1 understanding= the possibility of infinite understanding

(no subject)
Remember when we were children?
Remember when were friends?
We'd draw and draw for hours
Our pencils tracing infinite possibility
I would draw a man
you would draw a woman
distinct identities at the very ends of a pink and blue color spectrum
one wore a triangle the other wore pants
clothing concealed no sex
do you ever feel compelled to ask
Whats that under her triangle is she anatomically correct?
i never asked why his pants did not bulge or if his rectangular shirt concealed breasts
back then things were different before life erased our innocence
and stick line like limbs became borders not to cross
before vaginas and penises held the bulk of our identities
before friendship became contingent on breasts and flat chats
before you saw rectangles and triangles on bathroom stalls
as images sacred enough to berate and kill for
and before we were both forced to forge our identities from the truths of our broken friendship
Yes long before march 16th in underground atlanta when you banged on my bathroom stall, demanded to know what i pissed with, and decided to punish and embarass me for it
before you confused the authority you felt because of the dick between your legs with the power of your security badge
before you murdered Jordy Jones in 1994 and called him a cross-dresser in the local paper
and I hated you for it but could do nothing
Before you marched and sang with me in protests for glbt equality

Underground Atlanta Tuesday 10:26
at approximately 8:30 pm
I went into the females restroom in underground atlanta
I heard what I thought was an officer yelling hey sir hey sir
I did not know he was talking to me by the time he said hey you in the grey shirt i was already in the stall with my pants down
he jiggled the door and said do i have to raise this door up and pull you out of there
I was really scared and felt very threatened and I had flashbacks of my sexual abuse. I was shaking at this point when I said "I am taking a piss" after I was done I went to wash my hands he said "Are you male or female?" I did not have to answer that question I remained silent I asked if he was an APD officer and if so what his name and badge number is he said he was a security officer and this is private property a crowd had begun to form they asked questions such as "did he go into the girls bathroom?" "did this nigga go into the girls bathroom? what the fuck" The security guard said "yes" and continued to "ask are you male or female" Then one of the guys in the crowd asked the officer "Do you want me to beat his ass" the officer said "Nah slim" I asked to speak to the officer's supervisor I was so scared at this point and felt like the mob was angry the officer went to the mens room where chris now was he got chris he had me by my arm and my bag i asked him to let me go he refused the first time I said "I will follow you, and I could walk by myself" he let my arm go and took me to the booth where he started to talk to the unnamed officer. I asked the unnamed officer who I thought was the supervisor why this was happening the unnamed officer said "I don't know ask him" he pointed at B. Boyd the supervisor came and started talking asking b.boyd what is going on he asked for my id and I picked up my bag one officer started talking to me i don't remember what he said and the supervisor asked for my ID again. I was no longer distracted so I gave the supervisor my ID i was very scared and near tears one unnamed officer in the booth made comments like "do you have a dick?" "do you have a vagina between your legs?" the supervisor said nothing. He said you are a Georgia State Student right? A panther. You know better than to go into a women's restroom.
the named officers were b.boyd and captain g. livingston unnamed officer was in the booth but came out and started to question us also.
I also remembered that the bystanders all male talked to b. boyd as if he were there friend stating whats up black? I also remember that as he was accosting my friend and i a man walked out of the restroom with a blunt in his ear.

I remember stating that i was outraged and I only talked to Chris
I asked the officer why he was doing this?
Could I speak to his supervisor?
When he grabbed my arm and my bag I said
"I do not consent to a search"
when he asked me what my gender was I said I did not have to divulge that information to him

I did not want to divulge my gender at the time because it was a threatening situation a guy said he would assault me and there were multiple guys there with the man who threatened me which put me in a scary situation in which I felt my safety was in danger.

The supervisor said in order to file a complaint i would have to wait till after nine oclock tomorrow.

A Jazzy Walk Home
As I was walking down the crooked path to my home-experiencing the vast variety of sensations each one evoking a memory and a feeling that I can't place-I was inspired to write this journal. In my head the whimsical sound of Dead Can Dance spun golden thread around each sensation. The simultaneous squish of mud and crunch of leaves against the bottom of my shoes, the scent of the rain mixed with the memory of season's past, and the simple act of walking avoiding muddy and slippery(yet longing for the wonder and the laughter a mere slip would incite as a child) seemed to be enough in those moments to shatter my heart into a thousand or more pieces. I experienced a longing like no other.

Nostalgia seems to be the best word for this experience, this constant experience that takes over me and breaks my heart a thousand times a spring day. However, I would compare it to listening to soft, somber, or sentimental jazz melodies. Yes it is exactly like an instrumental that encompasses every delicate feeling without saying a word. Instead, letting notes trigger emotions just like the scent of the rain and the squish of the mud triggered memories of childhood innocence, love, and wonder. Exactly like the sound of two scuffling squirrels inches away from filled me with awe and fright at once. Each snap shot, each note in the symphony of my walk home reminded me of a different jazz peace whether it be Miles Davis's It Never Entered my Mind, Or Coltrane's Naima or In a Sentimental Mood.

Oh how a part of me longs for the simplicity of child hood and the wonder of learning a new thing. Maybe it was my obliviousness towards life's infinite pattern that made each sensation so intense. The first time I noticed the scent of the rain, the first time I longed for someone, the first time my heart had been broken, the first time I felt alone, the first time I played in the rain or danced without feeling dirty, and the only times I did not have a personal reference point for these experiences were all evoked by the mere drizzle that fell during my walk home. I actually enjoyed it walking extra slow allowing the blocks to my house to morph into memory lane. I took on a new adult persona as time traveler. In those moments on my walk home I traveled a path to my childhood,my heart home, and the resting place of every youthful excitement, dream, scheme, plan, epiphany, and experience inspired by spring rain, nurtured by innocence, and facilitated by curiosity. Yet, in the afterglow of my golden moment i experience a new sensation called bitter sweet. Bitter sweet is what thoughts of my walk home evoke because I can only travel to my heart home in my mind for I am no longer curious, no longer innocent, and no longer a child.

Once again i am grateful to energy for its abundance and fairness. I have acquired some knowledge today. I will address each and then explain.

1. Freedom is not a familiar place for those who live in institutional societies.
2.For those who encounter it in such societies; even in its sheer rarity and profoundness; it can be experienced as the double negative. The freedom to experience life on one's own terms can become the prison of creating terms that were not founded on the laws of your imprisoners.

How can I break the chains of opression if my very thoughts opress the definition and existence of freedom? If I created my definition of freedom in a society that is built on and perpetuated by opression do I have it all wrong?

It is difficult to define a word without using one single solitary synonym.


First I'd like to give honor to the everlasting abundance that is energy for charging my electrons with this wisdom that propels me to infinite understanding. I have learned two important lessons that must be analyzed in depth. As I become older and more fruitful- this age twenty does not quite ripen the vine-I am young yet growing into maturity. Maturity, unbeautifully, hangs like loose skin on those who have not quite grown into it. I believe that maturity is there through hand-me-down understanding by a certain youthful age. However, it can not be utilized properly until time breeds understanding or experience leads to revelation, recognition, and epiphany. Time is the dictator of one's age but energy- life beads that pearl in strands encapsulating that which is knowledge- are truly the only distributors of wisdom.
What is wisdom then? Wisdom is the ornament, the jewel that sets the beauty and purpose of the tapestry free, increasing its aestetic value without changing its appearance. Wisdom is what one gains in footsteps , tastes, the swift or slow motion, the touches that feed the senses information as to the texture, the value, or the impact of a thing thus generating signature appropriate emotions. Wisdom is the secret to be deciphered in ripples of water. It is the honey truths and the salt ones. It is in the learned eye that does not refrain, the ear that hath heard, and the heart-mind that has understood and/or admitted otherwise.
That in an abstract word is wisdom. That is the shard of the mirror once broken now in place to reflect the entire tapestry that is us back at ourselves and challenge with a view that is more accurate than the description or the foggy visual of a mind that without that shard in place would only have a fragmented picture. In reflecting us we reflect the world as it is and ever was. In understanding that reflection the one that is you or I creates the possibility of infinite understanding through the sharing of knowledge on the collective consciousness of mankind.

This day dreamer is quite lucky indeed
I have the sweetest honey bee to pollinate my fantasies
your dark eyes and supple skin are a form of ecstasy
molasses skin and long dark hair breed cocoa harmony
sinews of syrup colored hues drive lightning bolts down my spine electrifying my desire to a higher degree
creating ripples in the waters of time's endless sea on which i float searching for someway to capture forever
maybe in your kiss, maybe in your touch, maybe in your smile.

The End
One by one they walk toward the sun none blinking a closed third eye
a gust of wind whispers a quiet sin but no inner voice replies
the feet march on till morning dies and fall comes to an end
the season changes not a one recoils, taking no measure to toughen the skin
the rivers turn red as the murdered they've bled, but those accustomed still deign to drink
and among the flowers that grow near their towers up rises a foul stink
Comes ye those contrary to warn in mad furry those who live by folly and lie
but no living dead so much as hangs their head for they have willingly chosen to die.

beautiful eyes

your eyes are oceans of mahogany consciousness beautiful eyes
tell me tales of cotton gins and high raised sails long expanses of pain sleeping on crooked nails
yet love prevails in your beautiful eyes
Oh how i wish i could taste each tear that falls reminiscent of the salt water oceans you have traveled on
deep into the caves of the worlds very heart and
out of the pits of its deepest fears
your beautiful eyes behold a world that both adores you and finds you abhorrent
for who are
it is amazed at what it will never be again fearful of what it does not understand
and leery of what it can not destroy with the works of its hand
if only i could lock you in my beholding gaze
with my eyes i distinguish a title for you "Beauty is your name"

(no subject)
Toss me higher daddy
I will raise my hands
raise and grasp for life its self
Toss me higher daddy
up up up!
Big blue heaven is High above the tattered streets
and inebriated men's eyes that resemble shattered glass
reflecting their abstract interpretations of life
Big blue heaven is God's mural the paint never chips and the names of the fallen are spray painted in invisible ink
Toss me Higher daddy
where my tiny toes can't touch the blood thirsty streets
UP UP Daddy!
Where syringes are not the only injectors of insurmountable pleasures
Where dope is not the superlative
beyond where sky scrapers can reach
beyond where abandoned high rises drape their ominous shadows,
beyond the broken houses
of yellow eyed women, who wear tight dusty dresses, with worn beckoning smiles, and turn small pebbles into smoke
Toss me higher daddy into the only place where my vulnerability is not a crime
Toss me as high as you possibly can
but remember to catch me, clutch me tight, and kiss my tight clutched fingers
because the concrete's cracks are like gaping jaws
and the belly of the beast has a special affinity to little ones
whose tiny hands are peppered with pieces of a heaven assembled in protection of their innocence

Two mini posts
I feel like there is an unrelentless sickness swimming in my brain. A sickness caused by words that hang under the tongue or lodged in the tiny space where the tongue meets the teeth when it is bitten. Words that fester and blister my tongue hot with the passion and anger that was meant for them until the words hurt me and no one else.

I screamed. I AM ANGRY! I shouted. It was the first time i had been honest in months. I was possibly the first time in years any sentence had been absent of even a single solitary lie. I am angry with myself, my life, and my choices. I have come to realize that now is the time to change to correct my choices.

Because a Man Committed Suicide
I was forced to evaluate my life and what I am living for. Unfortunately, I was left not knowing after evaluation. You see, after i stripped away the material things that bring me fleeting joy i was left love, happiness,inspiration, and compassion. Those things are perfectly beautiful in their nature. These are things that can be shared universally and yet I sometimes feel as if I experience them alone.
I found myself crying and begging God to have mercy on him because I know how agony feels. Mental agony and or pain is the strongest illusion. It can make you see nothing but it. It can make you weak and be more crippling than a physical disability if you let it. It can send you falling through waves of depression and drown you in tears that choke you and suffocate your consciousness. Yet, it can make you so confused that you hide it and protect it. As a christian I know that suicide results in death of soul and eternal damnation in hell. In life this young man suffered so much that he could barely stand his pain. I asked myself if God was fair. All these thoughts and more because a man committed suicide.

So why am I happy today? I dropped out of highschool and as a result was filled with a sense of inadequacy. I felt stupid. Yet, I ran away to college because my dad is a drunk, my mom is an enabler, and my house is filled with roaches and mice.
I lied to everyone about my life because I was ashamed of the unglorified roots that i had grown from. My family treated me as though i was a barren tree. They chopped me down constantly. I ran away and began to measure my worth in my education, my talent, my skills, and my looks. I am not a looker. so all i have left is a miniscule amount of education, talent, and skills. I will probably delete this post. The point of this paragraph is not a pitty party. I just realize that the pain I have felt in my life is too heavy to be erased by the flimsy things that cause me fleeting joy. I can not carry their weight. I can only float them on a river of hope and pray a waterfall of time corrodes them away.

I can live for nothing. I will only live. I will take joy in today, and today, and today, and realize that tomorrow is only a possibility. Tomorrow is not a fact, or a promise. I only have right now. I won't drown myself in tears but I will bathe in them, letting the water release me from my pain. I will sink my shoulders wrap my arms around myself,hug myself, and kiss my shoulders. I will sing to the sky instead of crying to it. I will hurt and realize that just like a cut or a scrape it is my mind telling me something is wrong. I will adress the causes of my pain and live rather than die as the minutes and hours do.

I wish that man had not committed suicide. I don't know why he did it. In fact, I think why is irrelevant. I don't know how he lived but he spoke kindness to me.

His name was Hashim. His name meant "crusher of evil". I wonder why he was so mislead by the notion that he had to crush himself.


Log in