I Dream of Detroit

I dream of words unwritten;
      In a language where periods need not be dotted
      Where “t’s” need not be crossed-
I dream of dialects unspoken;
      In a voice enunciation need not to be stressed,
      Where infliction is definitions-
Sight through subconscious is unfathomed to the minds eye
Leaving dreams to be safe from
For what can one feel in the absence of a body?
The lack there of? Or the presence of obscurity?
I dream of music unplayed;
      In a sound only heard through script,
Where distance articulates quality-
I dream of things unseen and not to have happened;
      Retention is a curse, and the forgotten is blessed-
But as I rise from once was;
      I’ve lost it all-
I dream of words unsaid;
      Cursed by memory.
      Decided through ignorance.

MIA

I am from which I was created. Do not judge me on my exterior for it is made with flaws. Instead, judge the actions I accent with the words I write. But the words I write do not reflect the action I do. Just as any other human being, I make mistakes everyday. As I said before, what good is a man who contradicts his own efforts.

At that point, I was talking on the vitality of effective leadership. A more personal issue ha arisen. I fear I have lost my best friend because she is exactly what I am becoming; heartless. It is obvious that my emotions are gradually slipping out of my grasp. My walk is more stiff. My speech is lees motivating. My writings are less powerful.

I stated in an earlier blog that I am trying to get back to the man I used to be, but as a wise woman told me, "Make sure that man you are attempting to be is worth getting back to." But he is not worth it. Honestly, I have caused too many tears and see many more awaiting me as I travel down this path. The question is "Do I cause tears for others or carry on to my own emotional demise?"

I am from which I was created. My father's father's father was known as a man of great motivation. As they say in my father's hometown, these motivational tactics have only grown through the generations of Browns. As you know, I am BeMoBrown meaning exactly what it says. I follow a lineage of greatness and I am in constant strive for the highest. But in this 20th year of my life, I fear that I am becoming exactly what I demise the most. Heartless.

Ice Cream Daze

I live in a world where thuds from a passing car’s subwoofers play the bass and sirens from rushing emergency vehicles play the treble in the soundtrack of my life. A world where beauty is most often found in death and despair’s residence: a funeral, but conversely, a world where deceit and depression are conceived where fake smiles and forced tears live: a wedding. A world that is filled with individuals who live and die by their own various ethics and morals but the easiest combination of variation is negligence. And since by human nature we all want things to be easier to some degree, one could say the world doesn’t give 5¢ worth of shit about anyone else. I know you’re saying, “Damn this guy is depressing!” but secretly, you agree. As a child of maybe up to 12 years old, I could never remember thinking these thoughts. So what happened?

The same world existed when I was child if I think retrospectively, but to my youthful senses, there was one sound that cut through the noise of despair and depression, one sight that could blur out the sight of emergency and broken hearts, and one taste that would numb out the flavor of uneasy laughs matted by tears. That sound, sight, and taste was Mr. Johnson’s ice cream truck in the summertime. When the sound of those trucks bells and squeaky tires registered with the signals in my brain, my impulse was always to get up, run, and chase that truck. I’m guessing that as a child I never realized the world for what is was because I was too busy chasing after what I wanted.

When those hot summer days ended and warm school days began, I had the education of my logical brain to keep my senses distracted from the truth of the world. But somewhere through this education, my ears finally heard, eyes finally saw, and tongue finally tasted what was really going on. My mother calls this my welcoming ceremony to the real world. Again thinking retrospectively, I always thought the real world was completely comprised of people who woke up early, put on business attire, got stuck in traffic, complained about traffic, work in a boring office, had meetings, got stuck in traffic coming home, complained about traffic, complained about unhappiness, washed, rinsed, and repeated. In that aspect, I still think like the 8 year old me. I don’t want to be in that real world. I wanna chase after that ice cream truck all day. To you real world people, this probably sounds ridiculous but if we all chased after what we really wanted, maybe the world would sound, look, and taste better. With that being said, chase after your own truck in hope that you catch it and embrace it.