Mr. Morton

"I'm tired payin taxes, sendin emails and faxes, tired of crooked cops, tired of black folks complain that crime wont stop. I wanna go to a place where lovers go, do the things that lovers do, no stress, a sweet caress from me to u."

It's been a long time since I actually attempted to pursue a young lady that was worth my time and actually reached my standards. The time has come where I have met such a woman. Now, I'm baffled at how to handle this situation. I going to be blunt, I have failed many times in these types of situations, many times.
Needless to say I'm trying really hard not to fuck this one up. The problem is I keep second guessing myself. I don't wanna creep her out by talking too much and at the same token I don't want to not talk and make her think I'm not interested, cause I am. It's been a long time since I've had to do this. Maybe, I should just be myself. Problem is myself is the same person that was fucking up in the past. I know she should like me for me but it's all about presentation. Sometimes I wish I was Mr. Morton:


But then again, I'm a man. I already know the pains of rejection. I mean how much worse could it really get. I have learned, while under these stars, that life is nothing if you have no one to share it with. I'm far from desperate or in need of a woman to complete me. But sometimes, I wish I had someone waiting for me when I got back to my dorm or someone I could chill with in a romantic setting. Friends can only do so much. I am nowhere near lonely ,but a female companion would be real nice. That is all I ask for.

Emergency

I saw my first black firefighter the other day. As I was walking down that oh-so familiar street of rebellion, past the corner of thought and frustration, towards home, I heard the sound. Upon hearing this sound, I knew that an emergency was amidst. That somewhere, unknown to my presence, someone was in distress, discontent, and disorientation ;and needed to be saved from either themselves or from an aspect of their environment. The sound approached from the back but I had no interest in looking back because I knew what approached. First I recognized the front of the vehicle and knew that it was a red engine firetruck. For a moment time stood still and my mind reverted to a memory of my childhood.
When I was in kindergarten, I was sick the day the class went to the fire station. Therefore, I had not seen a red engine fire truck when the rest of the class did. Needless to say, the rest of the class did see a red engine firetruck. The day I returned to school, I distinctly remember playing on the third rung of the jungle gym. The same sound that was entering my ears in my conscience mind was playing, the fire truck engine siren. I looked in amazement in hope to see the red engine fire truck that I had not seen before. As soon as the red of the truck could be processed in my 5 year old mind, the little boy next to me said, "Oh that's no big deal, we saw those yesterday." And all the other kids continued back to their games of tag and other childish follies. From that point on, red engine fire trucks never amazed me.
So in non-amazement I watched the front of the red engine fire truck pass by, but as the red engine fire truck passed, something caught my eye. And until that moment I never realized that I had not seen one. Hanging from the back of the truck was a black fireman. To others he just looked like another black man, but to me he was a superhero. To me he was the real life John Henry. A black man that was often overlooked because of his skin complexion, but would do his damnedest until his heart gave out. And I stood on the sidewalk like a 5 year old kid in awe of my childhood hero that I met 14 years late. I say all that to say, do not let society make you forget that black heroes are more than people on T.V. that where suits and give speeches. My heroes are those with wisdom, not knowledge.

Going to House

A lifetime without words is a pointless and useless life without expression and happiness. It's been a while since the last time I have written anything outside of school. I have a lot of things to talk about.

As I was walking to my temporary home I was thinking, exactly what is home? Some say home is where the heart is, but is the heart established in a particular territory. After talking amongst a few of my peers, they say that home is not necessarily a particular space, but can be identified as the place where you can say you learned the most. In my case that would be Greenwood, Mississippi. In actuality, Mississippi is a place where I spent the least amount of time during my 19 years under the stars. So how does time effect where your heart is and therefore where your home is? Home, to me, can not be defined by territory. I hear people around me say they're going home to Baltimore or some far off state. When I say I go home, I go to the place that settles my soul. Home is simply in words. A lot of people may not understand that concept and I do not expect a lot of people to understand how articles, adverbs, adjectives, and conjunctions could ease one's soul. Well let's see. In life there are few constants. Even the constants that we think are constants are actually not. Words are a combination of an ever changing constant. Rarely do definitions change but often writing changes. In other words, writing will never leave me and as long as my mind still fathoms the concept of variation, repetition, and pronunciation, words will forever be my home.