untitled

I'm a mental midget.

This whole time, both you and I have both been under false pretenses my friends.

So much is made of intellect and wit, yet they have no real function in life.

They are character traits, things that we all have different amounts of, or for an unfortunate few, none at all.

I can't even fucking think straight.

When you find out you're bi-polar, you realize you had NO idea what that shit really meant.

On top of that, having to tell people that you're the bad iRobot is unbelievably embarrassing.

Especially the people who love you and have known you for a while, as they recall things that have happened and begin their justification process instantly.

"itallmakessensenow" "sothatswhy" "itsokthough" "thisisnttheenditsthebeginning"

And then, you have to admit to them that you know you're fucked up in the head now, and you're now also aware that you were fucked up in the head then too, but you didn't know that then.

And even though you know now, you don't feel like apologizing for EVERYTHING is right, because if it felt natural at the time, then surely that was you at least SOME of the time and not some fucked up in the head version of you.

The small amount of pride I have left won't let me play the One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest card to sweep all the foul shit I've ever done under this rug, even though that's what I'm being encouraged to do, even by the professionals.

Which is CRAZY, because if you know me, then you know I would LOVE an easy way to get out of anything, especially if I can divert some of the blame away from me just being a fucked up individual.

So I understand why they said I have manic depression too.

How could that shit not depress you until you're maniacal?

LOL

That's some high shit, I bet that's not even really what it means.

But if I don't get high, guess what?

...

I'm motherfucking maniacal.

Ask her.

I digress though...

Is this really what's wrong me really?

Because until somebody told me I was affected by it, I thought it was nonsense.

Now I'm supposed to embrace this fully, and if I don't, I might not get better?

This is like a public fistfight with an imaginary friend.

And the bruises are getting much harder to hide.

Game Over

I'm not gonna write long undercover blogs about her like he is.

He doesn't know who she really is.

I wonder if he's ever wondered why everybody she talks to has a screen name.

Or why she always has on the same t-shirts even though she's been showing him pics that go back 3-5 years.

Or why you can see the tags on her clothes in every pic that's not in a tshirt.

I don't blame him though.

He doesn't know this is what she does, she's addicted to this electronic attention.

Before him it was me, her boyfriend at the time.

Before me it was her boyfriend at the time.

"If she got with you when she already had a man, why wouldn't she cheat on you?"

Mase & 112 sang that over a decade ago.

He's not even the only one, according to her.

He's not the one she phone bones, or gets penis pictures from.

Doesn't stop her from sending those 5 year old body shots though, or those distorted ass face pictures.

She goes to work around humans all day, but talks & types to machines.

She gets off work and spends the rest of her day talking & typing to machines.

He knows the picture of her that she painted herself, but she leaves her contacts in for months so you know she can't see.

She has missed appointments in pursuit of carpal tunnel.

She has chosen to type over eat many many times.

She hasn't been to the doctor since the levees were up.

Wish I could say the same about STDs, there's still a "cold sore that she gets all the time but hasn't had since she met me for some reason" trying to clear up on her lip.

I'm 100% positive she didn't send a pic showing that though.

LOL

I would say "he can have her," but you can't.

You don't even know her yet.

You don't even know about her yet.

It's true she doesn't mind being told that she's wrong, but it's never on her mind that she COULD BE wrong.

She hates her mom, yet acknowledges she's just like her.

Feeling that way about herself, how could she feel about anybody else?

The head is spectacular though, can't take that from her.

Unless the cold sore comes back.

Maybe they're both lonely and looking for the same thing though.

I've learned some of the most serious pain is felt when you try to hold on to something that doesn't want to be held onto.

It's time to grow up, and that means dealing with grown up women that know how to put down their GameBoy when they have something to do.

The Art Of Seduction (a love story)

He's really making me uncomfortable.

I don't know what perverted ass shit he has planned for me either.

You know when you're not at all interested in someone, but they won't stop complimenting you?

Telling you how good you look, how smart you are, how underappreciated you are?

How much they want you?

It's obvious he wants me.

I see him everywhere, staring me right in the face, trying to act like he's not watching.

Closer.

Everytime.

Sometimes in disguises, sometimes in cars,

Sometimes in the parking lot when I'm smoking at 4 AM.

Fuck it, right?

Might as well say something to the nigga, he's always around.

We must have a lot of shit in common, right?

Ha.

Turns out, he's an old friend of the family or something, I wasn't really listening.

Says he's coming back around now, he just wanted to check up on me.

You know.

Make sure I'm "OK."

I'm like, that's all well and good, but FUCK a handshake, I'm not TOUCHING dude.

He says he's hurt.

Then he says

"You always were a pussy."

I take the bait.

How could I not? I'm engaged in the conversation now.

But halfway into my first word before I would have taken my shot at him, I stop cold.

I can't even see his face, but I know he's smiling.

Not even smiling, fucking grinning ear to ear like suburban white high school kids that snuck into a gun show.

He knows how to get to me.

The fuck is this guy?

He tells me everything I want to hear.

I don't cry with laughter though, I cry until I'm just laughing at how absurd this whole shit is.

...

We're walking.

I'm cool now, genuinely smiling and enjoying myself, "high on life" as they say.

And my $1 (one dollar) county prescribed pills of course.

Reminiscing on jerk shit I did to good girls, petty things to shake my family's trust, and dirt done to people that thought I was their friend simply because I can get along with anybody if there's something in it for me.

But you see, amongst friends, these are the things you speak on anyway, and I'm comfortable with him now.

He breaks it all down to me precisely, I think.

I'm begging for it by now though, and he can sense it.

For the first time, Death looks me dead in my eyes.

But I leave him standing there, and he lets me go.

I know he gets his pleasure from the chase.

Money, Cash, Hoes?

To any teenaged black male in 2008 obsessed with the whips and chains that their role model flaunts, the phrase "Money, Cash, Hos" represents the end reward of whatever career path they have already used to strike it rich. That's a far cry from what a teenager in 1708 would think when hearing "Money, Cash, Hoes," as it would represent the whips and chains their role model endured daily. You see, if he had any ambition at all, he would quickly understand how a hoe could bring him cash money.

The business of agriculture flourished following slavery, and it was agriculture that provided the first glimpse of financial success for the enterprising members of black communities back then. Times have changed drastically though, and the collective mentalities of most enterprising members in our communities have followed suit to reflect our surroundings (or vice versa I could argue.) Somehow, industries that have long been dependable avenues for income in our communities are now looked down upon and considered to be beneath us. Lawn services, gardening, landscaping, and various other blue collar jobs hold no appeal to our young people that want to be shiny without sweating. These are opportunities for pure entrepreneurship, and are true black owned businesses that circulate money within our own communities. But we would rather struggle in the A/C than thrive in the sun. I can't be too hypocritical. I mean, it's not like I own a landscaping business myself or anything. It's just baffling to me how misguided some of our most talented minds are. We can concoct all kinds of formulas for combining illegal powders and substances, but don't think we're smart enough to be chemists. We already possess all the skills necessary to become successful business people, we just need to reexamine the application of these skills.

"Money, Cash, Hoes" sums up the essence of the entrepreneurial spirit. It's a phrase that starts with what is desired and ends with the means to get what's desired. In injects the desire for ownership into the hustler's spirit we already possess. As soon as you're old enough to shovel a sidewalk, push a lawnmower, or even clean up your room, you're old enough to become a successful businessman or businesswoman. And when it comes time for college, what do you think about a 17 year old who has 4 years of owning their own leaf raking company to go with his 3.3 GPA and other extra-curriculars? Not to mention the money they've made and presumably saved, relieving some of the financial stress on their parent(s), even if it's just buying their own clothes and snacks. Convicted felons can use the concept behind the phrase to gain their own financial independence, which can lead to fewer repeat offenders, and provide a chance for real rehabilitation, thus strengthening our communities in additional ways.

"Money, Cash, Hoes" is no "I'm black and I'm proud," meaning realistically it can't be adopted by everybody in every location. You also probably don't want your kids running around screaming Jay-Z lyrics as opposed to James Brown either. However, I believe the slogan could have very functional positive effects within our communities, and the accompanying mentality could spread like wildfires through generations to come.

"Ties"

As a 25-year-old black man in current popular culture, I seem to have more ties than the average person in my position would. You see, my father taught me about ties when I was still a boy, so that when I became a man and started assuming ties of my own, I would already know how valuable they are and also how to handle them. Admittedly, as my life progressed through my teens on up through my early 20’s, I lost track of a few, and sadly, some of them were my most valuable ties that were given to me by my friends and family. Others that I kept up with might as well have vanished along with the others due to the way I openly disrespected and mistreated them.

Thankfully though, my father never gave up on me, and to this day, I can count on him for a quality tie, as well as any type of advice on them at a moment’s notice. Unfortunately, many of my peers don’t share that same luxury. I use the word “luxury” warily, because although I find that support system almost necessary, virtually every black male public figure that my generation celebrates achieved financial success without it. However, my father has always been a surrogate father of sorts to others, whether it was kinda/sorta/maybe/shouldabeen coaching my youth league teams or tutoring “underprivileged” youth. And as I’m sure you’ve guessed, when he wasn’t giving dribbling drills or helping breakdown algebra problems, he always made sure to have some time to talk about whatever “ty” was on a kid’s mind at the time.

Now, I’m fully aware most people reading this think I just made a typo, when in reality, not a single line of this has a single thing to do with neckwear. The “ties” I’m referring to constantly are mainly responsibili “ties” and opportuni “ties.” Obviously, difficul ”ties” and other assorted “ties” come into play as well, but it’s the lack of guidance when it comes to those first two that is chewing up our youth. So instead of complaining about the monstrosi “ties” committed by the youth that lead to fatali “ties” of the youth, maybe if we took the time to examine the various adversi “ties” they face on a daily basis we would all be better off and more unified for it.

So, this is a dedication to my pops, and the many, many unsung people like him in our communities. Men. Men that are trying their hardest to “tie” the loose ends of the vast generation gap that runs rampant in our communities. Your work does NOT go unnoticed, and serves to further inspire other young people like myself to become a man, and to continue to teach the Windsor knot to the many generations that lay ahead of us.

I love you pop.

And The Loser Is...

As I sat down to write this, I envisioned the negative feedback that I might receive, but at least then I'd know I struck a nerve. So, on that note, let’s get right into it…

I, PharO, do not give a Michael Richards if Mr. Barack Obama is the next president of the United States of America. In fact, I kind of HOPE he loses. Yeah, I said it! I, mean, think about it. It goes unspoken, but we all know what his presidency would be like anyway. Mr. Obama would be taking the reins after arguably the most controversial and most publicly renounced president in American history, only to BECOME the most controversial and most publicly renounced president in American history. A man whose entire life is built upon the problems he sees and how to solve them would be placed in a position where his biggest problem would undoubtedly be getting people to focus on how he’s dealing with the America’s problems instead of focusing on how America’s having problems dealing with HIM.

Now, allow me to go ahead and ask myself a few questions for you.

“Don’t you think he has taken all of that into consideration already?”
“With all the public finger pointing at the Bush administration already, do you really expect his successor to be unjustly blamed with the problems already in place?”
“Can he even win his party’s nomination fighting for votes with Hillary?”
Umm… Let me think… Oh yeah!
“Is race REALLY still an issue in 20__?”

Obviously, my answer to all these questions is yes. Yours might differ, but those are different discussions, which I would love to have, but are for a different time. So, assuming yes is the answer for all the questions I’ve posed, let’s examine why I’m tooting this guy’s horn ANYWAY.

Oh? You thought this was bashing Mr. Obama? Au contraire, it’s more of an appreciation for what he’s already done. And what has he already done you ask? Simply put, his job. You see I don’t look at Mr. Barack Obama as a Jackie Robinson type figure for politicians of color, instead I see him as more of a Fleet Walker. The first black man to play professional baseball, and though he is not celebrated, and barely remembered at all, Branch Rickey did indeed recall his performance through the circumstances in 1883 and saw the same character in Jackie Robinson. I believe that no matter what praise we give Mr. Obama right now, we won’t even have an idea of his value for 50 years or so, and that number is being extremely generous. And even knowing what he has already accomplished is not even the same as APPRECIATING it. And we should appreciate it, because he himself is not selfish enough to be doing this for some sort of personal glory. He is paving the way for others to follow in his footsteps if they choose to, no matter what sacrifices he might have to make along the way. From Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick in Detroit, Michigan to City Commissioner Andrew Gillum in Tallahassee, Florida, young black men in public office are undoubtedly grateful for the road he’s paving. I need to say right here, that I am not in anyway disrespecting Shirley Chisholm, Jesse Jackson, or Al Sharpton, because I do recognize that they cleared the path for Mr. Obama to pave his road. As my 5th grade teacher Ms. Peters would have said, they cleared the sticks and stones that might have broken Mr. Obama’s bones along the way. However, what Obama is currently doing that hasn’t been done before is carrying the burden of proof in the Peeping Tom fishbowl that is American culture today.
Proof of what you ask? Proof that a man of color possesses more than the necessary aptitude to run this country, even if he’s not selected to do so. Proof that not all of us are scared to speak up about changes that need to be made, and even more significantly, we aren’t afraid to take action either. Proof that ALL people that resemble Mr. Obama in any fashion need to be taken seriously when we have something to say, because any and all of us might have the spirit to do something about it. All people of color owe Mr. Obama a debt of gratitude for being brave and determined enough to put himself out there and catch wreck for the over stereotyped shortcomings we ALL have, in an effort to make life a little bit better for us. So, here’s a thank you from me. And believe me, if I weren’t a convicted felon living in Florida, I damn sure would vote for you sir. But, that’s a totally different subject we’ll touch on another day, so maybe I should end this now…

I won't let me out.

Yup, that's a mugshot.

Locked up once a-motherfucking-gain.

Arrested Tuesday, February 26, 2008 for driving with a suspended license.

I could get into all that "they tryna hold a nigga down" shit, but what will that solve really?

The biggest problem I have with this whole situation is myself.

For some reason, I can't get out of my way.

My family doesn't know why (they don't fuck with me anymore), my friends don't know why (they don't fuck with me anymore), shrinks don't know why (I don't fuck with them anymore), the people at the mental hospital don't know why (they don't fuck with me anymore), and most/least importantly, I don't even know why (I don't fuck with me anymore.)

The depression has killed me.

Before Tuesday, I couldn't control my emotions.

Now, I have none.

The crazy shit is, I was told the charges would be dropped, and that's the least of my worries.

Remember what I said about my family?

They shun me like I'm a murderer, like I'm harming people, like I'm the sorriest excuse for a man on Earth.

I tell them everything I do is to try and make them proud of me again, and I can see their eyes roll over the phone.

I don't give a shit about money (obviously), I have my own personal goals, but in all honesty, I don't give a shit about those either.

The people that serve as my most important source of drive have become my biggest source of depression.

We talk, but we don't communicate.

How is it that the people that understand me the least are the people who brought me into this world?

I think they have a hard time hearing what I say over what they think I'm gonna say.

So.

Now, as a broken man, I'm expected to get up and go make my life right.

But for what?

Nothing is worth having if I can't share with my family.

Nevermind the fact that nobody can find a job anywhere in America, nevermind the fact I'm a convicted felon in Florida, just go out and force someone to hire me.

But shit, even $100K a year and no love from my family won't make me happy.

My life feels worthless, and not worth living.

But I think that feeling is false, so I'll keep on pushing until I find out one way or the other.

It's wild to lose your mind and be conscious of it happening while it's going on.

Some of the harmful thoughts I have make me laugh once I wipe the tears away.

Simply because I know it's not really me that's thinking those things.

Then again, I haven't really been me in years...

This will be good next time, I promise.