About Me

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I am a writer of dark magical realism. All that is visible but rarely seen, all that is real but seems surreal, all that is dark yet radiates light.

Monday, December 20, 2010


I found this on a message board.  Cute and true!


Aries have ramlike eyebrows and smug expressions. They should not be quite so smug because they are constantly clunking themselves in the skull. Cat Stevens' "Hard Headed Woman" was probably an Aries. Aries rarely say one thing and do another. They usually do the wrong thing and don't discuss it. Never point this out to an Aries unless you want your kidneys pulled out through your sinuses. Aries folks love Pisceans because Pisces people make them feel well-grounded. Aries love to laugh at the funny moon-people who suck their thumbs at age 35. Aries use guns to describe philosophical concepts. Whether you live in a palatial estate or a cardboard tepee, you will insist until death that it is exactly what you always wanted. Most Aries were concrete parking bumpers in at least two of their past lives. Aries are never born. They skip gaily from their mothers' wombs. This may even involve rollerblades. The Aries makes life decisions as a toddler. Aries marry several times for funnies but never divorce. Their spouses have many freak accidents resulting in death or crippling injury. Being infallible, God is probably an Aries. This would make Satan an Aquarius. Aries always hold management positions. If one is assigned to clean toilets, he will form a one-man union. Then he will go and picket in the parking lot. All of you think you're Lech Walesa. People run away when an Aries comes around. They know that if they do not, the Aries will set them on fire. Aries hate listening to Scorpios talk because they take pride in being even more self-centered. In fact, much to the Scorpios' dismay, you are the biggest pricks in the zodiac. Your rams' horns are in everyone else's asses.


You are brooding emotion incarnate. One minute you're up, the next you're down, the next you've shot your favorite newscaster in the kneecaps, "just 'cuz.". You're very earthy, which may mean that you don't shower as often as most people. Or it may just mean that you like to roll around with your nose in clover and sigh. Taureans love happy movies where everyone is jolly and having fun, but they fight with waiters and get upset with billboards. They like to psychoanalyze their friends but have no real experience with life in general. Taureans mumble while describing philosophical concepts. The Taurus is a strange bird because he or she holds grudges about things that never actually happened. This may stem from the feelings of inadequacy resulting from being beaten out for first in line in the zodiac by Aries. That is the Taurean self-image, always second best. However, they are undoubtedly the best at feeling like second best. All Taureans want to be God. Unfortunately, God is an Aries. You are generally tough to figure out because you answer every question with a question. Also, you won't come out from under the bed. Most Taureans love conflict. If nothing is wrong, then that in itself is something wrong. Some especially like bar fights. If they can't get into an actual bar fight, they will make up interesting stories about them which they can tell their friends right before they psychoanalyze them. If it weren't for Bazooka Joe and The Family Circus, Taureans wouldn't know what to do. You feel that you are going nowhere in life. You are probably right. Milwaukee is full of Taureans. Taureans are impatient and pushy. They are in a tremendous hurry to get to the nowhere that they intend to go to. They make little dioramas of their homes, complete with tiny effigies of the people they know, and act out scenarios of the way things would be if they were God.


Everyone loves a Gemini because everyone loves a schizophrenic. You like to think that you are a half-and half mixture of Socrates and Michelangelo, but in reality it's more like Prince and Bea Arthur. You are progressive, outgoing, and one of the most popular rides at Cedar Point. However, you can and will negate all of this by the time you're finished reading this sentence. Geminis drive funny cars. They often drive them into trees or buildings. Geminis are pushy and overbearing. They pick fights with small children and moon people at weddings. They like to use Libras as punching bags. A bisexual Gemini is a walking double date. The rest are hermaphrodites. Geminis vandalize their own houses. Geminis use far-fetched analogies to describe philosophical concepts. Geminis rarely compete in the Olympics. When they do, it is usually pool or air hockey. Frogger turns up as well. Geminis are always on some sort of medication. This medication is not always legal. Gemini is Latin for "I'm okay, I'm okay." Geminis speak very loudly in order to be heard. This is unfortunate as they are nearly always talking to themselves. In fact, they often pick animated arguments with themselves in the bathtub. The most famous Gemini in history is Orville and Wilbur Wright. Geminis are frequently abidextrous, which means that they can pick both sides of their noses at the same time. The Gemini is essentially nothing more than a paranoid Aquarius.


You like to know what's going on in the lives of everyone in the galaxy. However, you tend not know know what's going on in your own. If you are lucky, your friends will tell you. Cancerians only get dressed because they have to, and their fashion sense can only be described as "erratic." You are more likely than any other sign in the zodiac (except Pisces, who does not iron) to iron your clothes by sleeping with them sandwiched between the mattress and box-spring. Likewise, you can stretch one pair of underwear out for almost a month. Your home is like your very own Biodome, and you can remain indoors for months at a time. Despite your need to be everyone's savior, you need no social interaction. SWAT teams often show up, mistakenly thinking there's a hostage situation. A Cancer is like a walking Ladies' Home Journal, quick on the draw with shortcake recipes and helpful hints on how to talk to your teen. Whether they know it or not, they are all born with an exceptional talent for cross-stitch. So much for buying the world a Coke - they would breast-feed the world if they could. This trait is not gender-specific. You will never excel in sports because you have to rest for fifteen minutes every time you breathe. You do not mind, since you plan to conduct your career from the comfort of your own bed. You maintain your questionable health through a steady diet of Ho-Ho's and beer. You also imbibe a great deal of Pepto-Bismol in order to confuse your numerous ulcers. People walk on you often. Actually, not often - all the time. If you think someone is screwing you, you're probably right. The most entertaining thing about this is that you like it. You strive to be a doormat. Cancerians coin their own words to describe philosophical concepts. This is why it is no surprise that George W. Bush is a Cancer. Cancerians have minimal influence over their friends, even though they show up with homemade soup to remedy every minor or major tragedy. However, they wield their power through the fact that they know what everyone is thinking at any given time. This is why they are never invited to parties. Cancerians claim to be "tactful". The word for this is actually "shiftless". Cancerians are always appointed to take their drunken, drooling friends home. These friends are usually Pisceans


You will grab attention in any way you possibly can. Self-immolation is not out of the question. You like to kiss mirrors a lot. Genghis Khan was a Leo, and so is Barney the Dinosaur. People still love Lucy, but less because she was a Leo. Leos will interrupt conversation to talk, and they will place themselves bodily in the way of someone who is trying to leave before the Leo is finished saying what he or she needs to say. All Leos want parades on their birthdays. Leos never marry because no one is good enough for them. If they do marry, they keep their spouses locked under the bathroom sink. They need physical affection at all times; unfortunately, they can't find any because everyone thinks they are irritating punks. This is why so many of the people arrested for necrophilia are Leos. A Leo uses himself as an example of the Overman in order to describe philosophical concepts. Some Leos decide to be homosexual even if they aren't, because they think this gives them shock value. It actually means that neither gender will want to hook up with them. In actuality, anything besides a romantic evening with themselves is considered a step down for the Leo. Leos open doors by screaming at them. They expect their Clappers to applaud when they enter a room. Leos are said to resemble lions. This means that they are loud, have cleft upper lips and slimy noses, and s**t under trees as they walk. They snack on monkeys while watching "Entertainment Tonight". Humility frightens Leos. That is why Jesus was a Capricorn, Buddha was an Aries, and so forth. However, "radical cult leader" is not out of the question. Leos like to start fights with Aries. They will stomp and bloody each other regardless of whether or not they are in public. In fact, the Leos usually prefer it. You will see these fights taking place at bars, sporting events, fashion shows, or Taco Bell. If you are a clever Capricorn, you will sell tickets. Don't worry about hanging posters--Leo will take care of that in advance. Aquarians hang posters of rock stars on their walls. Scorpios hang posters of famous disasters on their walls. Capricorns hang posters of great mathematicians on their walls. Pisceans hang posters of unicorns on their walls. Leos hang posters of themselves on their walls.


You are a pain in the ass. You regulate your breathing and color-coordinate the clothes in your closet. No Virgo in history has ever belched. Virgos clean every square inch of everything they own twice daily with a toothbrush. Everything has its place, and yours is on the floor scrubbing with a magnifying glass, checking for germs. Obsessive-compulsive disorder? A nice euphemism for the word "Virgo". Virgos use pointers and elaborate charts to describe philosophical concepts. You commit a lot of drive-by shootings. When you are questioned, you tell the police that it was because "the bastard had a filthy car". The police usually let you go because they are Virgos too. It is easy to freak out a Virgo. Tell them they have something between their teeth. Then watch them scrub frantically at the imaginary thing. Virgos are a hell of a lot of fun for assholes like us. Hell for a Virgo is being locked up in an elevator for eternity with a naked Aquarius. That is because in hell, Aquarians are allowed to bring beer, which they leave all over the floor. Virgos, however, have to surrender their brooms and squeegees to God. Virgos also have a hard time coping when they find out there's something under the fridge. But it's usually just a depressed Taurus. Virgos have read enough Hints from Heloise to know that the depressed Taurus can be coaxed out from under the fridge with a banana wine cooler. Virgos don't see the world in shades of black and white. They see it in shades of clean and dirty. Cat hair makes Virgos foam at the mouth. Virgos are cool because they will do your laundry for you. They'll separate everything by color and fabric until it consists of fourteen loads of three things apiece. Then they will put them in the washer in alphabetical order by name of manufacturer. Virgos are often found opening and shutting the refrigerator door, attempting to trick the light inside. Don't put cheese where it doesn't belong in a Virgo's refrigerator. He or she will go Jack Torrence on your ass. You will be stabbed with a cuticle pusher. Jack Torrence was probably a Virgo in the first half of "The Shining". After that, he went all Leo.


You are oh-so-elegant and tasteful to the point of incurring nausea from loved ones. You are also bipolar as hell and can't make a decision on your own. You usually consult your therapist or TV Guide. Libras are trendy and malleable folks. They are funny because they will glom onto something they hated before if it suddenly becomes fashionable. Velour is not entirely lost upon these people. Libras eat a lot of ethnic food from cultures they don't understand. They single-handedly started the cappucino movement. Ask them why, and they will claim something unintelligible about solidarity. You constantly worry about what other people think. If you really paid any attention, maybe people would like you more. Libras use quotes from David Mamet plays to describe philosophical concepts. Then they have those concepts engraved upon nice little wallet cards. The Libran interest in current events ends with the J. Crew catalog. They don't eat fast food or have any clue where their trash goes. They have other people tie their expensive shoes. Only two Libras have ever been found in thrift stores. All of their bell-bottoms were color-coordinated to match their lamé turtlenecks. Libras are always on the cutting edge of what the rest of us think is absolute pretentious bulls**t. They have huge collections of CDs they've never even listened to. Libras give to designer charities. Hollywood is full of Libras. You are the reason butterfly hairpins and parachute pants have made a comeback. Next on the list is those big jam shorts. You probably never threw out your old pair. Hang on to your Winger t-shirt too. Get a Libra as drunk as possible and he or she will still be able to explain the difference between café latté and café au lait. This is peculiar as the rest of us know that there is no difference at all.


You got into computers early so you could use made-up, bulls**t terminology and get away with it. Most hackers are Scorpios, as are most people who think they're going to find fame on a chat board. You embarrass Libras because you like your coffee straight out of the bag, eaten with a spoon. You may have actually snorted Chock Full o' Nuts at one time in your life. You take your paranoid beatnik approach to life very seriously. Many Scorpios have found ways to successfully smoke in the shower. Your number-one grudge is about never having been abducted by aliens, or being the victim of a government conspiracy. Most of those fake virus warnings or cash offers from Bill Gates are your attempt to stir something up. Ironically, Bill Gates is a Scorpio. The fully-automated barracks he lives in should clear up any doubt. Your master plan for world domination will never work because it involves you at the helm. It is hard for you to accept that Star Trek is fiction, and you are not a Borg leader. Scorpios use expletives to describe philosophical concepts. It's no wonder that Halloween falls smack in the middle of the Scorpio range. This is the only time of year when fake hauntings, sugar-induced hysteria, and impersonating Dr. Who won't get you arrested. Scorpios have strong sex drives, because it gives them yet another opportunity to smoke. Scorpios have much advice to give on matters that are of no concern to them. If you want to find out if someone is a Scorpio, ask them a pertinent question. Five minutes of silence later, the answer will be "I'm sorry, what?" Scorpios are often hairy and feel that this makes them more virile. This is especially true of Scorpio women. Scorpios cheat at the lottery. If it's automated, they can hack it.


Sagittarians are born adventurers. They like smashing spiders with their bare hands and trying to walk to the bathroom in the middle of the night with the lights out. They would sooner sustain crippling injury than do anything the easy way. Sagittarians love to entertain their friends, family, and total strangers. This often includes transvesticism. Nearly every Sagittarian was born into the wrong gender. Sagittarians are loud and have no social graces. They seek to offend. Sagittarians usually have nicknames like Thunderpooper or Vomitus Maximus. Animals and small children love Sagittarians. This is unfortunate since adults usually hate them. However, Sagittarians make excellent circus freaks and vagrants. Sagittarians use interpretive dance to describe philosophical concepts. Buttons and bumper stickers with rude sayings on them are a trademark of the Sagittarian. They throw food at expensive restaurants and ask lots of questions in the middle of church. Don't ever bring a Sagittarius home to meet your parents. He or she will tie up your mother and pants your dad. Famous Sagittarians include the Geo Metro. The holiday during which the sun is in Sagittarius is Thanksgiving. This is highly appropriate since everyone eats until they're sick and passes out while a bunch of cross-dressers and huge inflatable things wander through the streets of New York, the most Sagittarian town in the universe. The Shriners driving around in the tiny little cars are a very Sagittarian image. Even more so if there's a ridiculously busty woman stuffed into the car as well. A Sagittarius is always a better Madonna than Madonna. Men can pull off sequins, and women can pull off construction helmets. The Sagittarius is incapable of being unhip.


Capricorns are hardworking, reliable, and dull as hell. They are always on the move, headed to their next delusion of grandeur. They are often good at math which explains why they are such pains in the ass. René Descartes was a great mathematician and a crappy philosopher, so he must have been a Capricorn. Stephen Hawking is even more Capricorn because he's all of the above and a pompous S.O.B. to boot. Sure, he's overcome a lot of obstacles etc. etc., but even in perfect health you can't overcome being a Capricorn. Most politicians are Capricorns, which is why our country is always in the hole. It is not surprising that politicians need so much security around them all the time. Capricorns are like a strange cross between a Leo and a Virgo. They think that this makes them both charismatic and logical. In reality, it means that they are tight-assed and nitpicky, and have to keep their egos in the backyard. In the event of nuclear war, only cockroaches and Capricorns would find a way to survive. The rest of us just don't want to live in a world like that. The nation's cockeyed system of toll roads was probably designed by a freakin' Capricorn. They learn how to screw the public over at an early age. Their parents buy them books of law for Christmas so they can underline the loopholes. Capricorns cannot even fathom, much less describe, philosophical concepts because they don't involve equations. (See comments about Descartes and Hawking above) Capricorns own lots of Filofaxes and other tools to organize the lives they do not have. They love to be seen talking on their cell phones. These phones are not actually turned on because Capricorns don't have any friends to call. Capricorns went out of style in 1989. They still believe that Trump was a visionary. Most of the people arrested for counterfeiting are Capricorns


The Aquarius loves a party. Anytime, anywhere is their motto. It is not unlikely that an Aquarius will consider a wake a good place to meet chicks. Aquarians tend to be nostalgic about the 1960s because that was the last time they could be naked in public and get away with it. Aquarians love to be naked. It is even better if they are naked and crocked. 97.4% of the Night Train consumed in the past thirty years has been consumed by Aquarians. Almost every Aquarian will claim to have seen Jerry Garcia's image in their Froot Loops at least once. Froot Loops is a very Aquarian cereal. So is Rice Krispies, since it will engage in a friendly chat with the Aquarian as he or she is eating breakfast. Count Chocula is off-limits, however. It belongs to the Scorpios. Aquarians are the only people in the zodiac who can play volleyball with themselves. And they frequently do. Aquarians use the phrase "Dude, man..." frequently when describing philosophical concepts. Aquarians have out-of-body experiences on a daily basis. If you are talking to an Aquarian and he or she zones out, consider the conversation hopeless. He or she is talking to the guy three feet away from you. Aquarians are fun because they channel people. Plus, if you tell them to, they will run around naked. Aquarians like astronomy because they've been to all those places. If you want to know what the food is like on Saturn, ask an Aquarius. They can also walk on water if they try really really hard. This usually happens in the bathtub. Aquarians can allow themselves every possible vice on the planet, and don't think twice about it. That is why they piss everyone else off. They are cosmically entitled to do this. Most rock stars are Aquarians.


Everywhere you go, laughter and comedy ensue. This would be great if you were trying to be funny. You are deeply confused by the idea of sex. As far as you are concerned, if it didn't happen in "The Velveteen Rabbit", it doesn't exist. Piscean women wear long floaty dresses and enormous amounts of unusual silver jewelry. On hikes. Pisceans claim to love the stars, but the only constellation they can find is the Big Dipper. If they cannot find it, they cry. You remember what you were wearing on March 3rd, 1981 but forget your own address. You have no sense of direction. The people you find going in reverse at 70 m.p.h. on the expressway are usually Pisceans. Pisceans are most likely to die by falling out of a window or getting run over by a truck. That is, of course, unless they live with a Cancer. Pisceans are so zoned and perpetually endangered that they can bring out the maternal instincts of a Leo. Don't be fooled, however; many Pisceans can surprise you by kicking your ass and the asses of your four imaginary friends. While Leos tend to achieve the most fame in the field of entertainment, Pisceans strive to achieve historical greatness by sheer fluke. They are proud to tell you that Michelangelo, Galileo, George Washington, and Albert Einstein, none of whom had an agent, were all Pisceans. What they won't tell you is that so is Ted Kennedy. Pisceans claim to want "honest criticism" of their work. Then they commit hara-kiri on the floor when you say you don't like it. Never try to use logic with a Pisces; he or she is living about three feet off of the natural ground or in Narnia. Their tools of debate are non-sequiturs, quotes from Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and, of course, crying. It wouldn't matter what linguistic devices Pisceans use to describe philosophical concepts because they aren't positive they know what they're talking about anyway. You cry over dead animals in the road but feel no remorse about mowing down humans you don't like. Cancerians say one thing and do another. Scorpios say one thing and do it just for spite. Pisceans say far too much and do whatever the hell they want.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Love Bites and Reality Sucks

So, I'm at the three month point in my relationship, where things stop being all fun and games and real life sets in.  That's pretty much the theme of my whole life right now.  Next month heralds the advent of everything new, really, new versions of the same old shit.  I took a chance, and it looks like I failed.  Reminds me of the TLC song, "Waterfalls", though those familiar rivers and lakes at times had me feeling suicidal, this chasing waterfalls trip has left me feeling homicidal.  I guess that's a good thing.  Better you than me is how I see it.  I can't believe it.  I was high in July and now in December I've crashed.  The year is almost over and I've run out of both time and gas.  "Friends" and the like are of no comfort, I'm going to cut the next person that feeds me a cliche.  I've read them all before and I'll puff my chest out and say I can do one better. Want to challenge me?  Post a problem and I'll serve you up an original slice of drivel.

So, Reality Sucks...

But Love...It's still biting me.  I was spitting pure venom the past couple of days, turned my phone off just because I didn't want to hear anything you had to say...'cause man, if you hit me with the tried and true, I would have wanted to hit you black and blue.  And then I spoke to you, and it was all love.  'Cause it was all original, and suddenly...life felt less dismal.  You put thought into your words and I appreciate that.  Anybody can cut and paste, but it shows love to me when you create.  It feels good to be with someone who truly accepts you.  I don't have to transcend this, and act like this, and think like this, I can just be me...Twyla Marie.

P.S. Thank God you aren't one of those negative energy freaks.   The negative energy, it's destroying me.  Please. Puzzie, at ease.  Ain't nothing like a little gravity to get you what you want.  Believe that!

Saturday, November 20, 2010


Awhile back, a friend of mine asked me to evaluate this statement, "You can get anything you want in life, if you will be willing to do what it takes to get it".  At the time, I wasn't getting what I want, and could create a laundry list of perceived failures.  I felt like I had done enough to get what I wanted, and didn't get it, so how could that possibly be true.  But in hindsight, I hadn't really done much to get what I want.  If it couldn't be found on the path of least resistance, the want quickly dissipated and was replaced by a redirect: It just wasn't meant to be.  The want was a construct of my mind, and stayed there with minimal energy exerted to propel it forward, coupled with an even smaller exercise of will.

Upon further reflection, I will give this statement a certified, "Yup".  However with purely focused will, you will not be able to have your cake and eat it too.  Everything has its price, whether through opportunity or actual nominal costs.  There is no such thing as a free lunch.  If you want it, see it and only it, do what it takes, and you will surely get it.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Red Cafe "Money, Money, Money" ft. Diddy & Fabolous **OFFICIAL VIDEO**

Jeremih x 50 Cent - "Down On Me" - 3D Version

I love 50 Cent. There is nothing about that man I don't love. And if you don't love 50, something is wrong with you. How can you not love someone who does want they want to do, and says what they want to say, and for the privilege of being him, makes people pay?

Voodoo Dreaming with Remix aka I love the Guedeh

The nights I spend with Remix, I have the illest dreams.  My mind tends to be both more alert and relaxed, and the time for sleep tends to be short or taken in spurts.  That's the perfect combination for me to achieve lucidity. Nights with him are often spent in that blissful space between reality and infinity.  Last night's dream took place in a cafe.  Remix had a girlfriend that he was living with, and we were secret lovers on a rendezvous.  As we sat at the cafe table, and discussed the moral hazards of our clandestine affair, a deck of tarot cards appeared.  This was no ordinary tarot deck, but an exaggerated and beautifully illustrated version of my beloved "Beyonce", the New Orleans Voodoo Tarot.  I named my tarot cards after the flyest bitch in the world, yup!

In the dream, I told Remix we had to break it off, what we were doing wasn't right.  Not only was it wrong, but fundamentally what was it based on?  He shuffled the deck and showed me two cards.  The images were strong, I leaned in ready to interpret them.  But then in real life Remix shifted, back to reality I drifted, and they were gone.  I only remember one card:

It wasn't exactly like this.  But when I was fully awake and thought about it, this card had the best fit. Man, I wish I knew what that other card was. It's like getting all of the lotto numbers, but forgetting the powerball.

I do need to work on my lucid dreaming. I am going to make a concerted effort to do just that. I feel it is a powerful and useful skill. Even if you remove all of the metaphysical properties, and think of it in psychological terms, it is an interesting way to explore the subconscious mind.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Remix and The Secret

For his birthday, I bought Boo the Remix, "The Secret", the popular new age book that I have never read.  I have thumbed through it in bookstores, glimpsed over it at friend's houses, and though the pages within supposedly hold the secret to obtaining all you want in the universe, I was never interested.  Boo is three quarters of the way through the book and is already a proponent.  He feels with The Secret's teachings, all that he could ever want is his.  I am not convinced.  The whole premise to me sounds like blind optimism.  But since nothing these days is winning, hence, there is nothing to lose, I'll give it a try.  Remove all doubt, express gratitude, visualize and wish, wish, wish.  Again, I haven't read the book, but that seems to be the gist.  As we drove to get some food, the new song by Nicki Minaj, "Right Thru Me" came on.  He felt its appearance on the radio dial proved The Secret's validity as he was just thinking about it.

Aside: I don't agree that song proves anything as the Young Money crew is ubiquitous.  I also hate that song, my tolerance for drama in relationships is zero.  Boo thinks that a little hot grits thrown on him every six months keeps everything spicy.  If I cared, he'd come outside and see his car windows bust.  And to show his love, he says every other month a black eye will keep me in line.  He is kidding, but why do some people think dysfunction is a requisite component in relationships?  Let me utilize the secret: I am grateful for the lack of drama in my relationship with Boo.  I relate to him in clear mind with clear action through clear thought.  He does what I say and I get what I want. I told Boo I was feeling depressed about my book not going anywhere.  He said my depressive thoughts will bring me more depressive thoughts.  He was right: out of the blue I received a rejection letter from an agent I didn't even remember sending a query letter to.  What to do? He told me to be grateful for the rejection letter, as it is just one step closer to landing my dream agent.  Since I have none of my own, I'll borrow some of his good cheer.  We'll share his positivity, as he has plenty to spare.  I love my Boo, to me, he is very dear.  I visualize a day that flows just like today, but with the addition of plenty of money (say it like mon-ay to keep up with the rhyming pattern, okay?).

So here goes The Secret: I am grateful for x,y,z.. now bring me some money!  And to my dream agent: You got my e-mail.  With love and appreciation, I'm waiting, holla at me!

Wednesday, October 27, 2010


I somewhat agree.  Not all thoughts are charged with prana, some are just for burning off steam.  If all my thoughts created my reality, the whole of you would be dead.  Aside: I would be the only one left standing, and even I would be laying in the bed.  Some days, it seem like that's not where life should just start and finish, but remain.  Best believe, if I know you even a little bit, you have been cursed out, ran over by a bus, and eaten alive by fleshing eating ants in my head.  You have been killed and five minutes later resurrected.  You were horrible two minutes ago, and three minutes later, our conversation was pleasant.  There is no need to be your own thought police.  It's your brain, use it for what it's made for: to think.  Please think.  Think before you speak, and sometimes think instead of speak.  Watch what you allow to ruminate, it's when you pray, you create.


Lesson learned: It's all good to collect knowledge, but it's something else to be wise.  It's great to cut and paste quotes.  But it's something else to take those sayings, apply them to your life, and come back and remix them with your thirty plus degrees on them.  Anyone can tell you something, but the proof is in the showing.   If you are a wise remixer, who has lived life 360 degrees, then you  have the ability to write like J. California Cooper.  Until then, keep reading; keep searching; keep growing.


I don't have writer's block.  I have writer's hazy.  It's when you have all the ideas in the world, but don't know where to go.  And then on top of the hazy, you feel a little lazy.   I have three partially started stories.  The first one is an embryo, and I go back and forth on whether or not to abort.  I let a few people read my humble beginnings.   People were either bored, confused or they loved it.  It's a slightly complicated story--you have to have a reasonable vocabulary, imagination, and attention span to dig in.  Basically, if you had to look up "non sequitur",  this story is not for you.  I like the idea, but I don't love it.  It was born out of a jumble of words and I'm still forming it.  It was supposed to be about a soul that goes to hell. Well, not really hell but something to that effect.  The second two are love stories. Aside: I never wanted to write a love story.  I was told it would be rewarding.  They are just fertilized eggs introducing the female protagonist.  They are too soon in their inception to say if they will ever reach implantation.  Perhaps I will merge them together to create twins.  I haven't decided.

Times like this, I reach for the tarot cards.  I love my tarot cards, the spirit that reads with me is seventeen years old and she is from Estonia.  It sounds crazy, doesn't it?  How do I know this?  It would be a short story to tell, but it's a story I will not tell. Anyway, I ask her for information about my book career all the time.  She and I were not on speaking terms for a few months because I didn't like the messages I was receiving: they were all bad news.  I got over it.  Bad news is better than no news, so we have been in deep conversation as of late.    I ask her, "What would happen if I finished this book?  What would happen if I finished that book?" The messages I receive are so confusing.  Tarot is hard to decipher when you are reading with fear and ego.  So I decided, though I often ask people's opinion, there is really only one person I trust.

Aside: She wants me to write a love story.  Love?  Killers, Psychopaths, Evil Souls, that's me.  She even wants me to turn my soul that goes to hell story into a love story.   I ask her how, and she gives me The Tower.  What does that mean?  I'm not  talking about the definition of the card, but it's contextual meaning.  I mean, what does she mean?  Oh, I give up.  I don't see it.   

I asked my sweet Estonian spirit if she could speak through this one particular person.  Astonishingly enough, she agreed.  Let's see what happens.  What are the magic words to fulfill my dreams?


The man pictured above is a 40 years old and lives with his mother in the projects.  Despite the obvious encumbrances, this Don Juan still thinks of himself as a winner.  He has placed handwritten personal ads in phone booths detailing his Mrs. Right.  The ad can be found here: http://www.nypost.com/rw/nypost/2010/10/26/news/photos_stories/102510-MALIKTURNER-DM-3070135.jpg

At first, the list is laughable.  He has standards and criteria?  How dare he.  With displaced indignation, I thought: with his looks and address, he should take what he can get!  But then I reflected back on all this Law of Attraction talk.  So he wants a White/Hispanic, gorgeous, financially independent, big titty freak.  Good for him.  At least he knows what he wants, and who am I to have a negative judgment?  I hope he gets it.

Aside: Why do the ooogliest men/women have the highest standards?

Wednesday, October 20, 2010


My approach to dating was always like a job interview, on to the next one, until I find the mutually benefiting fit.  I didn't like dating in my younger days, getting new outfits, and getting my hair blown out was a financial strain.  I was always in hurry to couple up and mate, each outing was really a chance to contemplate our fate.  And the decisions I made back then.  It wasn't them though, it was all me.

After taking a two year hiatus, (okay like five, but I was in a not a decent man around drought for three of them, and kept fluttering around repeats trying to catch vapors) I reapproached the dating scene with a different mentality.  There would be no special shopping trips, my hair would be worn as is.  I would view dating as fun, not a necessary chore to find the proverbial one.   My first time out the bullpen, I found Boo.  He has outstanding qualities: great looking, nice body, smells good, perfectly smooth skin, and with a little communication a really good dick.  But he's young, and in transition, and I was supposed to try multiple dating and keep digging.

Though my good friend advised me not to tell him, I was honest with Boo.  I let him know he was my number one, but he would not be the only one.  I went on two horrible dates with two horrible men: bad looks, bad body, bad smells and bad skin.  I barely wanted to hug them, I wouldn't know about the dick. One seemed halfway gay, but that's another story.  They had their good qualities, and I tried to focus on them.   Yeah, they were older and financially able.  But they were also old, and needed to be put out to pasture and let out the stable.  Maybe they would have looked better to me, if it weren't for Boo.  Hell no, who am I fooling.   He's the prototype, I'm not even turning my head for anything less than a 2.0.

I am not completely sure what the purpose is for open relationships and open dating.  I can't speak for everyone, but one person I know in an open relationship said it's hard to find all that you need in just one person.  I disagree.  In my opinion, everything is in everyone, you just have to scratch past the surface and go deeper.  In terms of appearance, I really only find one type of man attractive, and Boo's looks fit.  It's so nice to smile when I see him walking towards me.  I can see him walking through a crowd and think to myself- Yup!

As long as everything keeps going the way they are going, Boo and I will merge into one.  He's becoming my right hand, and my most favorite friend.  I've already made him my book critic, I'm about the purchase a grammar and punctuation book and pass it on (I love to write, but hate to copy edit).  I like the way we disagree all the time, but still like each other.  Usually when I don't agree with a man, the deal is done.  So, Boo is it.  Everything is moving but the money, and soon that will too.

Aside: Boo and I went to get readings from my favorite santera.  I love her, she tells you the good, the bad, and the ugly sometimes with a remedy.  Everyone else I have gone to has been full of shit.  She reads much better than I do.   I'm still learning and practicing.  And I can't help you with anything, take your future as is.  Anyway, she told me I would meet another guy similar to Boo in appearance pretty soon.  She told Boo he would meet two additional women.  She has never been wrong, to be continued...

Boo says he feels the same way, but he feels he's lagging behind, I owe him two dates.  I wish he would.  My theme song is playing, "I'll bust your windows out your car".  He loves his Batmobile too.


This book was recommended to me by some guy at Barnes and Nobles.  He was bemoaning the decline of traditional African American literature with the rise of urban fiction which he termed, "shit lit".  Now my book can be categorized as urban fiction, but I chose to not be offended.  This ended up being a good pick for me for two reasons: I love the way the author seamlessly blended the 1950s Black English spoken by her characters with her standard narration. (I read on some writer's board characters speaking in colloquialisms is distracting. I say bullshit.) The book was about a crazy abusive mother.  The mother, Rozelle, was even worse than the mother in my story, as she was completely unrepentant.  Oddly enough, both twisted broads had the same tragic beginning.

What a story.  All of the reviews are true.  The book is a masterpiece, stunning, and an excellent debut.  I am looking forward to purchasing other books from this brilliant author.

Lesson Learned:  Write Better!


HOMO THUG was the next item I selected from the African bootlegger.  I chose this book because it was about a man who is coming to terms with his sexuality.  My book features a man that has sex with a transgendered woman, and this is where the similarity ends.  My character is more of a sex addict/deviant versus a true homosexual.  Yes, there is a difference.

I knew in advance this book was poorly edited, (they didn't even bother run spell check) so I have no comment in that respect.  I decided to suspend any criticisms, and just enjoy the story.  The reviews on Amazon were rave.  I suspect black women enjoy reading about down low black men.  For some sick reason, I must confess, I like it too.  I know you are out there, and I see you.

Eh, the book was okay.  I would call it page turner though, due to the subject matter, not because of the writing or story.  The writing sucked, but the story itself has its moments.   The ending was lame. But if the reviews on Amazon were better for Part 2, I would have probably picked it up just to see how the life of this tragic man ends.  The book reads like an autobiography.  I feel the protagonist Michael Frasier is a fictionalized version of the author.  The transgendered sex scenes were described in such vivid detail.  If you have ever been curious about how sex is with a transgendered woman, he takes you there.  The character's grappling with his sexuality read so real. If you are contemplating a same-sex date, you will relate.  It veers off into secret society, and there is a very thinly veiled caricature of 50 Cent and G-Unit for all of you Illuminati/Gay Agenda conspiracy theorists.

If you like books about down low black men, and you don't mind poor grammar and punctuation, then I recommend HOMO THUG.  All you ever wanted to know about prison shower scenes between male and shemale can be found in the pages within.

Book Review: Shame on it All by Zane

I wrote a book that is sitting in a binder in a top floor apartment in the Brooklyner.  (Aside: This guy I went on a date with lives there, and since he sold a screenplay, I gave it to him for an "expert" critique.) In other words, it went nowhere. Some people told me it was my subject matter: transgenders, voodoo, murder, psychopaths, child abuse and graphic sex that put literary agents off, but I disagree. While in these dark times, light and fluffy is probably an easier sell, intrinsically I know, if the problem is anywhere, it's in the telling (showing, whatever). Through a little research, I found my manuscript contained quite a few grievous literary errors. Some of which are embarrassing, others I feel if you keep reading, you will see how they make the story flow. I haven't taken an English class since forever, and when I decided to write, I decided to write, hence, comma splice, comma splice.

When trying to win, I like to look towards the winners. I refuse to be like Pinky and the Brain, sitting around talking about how the world isn't ready yet. It's not that the world isn't ready, it's that your shit probably isn't that good, and nobody cares. I want mass appeal, not just the approval of ten of my equally going nowhere peers.

I was walking past an African bootleg stand, and decided to pick up a couple of books, the first will be reviewed here. If you are going to write about urban erotica, one has to look to the queen of the genre- Zane. She has what I want: books that chart the NY Times Bestseller list, a publishing imprint, a cable TV show, and a movie in the works. I read, "Addicted" when it first came out and I draw a blank. I chose, "Shame on it All" because the vendor assured me it was great.

So, I read it, and I didn't get it. What stupidity! Now this is what you call drivel, I thought. What was I missing? Where is the appeal? I read a snippet to my boo while we were driving in his car. He said it made his dick kind of hard. Oh yeah? I asked if he would read the book. He said, "No."  But why?  You said it made your dick hard.  That's good, no?

A point to ponder...Eureka! I got it! And Zane got it! I read an article about her, and she said when her teenage son told the girls at school that his mother was Zane, they swarmed her house. With that information in mind, I see why she is successful. When I was in high school, I would have found a book that featured such gems as "dooky stained drawers", "position 69", and a Mandingo sucking his own dick, titillating too. If I were a dude or a woman that was sexually repressed, I would be excited reading a passage about giving head, and sucking on some breasts.

Lesson learned from Zane: know your audience and know it well. She is a very smart woman though her books are so incredibly silly. And while I will not be purchasing another book by her, (Aside: okay, maybe "Sex Chronicles" because her constant plugging throughout the book did kind of pique my interest. Her tactics work.) I do applaud her for being a savvy business woman. I see why she is a winner.

Beyoncé - Video Phone ft. Lady Gaga

Because Ciara looks like a hungry tranny in her bathing suit and I hate Keri Hilson!!!

Willow Smith - Whip My Hair

When I first heard Willow Smith was coming out with an album I was skeptical. I had a feeling she wasn't really talented, just a rich kid afforded the luxury of fulfilling all of her whims and dreams. Her first single, "Whip My Hair" did nothing to dissuade my skepticism, to my ears it sounds like a saccharin fueled autotuned poptastic spastic mess. And then my thoughts shifted. While she isn't a child prodigy a la Stevie Wonder or Michael Jackson, she is still way better than say Miley Cyrus. She is younger and therefore less annoying than Justin Bieber. So while I still don't like her hair (she didn't have much hair to begin with, so no points for bravery for shaving one side and getting a trim). And I still don't like her song(or the video, she can't dance). I realize there is a huge market for auditory carcinogens, and applaud her and her parents' pristine business acumen. Little Willow looks very diabolical and clever.  I bet she and Jada are laughing at you suckers who like her single. I bet half the song is really sung by Jada. You can tell and sell the sheep anything, they just want to feel a part of something. The Smith family, I applaud you. Go ahead, Willow, get that money and whip it real good!

Monday, October 4, 2010


Sometime last year, I picked up an Emily the Strange Talking Board from the discount table of Barnes and Nobles.  I had played with an Ouija Board years ago as a kid and have no recollection of anything remarkable occurring.  My interest was renewed when I read a bunch of scary Ouija Board stories on a message board.  I thought they were all bullshit, but hey--you never know.  When I first got the board, I ran through my friends and acquaintances to see who would be willing to play with me.  I had no takers.  People really believed in Ouija Boards and were threatened by its supposed powers.  I was going to play by myself, but the instructions stated the game needed to be played with at least two people.  Besides, juvenile behavior is way more fun with a co-conspirator.

After a little cajoling, Remix (the fine specimen formerly known as 3MB) agreed to play with me.  Aside: I love the way he perfectly relates to my inner twelve-year-old.  He had a case to be solved, it involved a missing item and four suspects.  He needed a name.  Perhaps the Ouija Board would be able to provide it.

We set up the Ouija Board on his coffee table late one Saturday night.  He had been drinking.  A no no according to the Ouija Board directions I found online (supposedly it makes you more vulnerable to psychic attacks from unknown entities), so I made sure to sit closest to the door in case he got possessed and tried to attack me.  He didn't have a lighter to light the white candle I had brought to call only pure spirits with good intentions.  He wouldn't let me make a protective circle of sea salt on his floor.  I forgot the Florida Water.  He didn't have any incense.  So I said a prayer, closed my chakras, grounded myself, and visualized being surrounded by a bubble of pure white light.  He was on his own.  If anything went terribly wrong, I knew of a lady who could probably fix him up for a small fee.

We dimmed the lights, cleared our minds and asked the spirits to come talk to us.  He asked his question first.  The planchette started to move and spelled out the letters H and G. I was excited; it seemed like it was working.  I asked if any of the suspects had those initials and he said no.  I asked if it could be possibly spelling out a nickname, tag or something to the effect and again he said no.  I was disappointed.  I asked the spirits to give us another clue but this time the planchette didn't move.  We remained silent, deep in concentration for a few minutes and all of a sudden the planchette started moving with a tremendous burst of energy.  Energy that emanated from Remix.  He laughed.  I didn't find it funny.  He was ruining my psychic investigation with his foolery.  Well, it was kinda funny; I guess.

After a few more minutes, I inched closer to the door and asked the spirits to show themselves.  I called for good spirits, bad spirits, who cares just come and show your power--crickets.  We gave up, put the Ouija Board away and went about our night.  Nothing eventful happened: no weird dreams, no strange noises, flickering lights or anything of the sort.

This was a few weeks ago, and the board remains in his bedroom, on a shelf filled with magazines and other miscellaneous items.

The Ouija Board stories were all bullshit, just as I thought. 

Thursday, September 23, 2010


I haven't updated in a minute.  I've been all tangled up in my boo.  Boo is a term I got from my sister to describe the midway point between jump off and boyfriend.  It's the modern version of the antiquated term lover.  I like having a boo.  It's comfortable and cozy.  All the benefits of a friend, without the official boyfriend title.  I don't like titles.  As soon as you place a label on something, as it attempts to define, it stunts and confines.  Titles are words.  Words are symbols and signs.  Meaningless in utterance, it's the heart that evokes them.

The term boo is cute and whimsical, just like we are.  No expectations, no obligations, everything is free flowing. And boy is it flowing.  Flowing so much, I feel when we get together--we stopped the world and we got off.  And left y'all there while we just do us.  I'm in the world right now and I can't take it.  Everything is in black and white, devoid of color.  I had to take a minute.  For though the magic of you is not with me; I am attempting to recreate it.

Boo, go to sleep tonight and dream us rich!  Just give me an idea: plant the seed and I'll be sure to make sure it germinates.  I'm waiting!

Sunday, September 12, 2010


A friend sent me this text. I've transcribed it verbatim:

They brag to their peers oh how romantic sincere. They've been waiting praying for years. Here I appear. Calm their fears, whatever they say I hear. Gain their trust, to their heart I am near. Saying I love you too, begrudgingly with a sneer. Not after pussy, their mind I want to steer. Control and power has given me more of an erection for years. Cold and heartless immune to their tears. Sobbing, begging, asking why. I thought you weren't like other guys. No bitch I'm worse; I'm the devil in disguise.

My friend is an interesting guy. For as long as I've known him, he has always been infatuated with some woman. I have quite a few e-mails from him proclaiming various women as "the one".  And just as quickly as these relationships began, they ended. When I would call him and ask, "What happened?" Through the phone, I could imagine his shrug.  The woman had been discarded like a used tissue. His attitude: who cares.

I would feel sorry for the women. If you've ever read the "Art of Seduction", he fits the profile of the ideal lover.

Men like him are hard to spot. Because unlike a garden variety sociopath (that's how your text message read), when he tells these women how great they are, at the time he believes it.  It's hard to spot a liar when they aren't lying.  It's hard to spot a fraud when they are not being fake.  The sincerity they felt; it was real--for that moment.

I recently met this guy. And if you have been reading, it has gotten hot very quickly. I clicked with this guy because he felt so sincere. His words soothed any fears. He is easy to trust. Hmmm. So my body will keep going along for the ride (it's a really good one!).  But my mind will remain skeptic.  And my heart? I am keeping it tucked away in a safe place at home. I don't want to fall victim to an emotional terrorist.

Thanks for the reminder, friend. `

Wednesday, September 8, 2010


This post is part of a September Blog Chain for absolutewrite.com. The topic is seasons.

Check out these fresh blogs from my fellow writers:
Ralph_Pines: http://ralfast.wordpress.com/
Aheïla: http://thewriteaholicblog.wordpress.com/
DavidZahir: http://zahirblue.blogspot.com/
orion_mk3: http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com/
semmie: http://semmie.wordpress.com/
llalah: http://www.twylanonsequitur.blogspot.com/
hillaryjacques: http://www.hillaryjacques.blogspot.com/
AuburnAssassin: http://clairegillian.wordpress.com/
laffarsmith: http://www.craftingfiction.com/
sbclark: http://www.sonyaclark.net/
FreshHell: http://freshhell.wordpress.com/
PASeasholtz: http://www.paseasholtz.com/
SF4-EVER: http://www.ulbrichalmazan.blogspot.com/
T.N. Tobias: http://tnt-tek.com/
IrishAnnie: http://superpenpower.blogspot.com
Proach: http://desstories.blogspot.com/
mada: http://questioningseeking.blogspot.com/

And here we go:

Now, I know I promised a post about sex: something hard and wet just like we get. But I'm feeling philosophical and a tad poetic. So instead I'll deliver this aside. As the summer is over and fall begins, I ask myself this question: are you for a season, a reason or a lifetime? I loved the heat of the summer. Little clothes, sexing under your air conditioner, making it hot on the bed while the room was ice cold. We were just like the summer: blazing and bold. Behind the closed door of your bedroom, time stood still, nothing existed but my love and your will. Right now we are an idyllic dream: adults living a teenage reality. Dreams end when we wake up, will we end now that the summer is up? Was this just for a season? Or is there a reason? I don't know. I can't even begin to think about a lifetime.

We had it good in the summer. I wonder how we'll do in the fall? Will we change when the leaves change? Will we cool down with the weather? Nah, I don't think so. I can already feel our lust turning into trust. We're moving quickly. No time to think which is good for me: I think too much. And I'm still trying to locate my heart, so I'll go with this hunch. You're for a reason. I might not understand it now; but baby, you're needed. It's not just about desire; you open me up and inspire.

So now that I know there is a reason, let's go back to the seasons. The fall is cool. I like the fashion. But it's still lacking the summer passion. Usually, I don't like the winter. I can't deal with the snow, the ice, and the thick clothes when it gets brick. But then I heat up thinking about spending the winter under the covers with your...stick. Springtime in New York City is mostly an extension of winter. March is the same as February--forget April showers, I don't like it when it rains. The only good month is May. It starts to warm up and on the nineteenth it's my birthday. Fall, winter, spring, they are okay but I love the summer. It's the season I met you. I can't wait for next August on the 22nd. That's when we can play, "Do you know what today is? It's our anniversary." Remember that song? If we keep going the way we're going, we'll never go wrong. Here's the plan: we'll cruise through fall, stay under the covers during the winter, keep our fling going through spring, until we come full circle back to the summer. By then we'd have made it through all seasons, fulfilled our reason, and maybe we can start working on our lifetime. Lifetime? Chill. You should be home from work soon. Hurry up and call, it's our time.

Sunday, September 5, 2010


Beware of people who constantly preach forgiveness. They will harm you intentionally and then try to manipulate you for the express purpose of holding you to standards; they do not hold for themselves. I know how to behave and if I harm you; it is deliberate and I am out to destroy you. Best believe, they are too. Unless they are a young child, or an animal; they know right from wrong. They just don't care enough about you to treat you with respect; they don't feel you are worthy. Reciprocate the action and see how forgiving they are of you.

Why do you hold them to such high regard and think so lowly of yourself? My energy is precious; it will be only extended to those who can replenish, no forgiveness. You are expendable.

Thursday, September 2, 2010


Oh yea just because the symbol isn't there please be aware that's everything I've written is protected by copyright. Not just by the law of the land but by the energy of the spirit. Copy my shit if you dare but please be aware your whole family is hexed. Go buy some black clothes, and funeral plots and prepare for their imminent death. You don't believe me? You don't have to. I do, you are about to witness the power of my voodoo.


The most defining day of my life started out pretty unremarkable.  I had always dreamed about this day; I had created images of where it would happen, what I would wear and how I would have styled my hair.  It would happen at a restaurant; I would be waiting for my friend and you would be appear; my hair would be down and flowing, blown out straight. My outfit would be impeccable:  stylish and conservative yet still form fitting.  I knew just how you would be too.  I had imagined how you would look.  You would be tall, good looking, with an easy going smile and a workout physique.  Our attraction would be apparent at first sight, we both wouldn’t show it but we would feel it.  We’d give each other sheepish grins while trying to play it cool. You would fumble a little while you asked for my number and I would think it was cute.  We would be around the same age, you’d probably be a few years older, and I liked them older.  You would be well established: finished school, nice apartment, thriving career.  You would be everything I had ever wanted in a man and more.   And you were.  But it didn’t happen quite like that instead it happened like this.


Now I know you said you prefer ones that rhyme and talk about sex, but not today. I agree, the remix was crazy.  We'll have to work hard to top that one.  My flow is not fabricated, it comes from momentum. But I don't know: I like the times we just chill and and take it easy. There is nothing more to prove, we are in our groove.  When we feel up to it, we'll make a power move.  No pressure, every time is still a treasure.

But maybe tomorrow I'll talk about what we did last night.  I'll make it rhyme for you and it'll be tight.  But right now, I just want to say that you made my day and someone else's too.  For real, it's true.  You are powerful, full of love (spiritual energy) and everything else you say you're not.  All that self doubt needs to stop.  Let me tell you what you did.  You stopped me from beating a bitch down at Starbucks and instead of getting arrested, I made a new friend.

Here is what happened: I went to the cafe to get an iced coffee, send out resumes, write a little and beat the heat.  My laptop battery was low and so is the one on my cell phone.  I forgot my phone charger by the way, I probably left it under your bed.  So if you hit me and I don't answer, I'm not ignoring you--my phone is dead.  Back to the story:  I took a seat near an outlet.  It had a magazine covering it. I put the magazine on the table next to me and just before I was going to get settled in; I noticed on the table a mostly finished drink.   I changed chairs and waited to see if someone would reclaim it.  I thought to put the magazine back on the chair but before I did, someone appeared.  It was an angry looking woman dressed in full fall gear. She had a black jacket on in this hot weather, so I knew from the outset--she wasn't all the way there.  She sat down and asked loudly, "Who the fuck touched my shit?"  Not to anyone in particular, but I knew what I did.  I apologized and said it was me.  I explained, "I didn't mean to touch your belongings.  I didn't know it was your seat."  She didn't let it go.  She said to me, "Why the hell did you do that for?"  Now just a few weeks ago I would have gotten tight.  I already apologized, so she must have wanted to fight.  Instead of escalating the aggression, I explained myself again and asked her about her day.  She was taken aback by my question and confessed everything in her life was going horrible.  I sympathized with her and offered her blessings and told her: hold on, things will get more tolerable.  She accepted what I said and her attitude immediately changed.  It went from having a dark cloud over her head to matching the bright sun of the day. She apologized for her overreaction.  I told her, "It's okay, bad days happen."  We made a little small talk and I advised her to look up mercury in retrograde.  When she left, she offered me the chair.  And when someone tried to slip into it before I got up; she told them, "Sorry, I was saving it for her, my friend."

Isn't that a nice story.  And it was all because of you.  Your spiritual energy shined through me and onto her.  You are powerful.   In the presence of negativity, your love is mitigating.  You affect positive change.  And like that woman, the tide will change for you too.  It is already: you will soon get everything that was taken from you times 100,002. Everything will be stupendous to suggest anything else would be utterly preposterous. :-)

Your love is coming, open up and embrace it, keep it flowing...


Wednesday, September 1, 2010


My good friend/bro in law, the aptly named Godhead the General, is a trailblazer in the underground hip hop scene.  I went to a couple of ciphers years ago and though I enjoyed them, it wasn't really my thing.  My sis called me a chicken head and I was like okay, "cheep, cheep."  She asked what happened to me.  I used to be like her, a real head.  But scouring college radios and hanging around the underground looking for real hip hop was no longer a priority for me like it was back in the day.  I no longer lived and breathed it, I just consumed it; therefore I would take what I could get.  I was in the mental state of who cares about the lyrics just give me a hot beat--something to shake my ass, I'm not trying to learn, for that I'll sit in class.  Boy, was I ignorant and my life reflected it: no substance, all image. 

Now this was about five or so years ago and while mainstream hip hop back then was not at its peak, it has declined even further.  The shit out right now is beyond weak--it's pathetic, there is absolutely no lyrical: abysmal.  I've recently started writing and now I pay extra special attention to the words used.  Music is not just to dance to, the original intent was to send a message.  The beat is a vehicle to drive the words past your conscious state.  After awhile you just don't hear the words, you unconsciously absorb them, digest them and then you are them in your head.  But not in reality, because while you're spending money you don't have trying to emulate what you see; these so-called MCs on TV are getting it for free.  They might not even be getting it at all, what they portray is often rented, or the IRS is calling--they are overextended.

Now here are some links to REAL HIP HOP.  Hip hop is an art form.  It's poetry.  It sends a message of life: the story of the soul evoked from the depth of the lyricist's being to connect all that listen in a circle of Truth, Honor, Originality and Realism.  It's only with these four components can we collectively raise our consciousness and transcend, not just pretend.

Expand your mind, open up your heart and just  listen. We can all relate, so let's all connect.

Thor Takeover: http://www.thortakeoverrecords.com/fr_home.cfm

Soundbwoikillaz: www.soundbwoikillaz.com

MagnumO: http://www.myspace.com/60683144

Hustle N. Flow 2.0 : http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/HUSTLE-N-FLOW-20/260232668459?ref=nf

Everybody comment and add your link: share your truth, share your vision, share your love.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010


Now I know I should change your name from 3MB.  Instead your name needs to be IEB.  The I for infinity the E for eternity.  But I like 3MB, it serves as a reminder: what you got going on now is so little of what you can potentially conceive.  Your potential is exponential and my pussy I mean my love will be instrumental.   Baby, I gotta tell you that I'm really feeling you.  When I close my eyes and grip my legs tight that's when I can still feel you   When you fucked me twisted sideways last night that's when I could really feel you.  I think that's our new favorite position.  We work so well together when we compromise.  You get to hit it from the back and I get to watch you when you cum.  I like the face you make.  Bite your lower lip. Damn, I know the feeling. Yea, that face.  Are you ready tonight to make another face?  No more vodka, let's get some henny skip the chase.  We've only known each other for a little over a week but it seems way longer than that--at least twelve days.  It's been 20 hours of sex done in 10 different ways, a couple hours of conversation between each lay.  We've bonded, we're good, if I don't hit you back--I lost my phone, come ring bell #2.  Who cares what this is?  It is what it is.  And it's more than good.  Who cares about the past?  That shit is over.  We about to blast.  Like when you pop off.  After I suck and ride til we get our rocks off.  Next year.  Everything is gonna be diamond: IF D color clear. I can't wait.  It's getting late. I'm about to take a shower. And get ready for you to give it to me daddy.  Gonna get dressed in something special.  If you liked what I had on last night.  Wait til you see me.  You gonna be singing, "There goes my baby.  Ooo girl, look at you."  No, look at you.  I see you.  Body right from the gym after getting on your L. Ferrig. Damn you my nig.  This is crazy. Hot and wet and we ain't even done nothing yet.  I got another hour left.  Hurry up. We need to make a tape. The shit is so...yo...even with my vocab I can't even properly articulate.  Can you relate?  I wish I could show you.  But I won't.  But tune in tomorrow, I can't show but I can tell.  Hope your night ends well.  'Cause mine will.   Yup!

Monday, August 30, 2010


Immigrate legally and pay your taxes or go home.  Please don't come with the lame: they take jobs nobody wants. I will pull out my old Economics Labor textbook and slam you on your head with it.  I don't want to hear about Columbus either and what land used to belong to whom.  People keep claiming other racial groups need to get over past transgressions and you should too.  I do believe the immigration laws are racially biased and that needs to stop.  Instead of arguing emotionally focus on reform.  My mouth will be agape if I get a pathos free, logically constructed opposing comment.

Sunday, August 29, 2010


Who wants one?  I have about two years of experience and my accuracy to those who have allowed me to read for them has been proclaimed uncanny.  I can't back up that claim, I just try to do my best.  I take breaks from reading but lately the spirit has been calling me.  If you want a reading hit me up for further information @ twylanonsequitur@gmail.com or message me on Facebook.  Please don't ask questions that require specific names, or questions about your health or finances.  There are experts for those: psychics, doctors and financial advisers.  I am none of them but what I am able to do is predict a reasonable outcome by reading the energies surrounding a particular event.

The only fee I am charging is for you to give feedback on your reading by commenting on this post.  You can post anonymously and say what you feel: that was helpful or wow you suck.  

Please allow approximately 24 hours for a response.


One of my favorite Facebook friends posed the question: Have you ever told someone all of your deep dark secrets?  Well, I don't have any deep dark secrets.  I have deep dark thoughts but I am too lazy and tired to act on them.  People love to tell me their deep dark secrets.  I'm not talking petty stuff either.  I believe it's because they are subconsciously picking up on my deep dark thoughts and feel they found in me a kindred spirit.  But, I'm not.  While I am egging you to go on, my nose is wrinkled up at your stories.  I love to hear your stories, but at the same time I hate them too.  It's both fascinating and frightening to realize there are people like you in this world .  I wish I could stop the world and let you off.


One of my favorite posters alerted me to a new scam originating from Nigeria: Romance Scams.  Nigerian men obtain pictures of attractive men and women and troll the internet on the search for victims.  Their purpose is to win your heart and help you depart with some cash.   Dateline did an investigation on this Nigerian man who bilked this guy out of 44K while purporting to be a white model named Wendy.  The Nigerian found this idiot in a chat room and proceeded to romance him with fake pictures, and e-mails written in poorly constructed, non-coherent sentences.  I guess the English didn't matter, as long as the Nigerian wrote the words sex and breasts, he was understood.  The man was married and was ready to dump his wife for this sexy new piece.  Too bad, the sexy white model was a thirty something Nigerian man.  Lmao, he got what he deserved.

Yes, they are con artists.  Yes, they are predators.  And yes, they are hilarious.  If you fall for these silly men you are not a victim you are an accomplice.  You are bored and they want your money.  Sounds to me like free trade.  The stories they tell are ridiculous.  Use your brain. Why would a white female model be stranded in Nigeria?  How come every time this woman is supposed to visit you she mysteriously gets into an accident and needs you to wire her thousands of dollars?  I just don't even see how what they do is illegal.  There should be no prosecution and justice for the stupid.

I remember years ago there was this guy who liked me.  He called me one day all excited about this money making opportunity he stumbled upon.  The deal was so sweet, and because he cared about me; he told me he would let me in. He met me at the gym to pitch the idea, and thrust in front of me with pride what he called an official document.  It was an e-mail asking him to send his name, social security and bank account number to the Vice Chancellor of Nigeria to free Princess Zamunda and her million dollars.  Poor Princess Zamunda was being held captive in Ghana and needed his help.  In exchange for his assistance, he would be handsomely rewarded.  All he had to do was set up twenty bank accounts for them to send the money.  The process was simple: open up the accounts and send the bank cards and information to them.  That was all that was needed to be done on his end.   After they freed the Princess and her money, for his help he would receive 10%--100,000 dollars.   When he showed me the e-mail, he scared me.  I thought he was trying to kill me.  I thought he was the one who typed up that e-mail and he was trying to do me in.  But he showed me further correspondence and I realized he was a clown.  Even though nothing this so-called Vice Chancellor of Nigeria wrote to him made sense, this guy believed he was corresponding with this power diplomatic official, who needed help from little old him.  The Vice Chancellor told him that he was very smart and if they were successful in this venture, there would be many more to come.   I told the guy you might want to investigate this further, it seems a little suspect, no?  Is there even really a Princess Zamunda?  Why don't you google her?  He said, no--I am smart and I can do this.  He was offended by my suggestion.  Well, okay. You do that.  My good deed was done.

I don't know what happened to that guy and I don't care.  He should have known better.  All of you should know better.  It's your own greed and ego that causes you to be scammed, don't blame it on the Nigerians.

More laughs here:

Saturday, August 28, 2010


You asked me about part three.  And though I could talk about Thursday and how we did it, I'm ready to move on to another part of our story.  Yea, it was stupendous; the attraction between us is momentous, that part of us is consistent, now let's see where else we can go and to what distance.  I see you are a teacher and you have made a lesson plan for me.  I have tests that I must pass, an incorrect response to one of your fictitious scenarios will fail me.  I could do that too, and we can both play charades without a clue.  How does that sound?  Keep them coming if it's cool.  Now I have no plans for us.  But I can't help it, like you said I am always thinking.  I'm too hot to play it cool, too fast to play it slow, too focused to just see where it goes.  But I have no plans.  I need you to alleviate my cognitive dissonance.  Whatever you want will be met with no resistance.  So I'll mark this to be continued.  You tell the story and I'll transcribe it...


Someone asked me why I didn't have any friends from elementary school and the like as Facebook friends.  I did originally think about searching for some and adding them, but after I saw their picture I thought, "Who cares?"  I haven't seen them for years and whatever memories I've had of them have long faded.  If they were that important to my life, I wouldn't have to search for them; they'd be already here.  I don't want to surround myself with dead weight, I gotta keep it light to keep it moving.  I don't need a whole bunch of superfluous people around me, just good friends.  I've had a lot of friends in life, most were for the proverbial: season and reason.  I had good times with them, but there are very few people I would consider a good friend.  A good friend to me is someone you can build with.  If we don't have any common goals or interests, we can associate, but you can't be a good friend.  A good friend to me is someone you can grow with.  If we have been having the same conversation for ten years--I'll still consider you cool peoples, but you can't be a good friend.  A good friend to me is someone who is stable.  If you are one way on Saturday and another way we get around your friend Jay--I'll see you next Saturday, that's what's up, but you can't be a good friend.  A good friend is someone when you are with them there is no ego.  If I have to front and compete; I'd rather throw up the peace sign and retreat.  I can go on ad infinitum, but I'd prefer to keep it to the point.  I'm really just giving you me, the same way you are giving me you.  I see everything.  If you have questions about our friendship, you don't have to dissect me, just look at you.  You'll see everything.

Shout out to all my Good Friends.  I'd be happy if that list only contained me, because I see you.


I have a good friend named Mike and he is a magician.  Not an illusionist like David Blaine or Crys Angel but a real live magician--if he speaks it, it exists, if he thinks it, it exists.  The frequency of these occurrences are uncanny, he's not a student of the New Age--I doubt he's read The Secret or cares about the Law of Attraction.  Those books filled with terminology, he doesn't need them.  What could they teach him? He has real power.  I'm dead serious, he could charge by the hour.  Let me tell you, what you work for, he just gets.  He told me he was retiring at a ridiculously young age and I laughed.  He barely worked enough to retire from anything but somehow he did.  I've also seen his life take some crazy turns, and he said and thought those turns too.  I watch him think and speak into existence the construction, and then I sit back and watch him map out the destruction.  I know you had something to do with what happened to that lady whose name sounds like a drink.  Not directly, but there was probably a correlation between what happened to her and what you were thinking.  What a waste of time, you have to control those energies.  Let me do that for you.

Here is something to focus on: THINK AND SPEAK US RICH.

Thursday, August 26, 2010


My anticipation of a good lay was willed into fruition earlier today by the three minute hour brother: this is the remix. Yo, Check it:  When I met you baby it was crazy.  You were talking but I wasn't hearing what you saying.  All I could think of was you on top of me and me on top of you. And what we were gonna do.  The first time popped off a minute after we said, "Hi."  I was planning to go the good girl route but that would have been a lie. Good Girl, Bad Girl, fuck them both if I played by the rules, I would have been a Sad Girl. Give me a second to get sappy--I gotta tell you: your smile makes me happy, pappy.  I love your body, you a hottie. We here and we ready.  C'mon, let's go.  I knew what I wanted--no need for fronting, I'm flexible but not up for stunting.  Two years reset in 60 seconds.  You were in me before I knew what was coming.  Yea, you came quick, but I did too the moment I backed up on the dick. Did you feel it?  I get wet enough ain't no need for spit.  I can't believe this shit.  It's so intense: can you handle it? Yea, you did.  Time fast forwarding in slow motion.  It's possible I was wrong.  The sex was still good enough to warrant my first song.  I love the way I can make you cum with a kiss.  I understand you finishing soon ain't a diss.  I knew if we slowed it down you could do this.  No need to rush, babe, we can ease into this.  Love ain't going nowhere--to get it, you just gotta send me a text message. Let me know when you around the way, I'll hit you back, "K."  Three hours, three minutes, it's all the same when you don't want something to finish.  And last night I was finished.  I was done on the bed, over in the shower.  I hit the wall gripping the wall as you were tearing up my walls.  Can I tell you something? Listen: You the fucking best.  My favorites are the hickeys on my chest. You nailed it, killed it, beat it up and split it.  Then mended it, I surrendered it.  Did you feel it heat up when you said let's tantric it?  I read about it, wrote about it, but until you I didn't know nothing about it.  The sex was magickal.  We cast a spell, now let's make a wish: MUTHAFUCKAS WE RICH. Yup!  I died and was born again twisted up in love stained sheets.  I knew we had the beat, all that was missing was a two part harmony.  Take that. Take that. Yea, I'll say your name: MM, baby, that was the remix.

And tomorrow you better wake up to go running.  Operation Upgrade, let's keep it coming.

Non Sequitur718

Wednesday, August 25, 2010


Nine years ago the world lost an angel. Her passing will be one commemorated with the question, "Where were you when you heard?", as it is with all of the greats. I was sleeping on my couch with the news on, the words delivering the message of her untimely passing floated through my subconscious--their meaning so unreal, they woke me up from a dream. I remember thinking, it couldn't be, it must have been a dream within a dream and what could it mean? I immediately called a friend who confirmed the sad news; I grieved. Grieved for her as I would a beloved family member or friend, for though I never knew her, baby girl was a friend in my head. I admired her music, her style and that beautiful hair. She was beautiful: gentle, tangible, and multifaceted. Unlike the cookie cutter pop stars of today, she was human. And though many will try to emulate, no one will ever come close--for the energy that was her is not one that can be contrived or duplicated. I remember you today, my dark angel, gone from us who are here now, yet right here just the same.

RIP Aaliyah, We miss you.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010


One of my favorite posters asked me to comment on this topic a couple of weeks ago in relation to the church.  As a non-church-goer, I can't speak with authority from that perspective but as a black woman I can comment on this topic in general.  What prompted me to revisit this topic was an ad on my sidebar on Facebook.  It was for an e-book entitled, SHE'S A HOT MESS: WHY 70% of BLACK WOMEN ARE SINGLE.  As part of that percentage, the title did pique my interest.  I read the teaser and the not quite historically correct lesson that was given.  The atrocities stated were real but please death to the Willie Lynch fable. 

I will say, I do think "SHE'S A HOT MESS" is a misnomer, the problem lies with the men.  I love black men, really I do.  Even when I say I'm going to "date out" it's with you I find the most comfort.  In the company of black men I feel completed, you get me--no explanation needed.   But y'all are so damn  trifling complicated.  Why do I have to worry about how many baby mommas you are hiding, or is that woman I suspect you are creeping with really a guy? 

Seriously the DL lifestyle has to end.  It's 2010 no need to pretend.  Case in point:

This picture was sent to me by my #1poster, it was featured on a popular entertainment blog.  By the body language, I assumed the men were gay, no big deal, but to my surprise these men wrote in to proclaim they were straight.  C'mon son, who you fooling?  Not me, maybe you.  Not only is there a large number of black men that are sexually duplicitous, the man on man sex they partake in is usually unsafe.  I'll be unPC and say I do feel that you are the reason for the burgeoning African American HIV rate.

If you like men or trannies, then just be real and say it.  It's better to live, if I find out about either one--I'm going to kill you anyway.  There are women who are open to bi/gay men, leave me alone and go find one: no negative judgement for you, but for me--I judge and deem it as not my thing.

Now I hear the new thing is open marriages.  If my husband and I are going to date, I'd rather stay single.  I'm going to get married, to finally end the whole meat market charade that is the dating game, just to be put back on the track with my postnatal body--no thanks.  I'd rather get divorced and do that.  Like I'm going to answer the phone and say to my man, "Honey, telephone. It's your girlfriend, Sheila."

They say monogamy is not natural, says who?  I used to say that too; it was a comforting excuse.  There are some committed men, I say it and for me there will be.  If you don't believe it, I can't speak for you.

I would like to know what is the mentality behind open marriages? Please don't reference animals, they exist on instinct, your mental capacity allows you a greater ability to reason and think.  Higher Reasoning: Use it or Get Screwed By It.  Society as it exists today can't economically support multiple wives and kids for most.  You do know polygamous societies call for the man to be financially responsible for each household?  It's not just about the right to put it in a different hole each night.  I'll be damn if money is taken out of my kid's mouth to give to the next, yup, I'll say it: bitch.  I don't want to hear how devolved and prudish I am, and how can I comment--I don't even have a man.  Well from what you are saying, I can have yours too.  So what do you really have, to me: someone common and openly shared--nothing special.

Back to my black men: I know many of you didn't have a positive male role model growing up and I understand, me too.  But just show me what you need from a woman; I'll be that.  I'll show you what I need from a man; you be that.  We might not of had examples but if we come together for each other; we'll be that.

To the lucky fathers: be a father to your child, your child is a reflection of you--gaze at that reflection with love and pride.  Remember you will be old someday too, you will want someone to return the favor: feeding you apple sauce and wiping up your drool. 

To the women: get your priorities straight: looks and swag don't make a good mate.  I like them too but if they exist on your list, they should be on the lowest end.  Don't turn down a good man because he isn't "fine", dresses a certain way or doesn't speak the latest slang.

#1 Priorities for me: Good Character, Compatible Personality and the ability to provide.  Yes, money is non negotiable.  I'm on my way to get mine, you should have already or have a plan to get yours.  I don't eat ramen noodles, only organic food.

So that's my take.  Comments Please: Do you agree?  Disagree?  And what did I miss?