fuck around with the hookers. Not fuck around as in "fuck" them. But fuck around as far as try to understand them. They so called pimps aint like it at first. Because they was thinkin I was some new nigga. Shit, I was in a uniform, smelling like plane fuel. Yeah, next pimp my ass. I'd ask the hoes all types of questions. Not the shit I'd ask now though. I'd ask bout why are they a hoe, do they make good money. Mostly why this and that questions, pertaining to their decision to become a hoe. Hoe once told me out there that she was a virgin still, but she sucks the best dick in the city. I cracked up because I figured the bitch took it in the ass too just to maintain that hymen. Many nights I did this. Walked around pretty much aimless, just enjoying life. For some reason, random people would come up and talk to me. There are so many countless spontaneous conversations that I had. I don't know what it was. Were they drunk. Was it that type of night? What do they see in me? That they will give me thir life stories?
It was never really a bum, or a drunk. it was always a "someone" I mean, the type of folks you knew jus plunked down a half a mil on a condo on 63rd and park or some shit. I always thought they were drunk or out of they mind to sit and talk with me. I never saw the big picture.

Tonight, I met this guy. Regular ole rich type white guy. I was on my way home to drink myself to death again. I had got hold of some more pain meds. And I put all the pills I had into one container. I was going to do it. I had the plan. Didn't eat, didn't sleep most of the day. Blood and gore is nice, but sounds painful. My luck is funny luck. Like I would be the guy that jumps off empire(was an option) and fucking survives. With no limbs, half a face and my ass would be on my chest. Not to mention a helmut.

Anyways, so I see this guy while I am walking to the train. He gives me a head nod. I nod back. I was across the street, but I crossed to see what his deal was. I go over and ask if he was okay. One part of me was concerned, the other part wanted to rob his ass.

He says to me that he needed a cigarette, and he was glad I came over. I was reluctant to give him one. I just started again after a 3 week layoff, and all I had was loosies. I gave him one. He goes into his spiel. He says that he is from wall street. He left his wallet and his laptop in a cab, and he has been up for two days, stressed out. He said all of his client information was on there and he was going to be fucked if it got into the wrong hands. I laughed at him while asking him if the laptop had a password. And then he laughed and said, "its 2007, does it even fucking matter?".

He got me there. He said he was going to jersey. He started walking the wrong way. I say;

The Path is that way.
"Fuck the path, that takes too long"
That's cool, you gonna be alright? I asked.
"Yeah, but come and walk with me"
I don't have the dough for NJ Transit right now, you just be safe, your pretty fucked up right now.
"I got you yo, cmon"

At this point, I'm like, shit. Hell, I'm game. So we start walking. He is talking the entire 20 steps we walk he is yapping. He stops to shake my hand, thank me for the port, and introduce himself.

"I'm Steve"
Flav
"Cmon, what's your real name?"

I told him while we still shook hands. I didn't get any bad vibe from this guy. It was weird. I didn't want to kill him. Lately, that's been what I wanted. My death, or someone else's combined with mine. We get across from penn station, at the pennsylvania. I'm in front of it again. He blurts out;

"Man, I have fucked a lot of broads in here bro"

That was funny. I started cracking up. He strts laughing and says;

"What's so funny (real name)?"

Nothing really, its just that as many chicks you banged in this hotel. I've met chicks and got head from them, and didn't even know their name, for three straight days. Lemme find out you was getting pussy, while I was getting bad head from the same hoes...

He started laughing and said, "Flav, I like you, your fuckin crazy".
We go down to penn station. And like I thought, the trains to jerz stopped. He says that he guess he was gonna find a nice chair for the night. I told him he could have one of my beers and we could chill for a minute. He agreed, and we left.

We walked down a block or so and saw some stairs and sat down and begin to talk, and drink. We discussed a lot of things in a short time. He told me about all the time he did in jail. About his drug abuse and all;

"I've been fucking with cocaine since 1981, I knew about coke before richard pryor did"

I asked him if he was high when he lost his stuff. He replied "most likely".
I asked was coke a wall street thing. He replied; "Everything is a wall street thing".

This guy was something else. A group of guys was walking down the street, while he was explaining how he uses the n word, and how we shouldn't be offended. That started an argument kind of. More of a heated discussion. Only he was laughing. His point was proven. The last dude that came down looked like the rapper tpain. And immediately he says "yo, are you a rapper?" I bugged the fuck out again. Then he explained stereotypes. He said all sterotypes are true. He knew this because he is irish, and loves anything involving a potato. Point proven again.

I explained what I had try to do to myself a few days before, and what I was going to do to myself later. He didn't seem concerned too much. He did apologize. And then he started. He went into a mode. I didn't know this guy from a can of paint. For the next 15 minutes, he hit the nail on the head with every fucking word;

"You aren't supposed to die now. I know what your issue is (real name). You are meant for bigger things. You are supposed to be successful. And you re going to be. We just met, and already, I see your charisma. You are personable. Understanding, and you have a pure heart, and you have a lot of pain. Your pain is because no one gets you. I can tell already how intelligent you are. Dude, you are probably a genius. but no one knows but you. You have ideas that no one has but you. You are a leader. A born one. And you want to self destruct because you let a small failure have the effect of a nuclear bomb. A pin drops to everyone else, but to you it is armageddon. The picture is big and you get it. And you're scared because you feel like no one understands you. And that's cool, because only certain people get you. And those people are successful, like you are going to be. If you did what I do for a living. You'd be the richest motherfucker that no one would ever get except ones like you. Suicide is a permanent solution for a temporary problem. You're better then that.

He said more then that probably. But I was hit like a ton of bricks. Here it was 3 in the morning damn near. But the sun was already up. For me anyways. I couldn't die. I can't. Not now. Here is is a perfect stranger not named Balki, telling me what others have said. The difference is that, this time the words were genuine and sincere. I believed them. My heart was no longer heavy. At that moment, I wiped the slate clean. I was really ready this time to start the rest of my life.

He and I chilled until 6am. Walking around. Fucking with tourists, eating authenic mexican tacos. Just living. Its what I missed so much in the last 3 or so years. I came back, but this time I was staying.

I don't know how to take this. But, after that convo, he wanted to "score". An hour before we parted, he says to me;

"Flav, after tonight messing around with you, I don't feel as though I need it right now, and maybe not tomorrow".

Wow. If you could be anything other than a broker, what would you do in life, I mean what's your passion?
I asked.

"A writer. I'm pretty fucking good too"

The sun was not only bright. It was inside me. And shining again finally.

The Climb 1&2

For a long while I have been feeling a certain way. I felt like life wasn't worth living. A week or so ago, I attempted suicide. I drank more then a pint of vodka, and swallowed a gang of prescription pain meds. I was so woosey and delirious. For a couple hours I was fighting sleep. I don't know if I was scared, but something kept me going. I said to myself, this is NOT the way I wanted to do it. I really wanted it messy. Bloody, and full of gore. You know, like they say in movies. Full of gore.
After that, my roommate called the people with the white coats, offering to give me one of those I love me jackets to rock on the way to the hospital. They called first, and was like, "do you want to harm yourself?" And my answer was of course. I also told her how bad they fucked up when I reached out before to them. They were worthless. I mean really worthless.
A couple of days ago, I went out with my roommates friend. He came and knocked on my door, and asked if I wanted to smoke. Why the fuck not? We politicked for a while while smoking. I explained about three of my grandparents dying simotaneously at one time. And other things. Such as the disdain for his friend that doesn't seem to want to pay her share of the rent. But I should have expected that from her july 20 something birthday.
So we decide to go uptown to his spot, smoke drink and chill. His old man is a blues singer, and we went to the club in the villiage where he performed. Pops wasn't there that night, but it was cool because the music was still good.
I got home maybe around 2:45am, but the bus going to my house didn't leave until 5:30am. You do the math. Again, I wanted to die. I spent the only money in the world to chill with some dude I didn't know, with a million white people, who seemed to have more dancing rhythm than I had. It was good that I got out. But it wasn't my element.
When I got home that morning, I felt the same. I wanted to die. I wasn't happy at all. I just thought that the night was another sign that there is no reason for me to go on. I was lonley again. I didn't care about ole dude, nor did I really welcome the guys companionship. I wanted to be left alone without feeling lonley. Perhaps makes no sense to anyone, but me.

Tonight, I decided to pick myself back up. I can't feel like this anymore. I just can't. I look at my daughters pic on my device, and I just start to cry. I cry because I have never felt so selfish. I couldn't imagine not seeing her graduate, go to high school, college, marriage. All of those things run through my mind. And I cry like a baby, because I miss her at the thought of me not being able to see it.

I have to climb back up. I have too. I, on a whim said, let me go to the city. Let me get Flav back. Let me get back the person I knew I was before. Full of life, and passion, and everything I've missed as of late.

There must have been something tonight. No sooner then ten minutes, a couple started a conversation with me. They were evicted, and was asking for something, asking for help. The funny thing is that, they weren't asking for money. They asked for me to pray for them. Danny, and Kara. We talked for what seemed 20 minutes. I told them that I had to move out my place by saturday. At that point, she ran off a list of places in the city I could go for help. We, in that short time spoke on God, jobs, poverty, and other things. I am not saying this is what brought me up. It was just the beginning.
As I walked up the ave, I walked by the garden. Across the street from the garden was the hotel pennsylvania. And I couldn't help but to think that, I should have never went to that place ever. I thought that if I did not go there close to. Couple years ago, how my life, and my feelings for myself would have been different. If I knew then what I know now, I would have never shown up, changed my number, and never would have been online in any name I used before. I stood in front of the place and called it a piece of shit. Because it is. and whom I met there for the first time is as well. So be it.
So I continued walking. I walked and walked further up. I got to 42nd st and 8th ave. I worked around there in an internet cafe for a spell, trying to get people to use my company's voip phone service. It was horrid, but hell with it. Money is money. The company folded, and rightly so. My desk was no wider than 2 feet. And the office stank of cigars and drunken jewish gangsters.
I kept walking up a little, on 8th ave. Past all the peep shows, and the bars and what not. I started to recall when, ten years before that, the peep shows and the smoke shops were not on 8th ave, but on 42nd. There were all on the ave too, but 42nd was a different monster at the time.
Back in the day, it was different for me. When I got paid on a tuesday, I would go uptown. My whole thing was get some weed, bug out for a while, get lost, find my way back to midtown, go to 42nd to bug out, and go home high as shit, and do it the next day all over again.
When I went to the ave, I'd always fuck around with the hookers. Not fuck around as in "fuck" them. But fuck around as far as try to understand them. They so called pimps aint like it at first. Because they was thinkin I was some new nigga. Shit, I was in a uniform, smelling like plane fuel. Yeah, next pimp my ass. I'd ask the hoes all types of questions. Not the shit I'd ask now though. I'd ask bout why are they a hoe, do they make good money. Mostly why this and that questions, pertaining to their decision to become a hoe. Hoe once told me out there that she was a virgin still, but she sucks the best dick in the city. I cracked up because I figured the bitch took it in the ass too just to maintain that hymen. Many nights I did this. Walked around pretty much aimless, just enjoying life. For some reason, random people would come up and talk to me. There are so many countless spontaneous conversations that I had. I don't know what it was. Were they drunk. Was it that type of night? What do they see in me? That they will give me thir life stories?
It was never really a bum, or a drunk. it was always a "someone" I mean, the type of folks you knew jus plunked down a half a mil on a condo on 63rd and park or some shit. I always thought they were drunk or out of they mind to sit and talk with me. I never saw the big picture.

Tonight, I met this guy. Regular ole rich type white guy. I was on my way home to drink myself to death again. I had got hold of some more pain meds. And I put all the pills I had into one container. I was going to do it. I had the plan. Didn't eat, didn't sleep most of the day. Blood and gore is nice, but sounds painful. My luck is funny luck. Like I would be the guy that jumps off empire(was an option) and fucking survives. With no limbs, half a face and my ass would be on my chest. Not to mention a helmut.

Anyways, so I see this guy while I am walking to the train. He gives me a head nod. I nod back. I was across the street, but I crossed to see what his deal was. I go over and ask if he was okay. One part of me was concerned, the other part wanted to rob his ass.

He says to me that he needed a cigarette, and he was glad I came over. I was reluctant to give him one. I just started again after a 3 week layoff, and all I had was loosies. I gave him one. He goes into his spiel. He says that he is from wall street. He left his wallet and his laptop in a cab, and he has been up for two days, stressed out. He said all of his client information was on there and he was going to be fucked if it got into the wrong hands. I laughed at him while asking him if the laptop had a password. And then he laughed and said, "its 2007, does it even fucking matter?".

He got me there. He said he was going to jersey. He started walking the wrong way. I say;

The Path is that way.
"Fuck the path, that takes too long"
That's cool, you gonna be alright? I asked.
"Yeah, but come and walk with me"
I don't have the dough for NJ Transit right now, you just be safe, your pretty fucked up right now.
"I got you yo, cmon"

At this point, I'm like, shit. Hell, I'm game. So we start walking. He is talking the entire 20 steps we walk he is yapping. He stops to shake my hand, thank me for the port, and introduce himself.

"I'm Steve"
Flav
"Cmon, what's your real name?"

I told him while we still shook hands. I didn't get any bad vibe from this guy. It was weird. I didn't want to kill him. Lately, that's been what I wanted. My death, or someone else's combined with mine. We get across from penn station, at the pennsylvania. I'm in front of it again. He blurts out;

"Man, I have fucked a lot of broads in here bro"

That was funny. I started cracking up. He strts laughing and says;

"What's so funny (real name)?"

Nothing really, its just that as many chicks you banged in this hotel. I've met chicks and got head from them, and didn't even know their name, for three straight days. Lemme find out you was getting pussy, while I was getting bad head from the same hoes...

He started laughing and said, "Flav, I like you, your fuckin crazy".
We go down to penn station. And like I thought, the trains to jerz stopped. He says that he guess he was gonna find a nice chair for the night. I told him he could have one of my beers and we could chill for a minute. He agreed, and we left.

We walked down a block or so and saw some stairs and sat down and begin to talk, and drink. We discussed a lot of things in a short time. He told me about all the time he did in jail. About his drug abuse and all;

"I've been fucking with cocaine since 1981, I knew about coke before richard pryor did"

I asked him if he was high when he lost his stuff. He replied "most likely".
I asked was coke a wall street thing. He replied; "Everything is a wall street thing".

This guy was something else. A group of guys was walking down the street, while he was explaining how he uses the n word, and how we shouldn't be offended. That started an argument kind of. More of a heated discussion. Only he was laughing. His point was proven. The last dude that came down looked like the rapper tpain. And immediately he says "yo, are you a rapper?" I bugged the fuck out again. Then he explained stereotypes. He said all sterotypes are true. He knew this because he is irish, and loves anything involving a potato. Point proven again.

I explained what I had try to do to myself a few days before, and what I was going to do to myself later. He didn't seem concerned too much. He did apologize. And then he started. He went into a mode. I didn't know this guy from a can of paint. For the next 15 minutes, he hit the nail on the head with every fucking word;

"You aren't supposed to die now. I know what your issue is (real name). You are meant for bigger things. You are supposed to be successful. And you re going to be. We just met, and already, I see your charisma. You are personable. Understanding, and you have a pure heart, and you have a lot of pain. Your pain is because no one gets you. I can tell already how intelligent you are. Dude, you are probably a genius. but no one knows but you. You have ideas that no one has but you. You are a leader. A born one. And you want to self destruct because you let a small failure have the effect of a nuclear bomb. A pin drops to everyone else, but to you it is armageddon. The picture is big and you get it. And you're scared because you feel like no one understands you. And that's cool, because only certain people get you. And those people are successful, like you are going to be. If you did what I do for a living. You'd be the richest motherfucker that no one would ever get except ones like you. Suicide is a permanent solution for a temporary problem. You're better then that.

He said more then that probably. But I was hit like a ton of bricks. Here it was 3 in the morning damn near. But the sun was already up. For me anyways. I couldn't die. I can't. Not now. Here is is a perfect stranger not named Balki, telling me what others have said. The difference is that, this time the words were genuine and sincere. I believed them. My heart was no longer heavy. At that moment, I wiped the slate clean. I was really ready this time to start the rest of my life.

He and I chilled until 6am. Walking around. Fucking with tourists, eating authenic mexican tacos. Just living. Its what I missed so much in the last 3 or so years. I came back, but this time I was staying.

I don't know how to take this. But, after that convo, he wanted to "score". An hour before we parted, he says to me;

"Flav, after tonight messing around with you, I don't feel as though I need it right now, and maybe not tomorrow".

Wow. If you could be anything other than a broker, what would you do in life, I mean what's your passion?
I asked.

"A writer. I'm pretty fucking good too"

The sun was not only bright. It was inside me. And shining again finally.

some reasons are good ones

For some reason I can remember everything. The sad thing is that I remember nothing but the negative. I can remember things from when I was very young. I can recall every negative thing said or done to me. I can remember every feeling I felt at any particular time. Nd in all of these recollections. I cannot recall when there was anything that was kind, that happened to be genuine. For years I've trusted no one. What's the point? Everyone seems to be manipulative and just out for themselves. Its the human way. That's why I have no faith in mankind anymore. I think if I could, I would go back and try to hurt anyone in my past that has hurt me. Of course they wouldn't know why its happening. But I'd like to torture and give them hints.
I remember my moms. Before my uncle commited suicide over a broken heart, she was the bomb. We did a lot together. Boy scouts, dancing, bowling. We did it all. After he passed that changed. I guess my mother started to look at me as the reason she had nothing in life. When I was maybe 12 or 13 my mother stabbed me in the neck, with one of those big assed kitchen forks. I remember putting a couple of band aids on my neck, and continued on to school. Later in the day, I guess moms felt some guilt. She came to the school. To get me to bring me to the ER. She went on a tirade in the room. She was telling the doctor that she didn't want me anymore. She was tired of me and that I wasn't shit and she would have rather had an abortion. The last word I had to look up at the time. And was kind of messed up about the definition at the time. I just didn't get it. I remember when I was about 5/6 and my mother was in the bedroom crying her eyes out, because she was afraid my father would try to take me away from her. I cried with her, and I remember telling her I wouldn't go. And that I loved her. I held her and we both cried. From that day, I hated my father. Because no one was to make my mother cry. Not to mention the fact he drank too much and whupped my ass for unexplainable shit. But I did hate and fear him growing up.
I don't know why my mother flipped. I'm sure it is because her little brother killed himself. Everything changed after that. I know one time when I had got a new job, and I was doing good. Going to sleep early, not smoking. Not drinking. Just working. One night while I was laying down, my mother bust in the room, and started pouring lighter fluid on the blanket. I was half sleep. But I woke up because some of the fluid got near my nose and mouth. And I woke up even more because my mother was struggling to try and light a match to set me on fire. I left that night with a duffel bag, and I spent the night in newark penn station. I chalked it up as being that, I am not worthy of life perhaps. All I am is a joke to people. Not respected or loved unconditionally. That's what we all want. And sometimes I figure that its best to just stop life. I mean, twice my own moms tried to end my life, then why would anyone else give a fuck? I don't anymore. I am insignificant. I am perhaps a bd seed that just does not belong here. I am so without feelings right now. I'm not happy or sad. I am just tired. I've said it before. But right now it is apparent that I don't have a purpose. And when you don't have one. Its best to just leave.
I remember when I was snooping around in my grandmothers house. I found my uncle's suicide letter. At least I thought it was. And I think I understnd where he was coming from at the time. He was tired. Tired of people claiming love and whatever else. And it turning out to be false. Or events happening to where you see the truth, and finally getting it. If I never knew unconditional love, then how would I ever be capable of giving it? I really do not know how long I can go on feeling like this. I aam very tired. Some people just shouldn't go on anymore. Me included.

The Bohemoth and the Boonanny

I don't remember when this occured in my life, but I was young. The craziest shit happens when you're just a boy, huh? My mother used to have me go to a babysitter afterschool back in the day. Short walk, moms worked 2 jobs, and I think this is before the latchkey kid era was fully in effect. And if anyone read the house on fire story, you'd send my ass away from home too.
Well, anyways, I loved going to this place, been there since I was a baby actually. This lady did it all, braided my hair to cornrows when momma aint have the time, to beatin my ass when I was out of line. Everykid in this house was bonified cousins. And that's a lot of kin because she had to have at least 25 of us in this 1 family house.
Sometimes there was new kids, and to welcome them in was to whup they ass. I mean, this ws before we knew shit about bloods and crips. We seriously jumped niggas into the babysitters house. It was a right of passage.
But, this one time, there was a muthafukka we couldn't jump. It was virtually impossible. The new girl, I forgot her name. All I recall was size aand girth. If at that time in my life, I knew what a bohemoth was, that bitch was it. It was the early 80's so I can excuse her short fro. She looked like Roj from what's happenin, little sister. Not Dee, but a shorter fatter version of Roj. No bullshit.
I'm so long winded. Anyways, the babysitter would at 3 or 4 o'clock announce snack time. And the kids in the house would go banannas, running towards the kitchen like ethiopians with air jordan sandals on to get they grub on. It was brutal at times. She hade to be a correctional officer at one point now that I think of that.
But anyways, some kids had they shit, some of us had to go to the store. I was always the store go-er. One day, the bohemeth tagged along. So, we're walking to the spot and she goes;

"Let's go back there for a few minutes"
I had to flashback in order to make some quick decisions....

This chick was on me. From day one. You know when you a kid and you like someone, so you beat them up? Yeah, I was chased around the backyard more then a few times while she was there. I missed my calling as a defensive boxer, from all the dipping and dodging her haymakers.

So anyways, back to that little corner. As always, I seem to look at my 20/20 hindsight and see clearer. Hell. We get back there, for what I didn't know, but I sure was about to find out. She pulls me back there, pulls down her pants and her panties, and directs me to put "it" in. So, at 7 years of age, I'm thinking that "it" meant an object of some sort. So, I'm scanning the ground for something to use, like a twig or a leaf. Something, it had to be something out there. Ahhh Haaa. I found a rock of some sort. And I go to grab it. Not a good look, she yoked me up and and proceeded to give instructions;

Her: "No, stupid, not that, put your thing in"
Me: "Huh?"

She yoked me up again, and demanded me to unbuckle my pinstripe lee jeans. That isn't important, but I just had to remind myself this was the 80's. Well, she did the shit for me, with my halfway help I suppose. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, apparently;

Her: "Start humping"
Me: "Hump what?!"
Her: "Me stupid"

Now what was supposed to happen is beyond my ass. What were her intentions? What 7 year old gets an erection? And if I could get one, it wouldn't have been wasted on that pussy. Bet your bottom dollar that shit there. Needless to say, with a dick with the movement of a wet egg noodle, there was noooo penetration. This was clearly molestation. If I were maybe 14 or so, its what white people call "experimentng". She kept telling me to "put it in", "put it in", but all I could manage to get in was the knuckle of my forefinger. Which seemed to have some sort of grease on it. Whatever, I had to stop this madness. I tell her; "we gonna get in trouble, we better go".
So we bounce from the spot to get our asses to the store. I told her to go ahead of me, I'd catch up. Even at the tender age I was I was a genius to realize that I should not be seen in public with the bohemeth. Again, picture Raj from what's happenin, two feet shorter, three feet wider, and her right eye clearly had its own agenda.
When we get back to the house, I was feeling some type of nervous. I was probably shaking and shit. But I beared down and just started to eat my snacks. So, I'm starting to eat my chips, and I get a whiff of my knuckle.

Me: "What the fuck?"

Well, I didn't start dropping F bombs until I was perhaps a year older. The thing was that the stench from my knuckle was something uncanny. I don't think I have smelled a funk like that up until that point. OMG. Is this something that I had to look forward too? I mean, I'm sitting at the table, and I couldn't digest my cinnamon twirls.. I kept wondering just what it was. That can do a lot of damage to such an active brain. It was the type of funk that probably would take 3 calendar years to get rid of. Perhaps even longer. Perhaps I'd have to be put in isolation, or maybe even sacrifice my finger to science. All was possible at that point. I wouldn't dare ask her about it. I didn't have the strenth to duck any haymakers at that point. I ran straight to the bathroom as soon as I could. I scrubbed and scrubbed for what seemed like a lifetime. It still had a lingering odor. I was damned near about to cry. The shit stayed on my knuckle like O.J. stayed on white women. I just knew I was in trouble. All I could think was that somehow, the babysitter or some adult would get a hold of it and beat upon my ass.
Shit, I was walking around this house with my knuckle smelling like spoiled play-doh. Indian food that was shitted out of a mexican's ass after eating bean burittos.
Seriously, for a very long time, I was a little antsy about pussy. I thought from that point that all vaginas had the same odor. When I was going thru puberty, I'd imagine getting some sex, but I was always imagining doing "it" with a clothespin on my nose.
For a long time, I'd look at chicks and say to myself "I bet her cooch stanks". Strangely enough though, its the ones that I just knew didn't, did. Sighs.
I don't know what ever happened to the bohemoth, and I don't think I want too. But in hindsight, I do understand that, even in explaining this in a somewhat comical way, there is something wrong.
Because, if I was young, so was she. That wasn't anything that she picked up by watching electric company or sesame street. This chick was molested. This girl was taken advantage of. This young girl was abused. Some cycles are indeed vicious.