Writer's Block

Sitting here watching a flashing cursor: my new heart beat. Patiently wondering what will all this writing stuff do in the end. There are many possibilities for these words. With the right subject matter, these words could heal, entertain, or simply take someone away from their "right now". These words are the slow turn of the faucet allowing me to water the Earth with re-edited gibberish and ether-like essence. These words are my seeds blown into the wind. These words complete and begin my life's breathing process. I have taken the world in..now I give it back. 

Like a hunter, I wait for the profound thought. It knows that I am waiting and stands just outside of my gaze. I pass the time checking vocabulary and sharpening my wit. I am now in search of my white whale. But unlike the novel, I am not to be obsessed. My thoughts will be a calm and steady breeze for my words.

And while I wait for my prize, my mind wonders and the controversial and risqué take the stage. It's something like a minstrel show. They smear my canvass with rogue and flip the back of their dress to the crowd. I am an audience of one. Racism bounces about the stage elbowing and chasing the spotlight that splashes the cast with cruelty and selfishness. Sex is near the rear curtains. I can't clearly see, but no good is the prognosis. Tiny hypocrites scream with terror and run for their lives as racism stomps down on the stage with heavy feet. Each of the tiny ones have names and I laugh because they have created the monster they now run from. The only thing that's missing is black face. 

My white whale appears and revelry is replaced with the steady hum of the refrigerator. Nothing is moving except for me and my prey. As I move in closer my fingers prepare the snare. The trap is set off and the chase begins. I will write until I tire out thought. It will be an arduous battle. I set sail. I am a crew of one.

Diary Sessions: Front Payloads and Rear Suspensions

Just getting off of the phone with big brother and still pondering his question to me. "So what did you think of Shreveport (LA)?" I replied in my "this sista don't take no mess" tone, "You know what I think of Shreveport!" We shared a second and a laugh. After re-spilling my accounts of the Bible Belt, bad weather and gorgeous women, the thought hit me: you were changing as a man while in Shreveport. This required further investigation.

It was 1996 and I was heading to Louisiana to complete a three-month internship at the Shreveport Times daily newspaper. Recalling the interview with the Gannett newspaper recruiters months earlier, I didn't think I impressed them all that well, but I along with three other classmates were invited out to Shreveport to take in the sites and show off our writing skills. The internship would be my second after completing my first at the Gainesville (FL) Sun. While in Gainesville, I met a girl. We'll come back to this.

I was driving a 1986 toner-grey Firebird that came equipped with no rear suspension. The entire rear of the car had a mind of its own and when brakes were applied suddenly, the car bounced violently up and down. Everything electrical in the car was hot wired to the fuse box. There was no AC as I drove deeper in to the heart of swampland. This car has nothing to do with me changing as a man. Just wanted to talk about it for a second.

Earlier I mentioned I met a girl in Gainesville. Small dainty thing, but the point is she was now five-months pregnant and I was ten steps past nervous wreck. I was about to become a father, a provider, a guardian. Somebody's baby was going to be in trouble. After thinking about this time period, it was then that I realized why I disliked Shreveport so much. I did not want to be that far away from the dainty little thing and the gift she carried within her. This internship was a necessary evil, an agreement I had signed on to long  before she rolled over and whispered the loudest words I had ever heard: "I'm..."

So the entire time I'm sitting at my desk in the Metro department snarling at time and calling and checking up on her every waking minute. And then when that became not enough, I bought her the airline ticket. That was sort of a bad move because they were tripping on her size even though she was still able to travel. I digress. She came, we saw Will Smith's Independence Day opening weekend and Shreveport got a little better even though I was still afraid to touch her tight, moving stomach. Toward the end of the internship, the Editor in Chief, invited into his office and asked me to accompany him to lunch. While at lunch, he offers me a job at the newspaper. The entire time he's talking, I'm just thinking about home and how Shreveport wasn't it. Days later, I declined the job offer and was back on I-10 eastbound. The Firebird bounced violently up and down.

About a year later, while heading home from grabbing dinner, it was in that 1986 Firebird that my daughter, Elia (only a few months old), sang the Peter Gunnz's song "Uptown Anthem" out of nowhere and scared me half to death and put a smile on my face at the same time.

"Uptown baby, uptown baby, uptown baby...."

The Ex-Girlfriend Convention

We sit alone in an undecorated room pondering what we've done.

Bringing old flames together: a not so grand idea. 

Mad scientists creating love's bomb.

Knowing its a bad idea, but thinking of all the the fun.

Bring past mommies and boos together, the ex-girlfriend convention.

No one makes it through the door before the trash talking begins.

Bragging rights thrown back and forth, "Girl I made him a man."

Then the tearing of dresses, shouts and rants, accessories flung in the air.

Thinking that's weird: all guests all with same dress, same hair.

But all with their unique flair.

We sit in the undecorated room, debating what should be done.

We are the hosts, we invited them to this ex-girlfriend convention.

We enter the hall and to our dismay, countless hands on hips.

Lips turned up in anger, hair flung everywhere.

Did you invite this bitch?

Snippets

Ivory stood outside of the building he called work and tried to allow the frigid, January wind to cool off his tensed body. Although the weatherman reported a negative 20 degree wind chill, Ivory was dripping in sweat. Corporate ants moved busily around him as he spotted the unmarked van that had been in his rear view mirror the last three days. Ivory tried to make eye contact with the driver once again as the van proceeded through the intersection and out of view. He reached in his pocket, flipped open his cellphone and read the message once again. "Your sweetie will die unless you follow these instructions to the letter." Ivory tried to shake the craziness from his mind but he was already wanted by the police for questioning and the absence of Sherry only made matters worse.

The Crossroads

And so it has come to this. Standing quietly, scanning my left and my right. This crossroads that I see is not barren. It is populated with endless opportunities. They all welcome me to their fares. The gently tug at my attention. They caress my possibilities. I close my eyes. I open them. Peering out for something that may resemble reason or common sense. Waiting for a push, I stand still. Standing staunchly as though waiting for the blaring Holy trumpets that will call the chosen to their true homes. But it is quiet. My thoughts are the only interruption to the deafening silence that is suffocating my existence. Mediocrity slips her garment over the shoulders of one who is weary but yet to fight. Being seduce by the blending effect..becoming one with the chameleon. Even now at this juncture, jury and judge turn their face, discussing my fate in private. Secretive, hurting whispers. And although I can hear them, their words are a foreign tongue. And although I can pick up their tone, I am not sure if they are referring to me. And so I wait, standing with a fearful humbleness at the crossroads that only provide one true direction for me to continue on.  But that direction is tossed freely in all degrees by distraction. The playful laughter fills my ears and tickles my soul as I wait. I close my eyes. The blackness is illuminated by the past. Flashes of brilliance and lost chances drift by my reach. I open my eyes. There is now only one clear path. It calls to me. I reach forward and take it. As I move forward just one step, I ponder my time spent at the Crossroads.