What’s good Family?
As I hammered out the first draft of this literary novel inspired by events in my life naive confidence filled my imagination with all sorts of grandeur. Now, as I edit draft number six time is taken to dig deeper into the visions circa ’93-’95 when they flash throw my eyes. I particularly see those Grant Hill Fila sneakers (the kicks Meth has on in the first video below) and my old hood. Which at the time looked extremely similar to every other hood in Rap music videos because LES hadn’t yet been swept by gentrification. Stories fight for more clarity and words mature to fashion my depth of regret for opportunities squandered. So many wasted years wasted on wasted pursuits. I lived like a drifter because I never dropped an anchor or set sail.
Tical was probably the most anticipated album release of my Hip Hop existence. NaS’ Illmatic basically dropped out of nowhere like the best kept secret but Wu Tang Clan and in particular Method Man had been on the come up for almost three years. Meth trooped with me in my headphones, chaperoned by Ron G and Double R mixtapes to the LES and South Bronx then back to Brentwood, LI. His lyrics rang out on street corners, building hallways and project rooftops while we puffed stimuli. I scuffed my Tims on St. Anne's, Clinton, Stanton, Rivington, Sherif's Park and many others long before I walked those same streets as a youth development professional or youth pastor dude. There was a romantic aimlessness attached to that version of me.
I scrap to properly project the pictures in my mind as words on page. So i can share a portion of my complete angst with readers over the misapplication of time in an era long gone. Why did I take up residence in a world I vowed to never become a member of? Why did I trade in my precious road map for a cardboard cut out? As a child I was taught to look towards scripture for inspiration, instructed to study characters that faced similar life obstacles and survived. Like Moses, I killed too soon and found myself banished. At best banishment has produced ambivalence though I do carry the earmarks of solitary interaction with sheep (my kids). You can sense my persona because even if my worldview is large my circle remains small. I’m about the book because the book is about me. Blessings.
M
My parents ran a residential rehabilitation center. The basement of the first house on Thirty-five Chestnut Street was home for me as a newborn. When I was a kid my life seemed to have no adventure and felt completely void of characters. It wasn't as vivid as tales spun by addicts in search of recovery and a personal Jesus. Back then I didn't see contradictions and complications as a process of human maturity. Time taught me that Life is tragic, hope filled, explicit, and blessed ...
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blessings,
M