I BELIVE WHAT I BELIEVE AND IT AINT THE USUAL BULLSHIT

Mahatma Gandhi is going to hell. Matter of fact, anyone that have done immensely good works on this earth, and happened to be non-conformist are going to hell. Wait!!!! Every other person that believes in any other religion is going right to HELL!!! I mean, If your grandma woke up early every morning, went to a food shelter, to feed the homeless and the less unfortunate, hey grandma we love you, but your ass is hell bound. And it saddens you because grandma happened to be a Buddhist. And no one that isn’t what others are going to hell, it is as simple as that. Can someone explain the meaning of life after death to me? What is it that we are missing out on? Eternal bliss after your shell is gone. Is it like that, after we have the initial death, our souls travel to another whelm where there is Poland spring water on tap, and whatever your heart desired in your waken life is just walking around? Are there harps playing, and little babies flying around with wings, to your dinner table to take your drink to you while you are at the everlasting life buffet place? There are so many people that say that heaven is great, and hell is bad, but no one can ever tell me anything other than, once place is super good, and the other is hot and scary. Ooooooh. Would it be safe to say that someone that spent the second half of their life in Antarctica, would maybe welcome that? I mean shit, after 20 years of being in below degree weather, maybe spending life in fire and brimstone may not be a bad option for them.

Do animals count in all of this? I remember the movie, that all dogs go to heaven. And that I cannot believe, because I had a couple of dogs, and they shit on my floor. That to me is a sin. And a bigger sin is that at some points, they turned around and ate it. That has got to send them to hell also. I am scared that some people may even go so far as to get their pets baptized, so that they are there with them in death as they were in life. That’s a sweet idea. But if that dog shit on their carpet, I am willing to be that the dog comes back to earth as a pit bull, and is placed in the ownership of Michael Vick. I used to get upset with super believers, I really did at one point. Now I laugh, because it is too funny to me. For months I have read the book from cover to cover, cross referenced, read ‘forbidden” books as well. A tiring thing to do when you are only slightly interested. But it becomes very interesting when you want to learn why some people behave the way they do, say the things they say, and believe what they believe. I never want to be the one to ridicule someone for what they believe in, that is their right to do so. But when it becomes arrogant, and self serving, and bigger than anything else, there is a problem with me. And so, I researched and checked. Now, I have done this before. But in 1999 as a believer, one with blind faith. I believed what was told to me. I lived like a man without the GOD given gift of reason. I am not a hater because I choose to ask questions. What type of fool does not ask questions? Especially when it comes to the cornerstone. The book, which is the cornerstone of how, we should live as a people on this planet.



If we can scrutinize something as mundane as a musical artist, like a Brittany Spears, or a Beethoven, then we surely need to question a book that is the pinnacle of how life should be lived. We have wars in its name, we have mothers killing children it its name, we have laws in its name. And all of these things have happened because no one that did these things ever used their GOD given gift, to think freely, and to question the words that are held as a fourth god in the eyes of many. I think that it is a shame that I have to subscribe to something in order to have eternal life. Because, if I am not living and breathing, how can I call it life at all. That is the definition of life. To breathe, to drink, to feel, to touch, to see. Out of all the people I have known that have passed, and moved on, never came back to me and said “Yo, this is great, I am chillin right now”. I have no proof of it. Just like many of the pundits that tell you that they speak with GOD. The same pundits that say they do, have not. I am offered no proof of either a heaven or hell. I cannot subscribe to something, or a word, or a book that keeps me in fear, or makes me feel guilt, or tells me that I was born into sin, so I have to submit to a man that looks nothing like me, or like anyone else, other than the people spread these messages as truth. Just to keep me mentally, spiritually and emotionally in slavery . I cannot subscribe to a book of fables with unicorns and dragons and genocide, and rape and countless murders of men women and children. I can no longer take the hypocrisy of what some of you take as the word of GOD and twist it to further tighten your stranglehold on the hopes and dreams of humans on this earth. The GOD that I know and love does not promote such bull crap. It is an injustice to say or type or write that these are the words of GOD, when the GOD I know loves me immensely. The GOD I know wrote 10 commandments to which a lot of you do not even abide by unless it is to your benefit. THERE IS ONLY ONE GOD.

There are no intermediates, there are no middlemen. The GOD I know is not going to damn me to hell when the works that I have done in my life outweighs the bad. The GOD I know wants all of us to prosper and does not keep us in fear, but in love for one another. Some of you have got it twisted. Some of you go from church to church to church, because you are still searching, when all along, GOD was with you, in your gut, in your mind, in the stars you see at night, and the sun that you see in the morning. If my GOD was a GOD like you read about in the book, there would be no sun, there would be no plants growing, no heat to warm us, there would be nothing. My GOD brings the sun out so that we will go on. We will have food, we will harvest, and we continue to live in GOD’s glory. Not the glory of men that are fallible. Not the glory of words that were written over 50 years after the Christ departed, but in GOD’s glory. Most of you use religion as a crutch, for something to believe in. You have never believed in yourself, so you rather believe in another human being, because you are too weak minded to believe that GOD has always been there for you, and always will. But being that you choose to not look at the Creator’s creations and loving those, you would rather put a face to it so you can somehow identify. You break the commandment of idolatry. You do not know who to pray to. When you do, you say three names. Which one is the one that is going to bless you? Which one is the one that is going to answer you? I am not an atheist, I believe in GOD, and GOD only. If there is a hell, some if not most will be there, for not following the commandments as there were written.

16:16 He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned
16:17 And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues;
16:18 They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover..

I have ailments, I’ve had a fractured shoulder for over a year(caused by a fundamentalist, no less) I challenge anyone to heal me. Or to heal anyone. Make me a believer. Because right now, most of your credit is no good. With me, and with many others. GOD BLESS!

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.