Seven Seconds of Ecstasy (The Kiss)

The symphonic expressions from the traffic surrounding us
No longer seemed to be … it simply just didn’t
I’ve imagined this actual moment
So many times, rehearsed my smoothed-out-Mac-playa-response
And now?
Now?!!?
I’ve got nothing …
Because I’m so melted to my core
Butterflies I haven’t seen in years
Are bouncing off of every corner
Of my insides

The tilt of your neck exposes
The smoothest skin I’ve ever encountered
Your lips,
Shimmering from the sexiest lip-gloss …
Puckered out, stretched in my direction
Like a gift and today ain’t even my birthday,
Not even close …
Your mouth begins to open,
As your eyes begin to close
(Now proper kissing etiquette demands that I close mine too)
But I felt it virtually impossible, and down right criminal
Denying myself the privilege of looking into your majestic, angelic face

Your tongue had a bubble gum flavor
From the gum you were chewing,
(I love a woman that keeps it hood)
And your lips had this, apple-like essence
I was hypnotized by this physical interaction
The feeling of our bodies’ close, our arms wrapped

I explored the contour of your top lip
With the moistened motion from the bottom of mine
Listening to the rhythmic pattern of your breathing
Alerted me to your approval of my style
Permitting my mind to drift off into the regions where my ego abided …

Liquor Rhythms

Staring at you from across a steamed out dance floor, magnetically attracted we glide together to that pulsating jungle beat mixing with the intense, and intoxicatingly erotic liquor rhythms

Gyrations bio-chemically produce invitations I sweat, from the heat as our eyes speak to what our bodies are really saying watching, as countless human representatives surrender willingly to their seductive natures

The incoherent and, fuzzy baseline disengages my mind-body-and-soul,
enticing my reflections on disregarded segments … of … our … past … history ... visions of Harriet Jacobs, Robert Smalls, and Frederick Douglass disapprovingly gaze as I caress your ass, on the dance floor in the span of 2 or 3 songs I had a dream we slept together, when I woke up and called you-you told me it was all good

Is my misogynistic machismo the final definition of my illuminating charisma?

Or does the smoke-filled room provide protection as we disrespect each other’s personal spaces violating both our situational and sexual ethics … now don’t get me wrong, rubbing up on a sistas breast while romantically reciting the lyrics of the
late … great … Notorious B.I.G in your ear,
is what I consider to be living

But while walking back to my table-aggressively occupied by my boys, with you digits in my pocket I presently realize that because of our recent past history, we have absolutely have no chance, for a future

7 songs later our lust reconnects us 2, on the dance floor with our physical familiarity
multiplied by 9 eagerly anticipating signals pointing in the direction of a liquor induced proposition, effectively redeemable for 1 night 6 advil, 12 hours, and 4 organisms later
we awake to the alarmingly devastating notion

That because we presently use each other as past reference points, we have effectively destroyed any chance for a future

This is for the hater in you ...

Over the weekend, I was hit with some hate from outta nowhere. So I figured I'd post this Maya Angelou joint that was sent to me ... So to all them haters out there please read and digest ... and then maybe you can live your life while I live mine ... PEACE!

A hater is someone who is jealous and envious and spends all their time trying to make you look small so they can look tall. They are very negative people to say the least. Nothing is ever good enough! When you make your mark, you will always attract some haters ... That's why you have to be careful with whom you share your blessings and your dreams, because some folk can't handle seeing you blessed ... It's dangerous to be like somebody else ... If God wanted you to be like somebody else, He would have given you what He gave them! Right? You never know what people have gone through to get what they have ... The problem I have with haters is that they see my glory, but they don't know my story ... If the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, you can rest assured that the water bill is higher there too! We've all got some haters among us! Some people envy you because you can:

1. Have a relationship with God

2. Light up a room when you walk in

3. Start your own business

4. Tell a man/woman to hit the curb (if he/she isn't about the right thing)

5. Raise your children without both parents being in the home

Haters can't stand to see you happy. Haters will never want to see you succeed. Haters never want you to get the victory and most of our haters are people who are supposed to be on our side.

How do you handle your undercover haters? You can handle these haters by:

1. Knowing who you are & who your true friends are *(VERY
IMPORTANT!!)

2. Having a purpose to your life. Purpose does not mean having a job. You can have a job and still be unfulfilled. A purpose is having a clear sense of what God has called you to be. Your purpose is not defined by what others think about you.

3. By remembering, what you have is by divine prerogative and not human manipulation.

Fulfill your dreams! You only have one life to live ... when its your time to leave this earth, you 'want' to be able to say, "I've lived my life and fulfilled my dreams, Now I'm ready to go HOME!"

When God gives you favor, you can tell your haters, "don’t look at me ... Look at who is in charge of ME"

Watch out for Haters .................... BUT most of all don't become a HATER!

Maya Angelou

The Aftershock ...

Fresh off of my newly minted conquest within the industrial sith-lord messianic complex, I was confronted by porch monkey theology seasoned to perfection by a twist of gone with the wind nostalgia

- niggaz don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies -

watching knowingly while my avatar is savagely clunked on the head by the oreo magistrate,

beaten, and lynched in honor of emmett teal, fred hampton, and amado diallo

What wicked manner of evil is black on black soul assassination when carried out with an ivory accomplice and reprobated intentions

ghetto church birds chirpin’ tales of transformation while seeking counsel all day about whose the dopest pastor - dollar, olstein, or long

- shit sister thompson digs the sanctified stylings of peter popoff but if you ask me my eyebrow arch might slap the shit outta you ...

Sorry, I can no longer believe the words you utter,

all will say what they want to get what they need

pearly jibs shinning

and soul pockets filled with violent thoughts of body crevice invasions upon a proudly indoctrinated army of impassioned opiates

- now I'm not trying to shake you fat lil figs outta line, not really trying to service sight to the blind, but I'm persistently pursuing that dream when life is blowing wind up her summer dress with a thong and no panty lines -

vividly translating desire because it seems I'm dangerously ahead of my time

Verbal Photography

Eighteen syringes strapped to niggaz wit fifteen plastic glocks, tripping off that bom-ba-zee/die casted into pseudo classic positions of honor within their psycho-religious Caste system/I’d rather be, racing dolphins having deep-sea diving competitions with the wind and watching myself overdosed while engrossed by Lilth in an Amsterdam coffee shop

Now the new me is back, such a paradox, and the chances of my return are slim to subliminal none, further enlistment for another tour of duty will only serve to delay the inevitable advent of freedom - begrudgingly, I find myself lavished with the lush reflective praises from contemporaries previously hating amazingly on our Logan’s run, where cumulus clouds of greenery inspire blurry-eyed choke sessions

Depending on which side of the bullet you was chewing, blessings from my gun permit rejection notice having already selected infa-red melon invitations for jelly back bitch niggaz from bk to the bronx - apologies are in order to the fathers of all the daughters … consequently it was consensual when I was diggin’ that out

I’ve got peoples who stress the mistakes made out of state, niggaz who can’t kick dream shattering habits, and my minds eye fixated upon the location of the prize … I’m focused man, so focused … from day one parallel parking in the back of my black hearse the queen has more than tripled her kismet net worth, elaborating on the selection of her future collection coming standard with beautiful Her-mes pur-ses

Presently collecting applications for a friendly, all recently assaulted bitch niggaz need not apply

Introducing me …

As nicotine and in-dough-nee infiltrate well-traveled and convoluted paths through out my bloodstream, I see silhouettes of, plastic hearted minions, manic perpetrators in well-intended destruction. It is altogether use-less for you to con-test the pleasurable in-gest, of this sticky green blow town induced lyrical maa-lest-station specifically delivered into your inner listen. Birthed from the, unchecked passions of an ancient harlot makes me the sum of witnessed brutality to soul and spirit, “all in the name, of the blood stained banner of Jesus”

Young broads with bodies built to lust for C cup titties, honey dripped thick, brown, and round, graffiti covered vaginal tragedies long before the age of 21

As I live and breathe … We’ve gone from ez rock and base to, pumping ez rocks from base giving birth to a new type of nigga, splitting banana clips like a jungle hungry gorilla, the lust for paper will lead to, no hesitation in the disrespectful and, brutal pursuit of respectability

Please put down the pen and, slowly back away because without warning or delay you’ll be blown to spastic from the kick back attached to the ass whipping of my verbal spit tactics

Perpetually with my board in the shop,chopped from the, frequent-high-flying-hover-craft type mileage like a decept I can transform from, cere-bral to, bru-tal producing 2 twin jet packs from my back, sumari inspired helicopter choppaz and a rubber griped 9, just in case revolution sparks before we finish this splif

Supreme writer I'm a bitter of myself none other, when I twist a hot verse I'm biggin’ up my culture, biggin’ up my music, birthed flow con-do-it, you ass salty, hatin' that the swag is foolish, so them rings and things you sing about bring em out, its hard to yell when tha bar-rels in your mouth

And now, a word from our sponsor ...

Have you had the wonderful misfortune of ever meeting my nine? Whether chrome or black, plastic or rubber gripped she pines for the time when she can stand @ attention, waiting in eager anticipation, selecting standing ovations with pre assigned projectile evictions.

Now this next paragraph might makes ya laugh, when a brotha rolls a blunt and his breath smells like pure ass - ok class, 10 hip hop pts if u idee the lst paragraph

But back to the clap talk for a second, it was always my favorite helped an angry nigga feel the hate inside his ears - wondered if he had it in em when ordered to park hollows in between the ears of his peers, but that's when them other cats flashed that chrome, licked them shots, and missed my dome.
Was like 20 back then, that's when I developed the phantom, ghost like qualities back then, listened when NaS told me sleep was the cousin - so never was I sleeping again nah cousin.

Decided to grab the mic for real, back then. Burnaz captured my minds eye metaphor back then, 4 fifths, 380's, 12 Gage, & dessert ezy spitting loogies wit intention of twistin icons & leakin em wit they chest breathin' wheezy, stayed eazy nigga ... wasn't fashioned to be blastin, matriculated up the field to avoid my under achieving ass from being sent to Iraq - fuck it black - tried to forget while I smoked where I was rollin it at … That’s about the time when I met a man whose neck, ear, wrist, and pinky ring gleams with a unique gift for touching the nerve of young ghetto dreams ...

This is dedicated to bad bitches who moonlight as day time chiropractors, sexuality discreetly bubbling like espresso foam in a warm Amsterdam coffee shop. If I could figure out your name with my psychic pheromone capabilities, I'd stop my preoccupation concerning the hue of your Vicky inspired thong and bra ensemble, I respect your gangsta though, bx authentic hip hop on that first night splashed beyond recognition I peeped you zoning to Rakim's "The Punisher", instantly celebrating the location of my kismet ...

Took the ladder to success escalator style, the personal blueprint of spago blowing muthafuckaz twisted in 7 jeans, D&G eye covers, and newborn baby clean footwear, crystal clear ice skating rinks with rainbows fruitfully multiplied throughout the land

My style is sick like high school mono, when I spit that heavy shit transformational conversions opens doors to unlimited choices as vehicles for cultural revolution … While still clockin fat ass' on project chickens sportin’ 5411's blasted from the scent recoiling from the body of my buddy.

It was either the pistol, the pulpit, the mic, or the pen

The gospel according to m

Live the sounds of the block, sprinkled with city grid inspired pay phone stalls attached to the ears of …

“Yo! What’s up mamita? Yeah you, looking nice wit that thick ass-ass … Yo son, for real I’d fuck the shit outta her!”

17 years old, 34C almost close to a D, pretty brown round and trying to run with these thoroughbreds – lil niggaz breathing every breath and living with their appointments for death and in this game offsides, personal fouls, and missing a sign could lead to murals for life after death and shorties screaming, crying –

“He was such a good kid”, “That was my nigga yo”, “Fuck the police and fuck them crackers too!” “He was my baby”

Welcome to the block where summers are hot, hood stars catch fire, and the stories live – because each voice has a face and every face has a scar. Young souls grow colder faster while innocence develops a resistance to the infinite possibilities of hope. Stop. Take a breath. Look around. Soak it in. So deep are her impressions you can smell, hear, and taste her affects. She gave me my swag and taught the importance of watching while listening, her points were made crystal clear every time she laid a nigga down. Hollow points tear the fabric of my pride every time my oldest is forced to eat his 4th favorite dinner with juicy juice punch though at best I can only muster ambivalence towards his mother. They long ago received their nostalgic triggers – 3 days ago my nicotine retirement and the ever-present aroma of indo scent. Their souls will remember my frequent misremembering, trips out of the room for “What the fuck did I come out her for anyway?” Kisses while they slept and conversations concerning their grandchildren’s well being.

I love my sons!

The divine creator’s gift to my existence, two treasures, and newer visions of myself in this predestined voyage of free will. Now to be fair, maybe he was too damaged to love his approval came with chutes + ladders type consequences self loathing, self pity, and self destruction, ya headin’ for self destruction – but ya only get one pops right?

Provoked by transformational re-creation we can now see past, each building erected in efforts to shorten the boundless nature of our horizon, each high-rent luxury condo complete with swimming pool world class fitness facility movie theater and other exclusatory amenities. We can now see past every hood hustlin’ high performance vehicle driving voice box for the Lord. Can I get a witness ...

I think slow & far now, the future is my reality. Gone is the trigger from his verbal cannon replaced by love + praise, for those truly are the seeds of any impassioned childhood. The older I get, the more I like him. The older he gets, the more I know I’ll miss him when he’s gone. The more I look in the mirror, the more I see him …

The Genesis

1972 was the year, January 22nd triple-double’s for the first born on the third day of Aquarius. Grew up in a green van with ex-fiends, rolling by currently future relapsing ex-fiends, leaning without touching the ground in mix matched, knee high, tube socks. The van was always filled with songs of redemption, vocalized by those on the receiving end of newly found divine forgiveness and a well worn family distrust. You can’t sell the kid’s Atari, your wife’s jewels, and your momma’s TV and think a few popcorn testimonies will bring that ass back home …

But at my home, “you a stupid ass nigga” and “well, your fat ass is a bitch!” Yelling, pushing, scratching and … “you betta get the fuck outta my house!”
A dizzying transportation of internally diminishing child cargo Norwalk, Harlem, Camden, Harlem, Queens, Norwalk
It’s early A.M. and the same lips that cursed the fat, stupid nigga is now praying down heaven all over my face in attempts to purge my dark and sinful nature.

Was not too long before the two kids were packed with all the gospel records she owned and the combo 8-track, stereo, record player … she figured at least as much for time served with his funky ass. Even though it seemed like she didn’t really take much else. But who wants stretch marks and some other niggaz ankle biters? My sister and I were simply snot-nosed cock blockers “give that nigga back his kids and we might got something baby-girl”, in his plushed-out green and ivory seats, laundry mat stopping big daddy caddy. And every time my mind would make note when he came outside, looked around, and went to the trunk.

They say patience is a virtue – I say, patience is a virtue matured through layers of pain. Fighting to make sense of failure … and disappointments, realities altered, and innocence compromised. The years have polished over thick remnants of ash, the last testament to my volcanic rage, though I witness its simmer in the eyes of my childhood reflection. A child’s eye was never meant to recall in such sharp and vivid detail the liberties taken in under supervised and anointed environments – though we beg to forget.

But that was about the time my soul had a rhythm for the pocket. 1978 was the year and I secretly realized at the tender age of 6, my prepubescent gift to memorize all the shit them roach clip rockin’ niggaz kicked. Intrigued and captivated by the stories told, places the imagination of a lonely, frightened, and traumatized boy could escape.

She was so fucking selfish and he was soooo fucking bootleg – but for he, she popped out three all while praying for the day the other would “just drop dead!” It’s what their hearts say while faining misery’s bliss.