Remebmer When: Video games didn't have difficulty levels, you could either beat the game or you couldn't?

Kinda like life, huh?

Okay, earlier, I mentioned I have committment issues. That may have been a bit misleading. I don't have committment issues per se, moreso, issues with emotional displays and the such. Committment is in there, but not as heavy as the qoute unqoute, "average guy". It dawned on me yesterday how uncomfortable it is for me to express love towards another guy. Not in that way...pervs...I mean like family. Saying I love you without being silly, a for real for real hug...it makes me uneasy. I saw my grandfather yesterday, my mother's father, and it's always good to see him. Now my grandfather, has always been strong, at age 75 he could probably still ding the shit out of some of these young cats out here...Anyway, granndad is always cool...true southern gent, always calm, even when he's upset. Yesterday he did something I never recalled him do...he held my hand. Now I know, this is my granddad, and it's purely a show of affection, but I still felt awkward doing that. I don't know why...just did.
So I don't think it's just with women I have an issue, maybe it's in general when it comes to love. Oh it's easy to tell my mother I love her, she undoubtedly and unconditionally loves me back, but, outside of she and my father's mother (my other grandmother passed in 1995)...it's somewhat of a chore. And there it is, so clear. The little boy who loved so easily never went anywhere. Still there...afraid to give love for fear it won't be returned. Loving that which seemed unattainable, therefore there was no actual risk in loving. It was easy to love that one girl from afar, but the one who really liked me, perhaps I didn't want to see her. She was real.
To hear my father say he loves me means so much to me now, but wouldv'e meant the world to me when I was younger. I knew deep down he did, but didn't know why he could hardly say it. Like it hurt to say it. I know now. Not in the same manner, but I understand. It is all clear. Why I love to be with different women...not like I'm a gigalo...far from Nick Cannon, but it's easier. As with any human being, I love sex. However, in the past it seemed easier to commit said acts with little to no emotional attachment. Sure, I knew most of them pretty well, but, to care for them in a way that one cares for the person s/he lays with just wasn't there for the most part. I was a scientist doing observations. Making assessments. Adjusting the science of pressure, pacing, and probing.
Truly, no three words have more weight in this world than "I love you", and all that entails. For my father and myself, it's an admission of vulnerability, an open confession that I feel warmly towards someone.
Such admissions are few and far between...and for me to say such things are not only gauged, but weighed heavily before said. For the Virgo that feeels and hears and picks up on the most insignificant details, I can't just love everybody. But see, I do, or did rather, and that came with a price. It's in the wiring. I think as I got older and understood more about how the people I loved dearly could hurt each other, other people I loved, I grew bitter towards the notion of love. I see my little nephew is so much like I was. Likes every damn body he sees, no judgement in his eyes, finding the specks of good that exist in nearly all of us...praying he doesn't grow into the cynic I can sometimes be. Opting not to say I love you at the end of the conversation because probabilites suggest the sentiment won't be returned. It is all so clear. what a wonderful juxtaposition of contrasting existences I have become. The super logical being that still clings to the impossible ideals. That love is forever like in the fairytales...that shit never falls apart. Afraid to give up his heart, thinking if it's ever broken, it'll never be fixed again. Scared of love and all it impies. Having given my heart to women who didn't ask for it, didn't know what to do with it...didn't want it. I keep it for myself now. Taking what I want in the physical, never giving anybody a peek beyond the surface.
I read their eyes and become what they want. I magnify the aspect of me they perceive. They see an asshole, I become that asshole...I do it out of love. Everybody needs somebody to fuckin' moan about these days, right? You need me to be the asshole, shit, I can do that. I'm a wonderful impressionist. You need a laugh, I'm youer personal windup doll with no pull string. Maybe that started to where thin on me, maybe that's also why I keep to myself more. Tired of having to be everybodies perception...blowing up the smaller facets of self...for love. Is that what I was doing? In a small way, I think so. So few people, even fewer women, have left me to be me in their presence. No pretenses, just letting me be me.
Ever just want to hit reset? Dissatisfied with the last six months of your life? To hell with saving your progress, just start the whole damn level over? Maybe that's another reason I started the whole celibacy thing. Just was tired of being the scientist... You know I got a booty call from this chick after two years of not hearing anything from her. This was a couple years ago, at the beginning of the celibay reign, but still...two years?! Does wonders for the ego, but damn...two years. I don't know where you've been in two years, or who you've been with. And after two years you just want to come to my crib to kick it? In situations like that, it could go either way. Ego could step in, in which case she would've had that ass worn out...c'mon, I does my thing...she called back after two years ya'll. But, I followed my heart and not my dick, and I don't regret it. In all fairness, she was definately a fun ride, but I just didn't feel like it. And of course, whenever you decide against something, you're constantly tested. Don't quit smokin weed, cause that's when everybody wants to call you up and smoke you out for free. Don't decide to make so an so your girl, cause that's when all the exes call up...you know, the one's that would put it on yo' ass at the drop of a hat.
I think my challenge for the next couple of months is to tell folks I love them...No jokes, straight face and all. Just tell them, "I love you". And accept they may not say "I love you" back.

R.I.P. Donya G. Peterson~ 12/22/77- 8/3/01

I think my writer’s block is crumbling
My mind has been churning and the words have been outwardly tumbling
Fumbling from my mouth
At first in a clumsy manner
But soon skillfully as if I had every answer
The truth is here
Etching it’s likeness on the underside of my innards
Reversed tattoos you’d have to look into the mirror to decode
In a script reminiscent of the dead sea scrolls
Forgotten secrets I never knew I was told
Waiting to be birthed
Timeless relics waiting to be unearthed
Gently brushed off and held in the light
In personal writing sessions or perhaps at an open mic
The new wave
High renaissance of the soul
So many stories to tell
Buckets waiting to be brought up the well
I feel them churning
The words chanting in finite space
Burning
Yearning to breathe their own breath as babies do when cut from the umbilical cord
Threatening to perform their own C section
I am overwhelmed
Astounded
Lost
Not truly knowing where
To begin

Pet Peeve #46: When strangers get on the elevator and request a floor. The fu...?! Do I look like a bellhop to you, cat? The hell is wrong with your fingers...?

A remix/ spoof of this cat named Ainsley Burroughes poem, "It's Gonna Hurt" (I think that's the title)


It's gonna hurt
Hurt like digging through your mothers dresser drawer and accidentally finding anal lubricant,
then realizing that your mother doesn't use that drawer, but your father does
It's gonna hurt
Hurt like you coming home from work to find your man diggin out your earth
and it finally clicking that the seeds you thought you co-birthed were actually by-products of his and her dirt
It's gonna hurt
Hurt to find out that most of these poets are 2% original,
3% thriller and 95% filler
It's gonna hurt like the G unit getting attacked by Starrs dressed like silver-backed gorrillas
It's gonna hurt like you fearing black folks your whole life only to turn on the news and see that your 16 year old son has become a killer
.................................

I still have writer's block...that's all I am able to share right now...
PS- BRU, you are a funny dude, cuz!

My thoughts on Saddam:
1. Is it really him, or one of his look alikes? I can just picture his shiesty ass calling up the military an snitching on himself...si to speak.
2. Those with short term memories will be happy, although finding Saddam was not an original goal outlined by the military. Actually, it was finding weapons of mass destruction.
3. Speaking of finding Saddam, have they found Bin Laden, yet. The guy is 6'7 on dialysis for crying out loud.
4. Although Bush has done nothing himself, his approval ratings are about to be boosted.
5. What would happen if it were a look alike? Wow. That'd be bad.

It occurred to me, as I was hosting my housewarming, that all my fam have extremely different temperaments. All of them are hilarious, just in different ways. Big ups to Lynn who did the damn thing and made it happen. To my poetry family, know I will be having another one for ya’ll, so no, this was not a blaring omission. Just trying to keep things at a nice size…I have neighbors. Thanks to all who did come, especially Julian and Nova who came from New York! Love all of ya’ll.

Okay, the two or three of you who actually still read this journal…ummm, the reason I haven’t logged anything of “substance” or extremely funny lately, is because I have frickin’ writer’s block something terrible. I have written a piece or two, but not much more than that. So, what I’m tryna figure out is, “Why the hell do I have writer’s block for such a long duration”. I’m sure that was incorrect speech, but, fuggit…my journal, right?
Normally, I write on a very regular basis, and experience “dry spells”, but this…this is ridiculous. I don’t know what it is…it’s not work, work is work…social life is as dysfunctional as it always is…so, what is it? I don’t want to go to poetry cipher’s because I have nothing new to say. I like sharing my work, although it’s not written to be shared most of the time. It’s more or less, “I know somebody else has to feel me on this one here, man.” Actually, I sometimes think my work comes off as pretentious because I use vocabulary average cats may not be up on, or, I insert random miscellaneous shit the average cat wouldn’t know unless they were a geek like me. I admit it, I’m a geek. I just don’t act geeky, I guess.
I’m simple…I like over analyzing everything…especially movies, and I make a living doing computer based art. I was chillin’ with a fellow poet by the name of Rae, and she asked if she could see some of my art. I kinda don’t like to show people my art, but I showed her anyway. Mainly don’t like to because I loved to draw soooo much, but don’t feel that spark anymore, and it kinda hurts. Shit…I used to want to own my own comic book company…did I mention I was a geek? Used to be I didn’t show my art like that because I was hyper sensitive about how good I was…still is in some ways I’m sure…
So anyways, I showed her some of my penciling, and then I showed her some shit on my computer I did for the children’s book I illustrated a while back. The pictures were drawn first, scanned in, then digitally colored in layers on my computer (I wanted to do something I hadn’t seen before). So, as I was explaining my methodologies, Rae was like, “you’re a geek”. Not in an offensive way, but, in a, most brother’s I know don’t…do…this. Another friend of mine, Takia, I think it was, asked me something technology related, and I went into a spiel that almost seemed automated. Her response? That’s right, “Why do you know this? Oh, I forgot, you’re a geek” Okay, so I paraphrased them both a bit, but I’m almost positive that geek was somewhere in there in both cases.
Maybe that’s it…maybe I have to go back to the beginning. Long before there was poetry in my life, there was drawing. Copping the newest issues of Spider- Man, X-Men, X- Factor, X Force, Uncanny X Men and an occasional Silver Surfer to see what I could glean from the masters. What new trick did Jim Lee reveal to make his art almost low- relief art. What way was Todd McFarlane going to contort Spidey this time. Wow, Ron Lim is sooo cool the way he draws the Silver Surfer like that. Oh, wow, the Hulk is smart again, yeah! Geek…I know.
But, for me, drawing was it…All I wanted to do was draw. All my life aspirations revolved around drawing. Until Howard. Until other people tried to change my style, the way I saw and expressed my vision. How do you do that to an artist? They did it to Van Gogh. He shot himself in a corn field, partially because of that. The other half was love, but, I don’t have any real issues with love. Commitment on the other hand, hmph. That’s another story. That, I find that I love being with new women. Repeats require peaked interest, among other things…
I love to study the signs…The subtleties that most women couldn’t fake if they tried. The jerk when you hit that spot just right…hahaha…that’s one of the greatest things in the world. Shit, ya’ll women don’t know how beautiful you are in the moment. You become so detached from this existence, and for a moment, I’m a spectator in my own private peep show. But, we’re not here to talk about that. This is about writer’s block. Some cynics might say, “Well you seem to be doing alright writing things now.” But, I digress, this is free writing. Miles away from capturing your innermost thoughts. With this…I just let my fingers think for me…Kinda like to see where they take me sometimes. Never know what you may learn about yourself if you free write long enough.
Oh, well…I think I will call it a day for now.

Later,

My new high score on Text Twist is 38,690! Personally, I've scratched my itch, seeing as though I was only trying to beat 20,000. They said that to get 5 stars, you have to get 89,000 or better. Not feeling that challenge right now, but, who knows...? Starting now, anybody care to beat my high score??? C'mon, any takers out there? Holla back on the message/bored? if/when you outdo me.

I'm not one to really get into on-line gaming, but, there's this game called Text Twist that you can find on msn's game zone...fun, fun fun! Who knew 'sluice' and 'linder' were words???ONly thing that sucks is that I can't play it at home because I have a Mac. I think I should sue on the grounds of discrimination. Bill Gates as PC envy! Aaaah, to be idle...tis a terrible thing. Hmmm, I think I'm about due for a year end wrap up. Should be pretty funny. I'll lightly touch on some shit I never put in my online journal.
Oh, BTW, I know I'm mad tardy in doing the rebuild of illpoets.com, but, I promise I'll be starting on it soon. I want to order some software so I can do some of the artsy shit from home, as opposed to stolen moments at work. In fact, once the artsy shit is actually done, the rebuild will happen pretty quickly.
*Note to self: I am going to have to start getting nice in Flash soon...
Tangent # 385: What ever happened to Dominique Dawes? I really had a thing for her back in '96...& 2000.
Tangent # 185: If you've never played "You Don't Know Jack" on your Playstation or PC, you haven't played one of the dopest trivia games ever made.
Random Thought # 15: Although Beyonce is fine, and phat as hell...she still strikes me as a little ditzy. As if her movements are well rehearsed. Don't get me wrong, she seems like a sweet person, but...spacey. That takes away from sexiness very quickly. It may work for natural blondes, but, that shit just ain't happenin' otherwise... Don't get me wrong, given the opportunity..you know...but, I'm just sayin'.
Oh, I also have to take back my harsh statement regarding Alicia Keys' ability to sing. Shorty did her thing at The Vibe awards, which leads me to my final analysis. She can sing better when she stands up. Seriously, very few people can really belt out notes while sitting, because singers tend to sing from their gut. Unless they're Kieth Sweat, in which case, they sing from their nose...

Now I know people tend to not give wrestler’s any credit for the shit they do for the sake of entertainment; my brother- in- law is one of them. I mean, we all know that the who wins and who loses is predetermined, so in that regard, wrestling is indeed…fake. However, please do not confuse the story line fool you into thinking this stuff ain’t real. Men have died doing this stuff, been crippled and maimed, and that is quite real. Honestly, it's a male soap opera, and the only way you can get the male populous to rally around a soap opera is to have violence and sex. I say all this to warm up to the fact I was watching wrestling last night, where in the main event, I saw one of the most vicious submissions ever. Let me set the stage:
The challenger was Cris Benoit, a short 220 pound stocky cat nicknamed “the rabid wolverine” because he’s fucking relentless. In terms of taking punishment, he’s bar nun one of the best in the business. Son broke his neck a couple of years back (yes, you can break your neck and not die or be paralyzed), and came back harder than ever. The champion, is this young dude named Brock Lesner. Son, is an animal, man. This cat is 300 pounds, and has picked up 500+ pound men on his shoulders for his finishing move.
Already, Cris is outmatched in height and size, since Brock is like 6’4 and Cris is maybe 5’8. Before ya’ll be like, “boo- hoo for Cris”, he’s mad strong, and yes it’s his job to wrestle…for better or for worse. Fast forward to the end of the match. Brock Lesner, who earlier in the match, lifted Cris over his head like a feather and threw him like five feet…cracks a steel chair across Cris’ knee. Then, he puts him in the submission maneuver. Man, it was bad when it started, but it just kept getting worse… To the point where I was wincing in pain. The joint started when Brock grabbed Cris’ leg and wrapped it around his neck, which basically tears at your knee. Then, Brock started to sit on the dude. Now, in wrestling, to break a submission you either escape or tap out, thus forfeiting the match. The way Brock locked in the submission, there was no realistic way for Cris to escape. However, dunn didn’t tap out. In fact, he was in so much pain, he blacked out in the middle of the ring, while Brock maintained the submission for like 15- 20 more seconds. Imagine a 300 pound man doing this to you, and sitting on you, too.

Earlier in the show, Rikishi (the Rock’s 350 cousin) accidentally dropped all his weight on somebody’s forehead instead of his chest. My question is, when does that shit stop being entertaining. The way Cris got bent up, it wasn’t entertaining. To think some little kid is going to try that on his little sister, is not entertaining. Don’t get me wrong, I respect the wrestler’s for what they do, but, I think the envelope gets pushed too far sometimes. Hell in a Cell ’98, for example, was a legendary match, but it went too far. Seeing a man get thrown off a twenty foot cage, then though the same twenty foot cage 10 minutes later, is too far, dog. It is entertaining, but stuff like that shouldn’t be. I don’t know…that match bothered me a bit last night, because that cat was willing to risk walking for the sake of entertainment. I don’t know…just talking…don’t mind me…

Yo man, what's up with all these rappes dyin' man? I heard that Soulja Slim was shot three time in the face and chest the day before Thanksgiving. The hell?! These hard core cats may have better chances in post- war Iraq than in hip hop right now. What's really good, dog? Damn. It's not even affecting folks no more, man. With Pac and Big there was surprise, a sense of surrealism...Jam Master Jay was utter disbelief. I mean, Jam Master Jay?! Wow. This is one of the many reasons why hip hop sucks right now. Shit, Jay is retiring (for now), Outkast is together, yet apart, and we don't have BIG and Pac...contrary to what Ja and 50 think. The only thing that has consistently improved over the past few years in hip hop is the production. Cats is puttin some hot beats hout right now...too bad the lyrics are some hot shit.
That "Stuntin'" beat is sick. Ja's beat for clap back is sinister...until Ja starts rappin'. You ever heard somebody talk while having a bad coughing fit...? That's how Ja sounds when he raps. And that's what he is... a rapper. Where the hell are all the emcees. Did cats have a strike and walk out or somethin'. Did the drop squad abduct these dudes, cause that's the best explanation for Common's last LP. Don't get me wrong, I played his last LP a quite a bit when I first got it, because I liked singular elements about the joint, but, as a whole, that shit sucked. It wasn't a cohesive product. I simply respected he ws trying to go about shit differently. The pro was, he's never been a big ticket emcee, so he can be "artistic" and only true fans will be annoyed. The drawback was the lyrical precedent Com has set on every LP prior to, was almost non-existent. But anyways, tangents...man what's really happenin' with the world of hip hop????

My mother, without whom I'd never be here to bless the earth with all the splendor that is me. Love ya ma, may you have many more.

Aight, everybody knows (if you ever look at my links on my site) that I like to go to basseyworld.com to read her journal...by the way, the joint for December 1, 2003 is hilarious. Hon really has issues with Mekhi Pfifer. Anyways, her journal is my form of daily entertainment, along with journals on brokeballer.com and poemcees.com. But, her sister may be off the hook more than Bassey is. If you click here, you may get a dose of what I'm talking about, haven't been to read it in about two weeks. I did go today, but got caught up in this Dr. Dre song dissin' Ja, didn't even get to ready anything. Click here if you're interested, but be sure to come back...I'm sure I'll have something to write about before the day is over (warning: explicit language in the Dre song).

Okay, a co-worker, who some may remember clowned folks on my message/bored? A while back, has recently suffered a tragedy. Without going into depth, she recently lost her longtime boyfriend (and Howard alum) unexpectedly in a tragic accident, and had to see him buried on her birthday. Because I know a few people who are close to me are going through some things, I figured I’d write this joint for Renita (did I spell that right?) in her time of loss, and let anybody else who’s feelin’ it right now gather from this as well.
Please pardon me if the flow is a little broken, but I didn’t write this to a beat…sooooo, yeah, go easy. I’m no Sean Carter.

I’m sorry for your pain cause he couldn’t stay long
I know you’ll have weak times but you should stay strong
Know it burns like napalm, I heard the good die young
Heavy in the game, he’ll never get a Cy Young
Let the past keep you warm like a quilted sweater
And through whatever type of weather know it will get better
Still whenever you get the rush and you need to cry
Tears cleanse the soul, never hold ‘em inside
This is a lesson too, God’s testin’ you
Cause trials and tribulations bring out the best in you
Probably still in a zone where it’s hard to laugh
Good or bad shorty cherish all the times you had
And when the lights go low, it’s just you and your thoughts
This pain ain’t in vain, maintain faith at all costs
We don’t have to understand, we simply must believe
Exhale, shorty breathe, through He we can achieve

Tongue Splitting?! wow.

Diddy's Diva Demands
The mogul throws a fit at the VH1 awards.

by Kat Giantis
MSN Entertainment
November 26, 2003

With all of P. Diddy's wealth and fame, you'd think he wouldn't need validation from a basic cable outlet. But according to the New York Post, that's exactly what he demanded from VH1 at the "Big in '03" awards last week. The paper claims the multi-hyphenate went ballistic backstage at the ceremony when he learned that he was only tapped to present neo-Rat Pack pal Ashton Kutcher with the "Big Stylin' '03" prize, not to collect an honor of
his very own.

"I am not going on stage unless I get an award!" the Post quotes him as saying. The suits at VH1 allegedly appeased the mogul by asking him what award he wanted. "I want to be the Big Maverick -- give me the Big Maverick '03 award," Diddy declared.

"It was a real pain," an insider tells the paper. "Eve was supposed to simply introduce Puffy, who would then give Ashton his award, but the script had to be reworked so that Eve could present Puffy with the award."

Diddy's rep insists his client knew all along he was only a presenter, although the flack had no explanation as to why he ended up receiving a prize. Diddy apparently likes the "maverick" label. Last week, he took home the "Style Maverick" honor at the Vibe Awards. "Big in '03" airs Sunday at 9 p.m.
.........................................
I find it hilarious that he actually got people to stop calling him Puff(y) and start calling him (P.) Diddy. Only a rich man can have a name like that and escape harsh ridiculing. Let your sister or cousin bring home a dude from around the way with a name like Diddy or Puffy, watch how fast the door closes in his face. Elementary school, kids would have flipped his name from P. Diddy to Pee Shitty or something, man. Also, I know this is old, but, have ya'll noticed that Puff was wise enough to get dental work done. He no longer looks like Rocky the flying squirrel (Bullwinkle's side kick). Now he just looks like I M Weasel from the Cartoon Network. No, I'm not hatin'...I simply noticed a long time ago that people look like woodland creatures and jungle inhabitants if you observe their features and behaviors long enough. For instance, Ol' Dirty Bastard looks like a hyena and Usher looks like the mole from the Shirt Tales...remember that cartoon? No? It's okay, that joint lasted two seasons at the most...

Okay, now for a message/bored? sing along, join in if you know the words…
And a 1, a 2, a 1- 2- 3- 4:
Now the world don’t move, to the beat of just one drum