The Early Me

Back In The Day Voice

This is a short story written in my mid-teens **with corrections**

What I don’t understand is why me. How come I have to be the one with all the limitations? I’m a good person aren’t I? I pray to God everyday for people to be okay, to have good luck, or just to find the missing. But when I pray for myself, my prayers seem to be unanswered, unfulfilled. How come I have to suffer while seeing others happy? Disappointment. Now that is a feeling that has been present since the day I can remember. Almost everyone around me has left me disappointed, and why is that? Well I do not know. I figure karma is taking a huge bit out of my ass for one of my past lives. But that raises another question; how come we have to deal with issues of the past? How come I can’t just live my life with the mistakes I’ve made and not someone else? I want to start my saying my name.

My name is…I live with both of my parents, an older brother, a younger sister, and I can’t forget my dear cat. I bet you want to presume that we are the perfect family, however we’re not. I guess you can say that no one has a perfect family and mine is far from that dream. My mother and father fight constantly but are adamant about not getting a divorce. They are determined to stay together and make my life miserable. My little sister is annoying as hell. I swear you cannot go anywhere without her trailing behind you. Yet I have to say, my brother is my idol. For lack of better terms he is my “ride or die”. The only one who knows me. The only one who understands. What I would do if he weren’t by my side; I do not know. I know we will be there for each other through thick and thin, to the end. I have friends. Actually, let’s just call them close acquaintances. In my mind I don’t consider them friends, however, the way I act around them you would think otherwise. I am not fake or two-faced by any means I just take friendship seriously.

There is this girl I know. She is the same age as me, same height, and eye color as me. We walk the same and talk the same. There is nothing different about us except for this; I live in the real world and she lives in my dreams. This girl goes through a rollercoaster ride of hardships. All in life she has never gotten what she wanted. Nothing she needed. She wants to live in a world where she doesn’t have to feel like she isn’t good enough. This girl was the person I was going to be, the person I was on the verge of becoming. But that was in the past and I have changed. I’ve become a better person, more confident in myself and those around me. But why is this girl in my head, you ask. If what happens in the past stays in the past, why does she reappear every time I close my eyes? I have found the answer; you tend to hold on to the most significant parts in your life, good and bad. That is what I have done. I’ve put all my problems I have faced on this poor girl. I need to remind myself that I will never become her. I need to remember what to do and what not to do to achieve this goal. She has made me see. She has made me realize that I am somebody. Yay me J 

Politics...smh

Out With The Old, In With The New

How to construct the perfect city. In order to design a flawless metropolitan one must define a city. In return, grasp it’s meaning. Following step one, this comprehension leads to a discovery of social accomplishments within the city’s streets. One must be conscious of the negative influences that may penetrate a city’s tradition. As technology increases so does unethical ideologies that pave the way for the City of Tomorrow. When the City of the Old’s last voice passed, society’s heart was left unguarded. Capital means produced capital ends. A perfect city has absolute fairness where the end justifies the means in city planning. Keep in mind that the major factor concerning the growth and development of cities is trust. For example, a city once considered the place to be, the greatest of its time, was Pre-World War II New York City. With the old stems the new followed by a hope for a balance. One-sided politicians need to be viewed with caution for they hold all the power.

A city is complex resulting in an array of interpretations. For the sake of argument, I choose to define a city with a traditional gist. A city is a home to its people. A city is comprised of communities where its inhabitants acquire a sense of belonging, the basis of human endeavors. Cities, regardless of their size and population, generate positive growth by accommodating those of diverse cultures and economic limitations. By the end of WWII, New York City started to change socially and economically. In previous years, the essentials of American life were met. A manufacturing town, New York City was viewed at the highest point. Men with minimal education could pass as working class men. Jobs were more guaranteed given the triumphs of industrialization. Families had the time to be families sparking functional people to be proud of themselves and of others. The strength of New York City was its large amount of diverse immigrants. The street was the living room coexisting in a world where poor people could be happy.

Robert Moses left his mark on New York City soil. Although deemed a controversial figure in urban planning, Moses looked to the future. What he envisioned makes New York City the place it is today. The buildings, roads, and parkways defined his City of Tomorrow, which is enjoyed and loved to date. Moses was always an onlooker; he never wanted to experience city life nor saw it fit to live in. Robert Moses was an artist. He saw New York City as a canvas, one huge wonderful mural, which only he could embody with promise. The tourist attractions of adored New York City once homed actual communities, a time when one could use community and neighborhood interchangeably. The poor no longer wore smiles as the middle class dwindled in its members creating gaps, economically and physically. With the new replacing the old a different sense of community emerged fueled with Robert Moses’ influence. I presume, based on Moses’ dehumanization of a once great city, that he will be remembered as the man who misjudged a contentious ideology; the end justifies the mean.

Slum living. Once crowded streets are now housed in tall stories called housing developments. The City of Tomorrow vision caters to cooperate organizations stationed in the working district. Those who do not live the city, either commuters for various reasons or sightseers, do not witness or know the steps that were taken to allow passage throughout the city. Jersey City, New Jersey took a different approach as far as growth and development is concerned. Constructors reused abandoned space and vacant buildings as opposed to demolishing them. No one needed to fear relocation because of Jersey City’s reclaiming-remodeling objective.

Politicians are powerful. Why? In order to be elected, one must gain the trust of those voting. With power comes greed that steers morals in the opposite direction of right. Money clouds ones judgment, leaving an unbalance in social class opportunities. Moses saw the automobile as the vehicle toward the City of Tomorrow. However, as technology evolves the car will slowly become less efficient as transportation becomes faster. New Yorkers’ trust that life would only get better was their downfall. Laws were put in place to hinder community life by severing ties to communal scenes. A little faith goes a long way and as long as those appointed harbor any misgivings city life is destined to be everything that it is not.

pictures:  

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Robert_Moses_with_Battery_Bridge_model.jpg http://slckismet.blogspot.com/2012/02/majesty-of-human-condition-in-artist.html

Thoughts

Why? The Age Old Question

Chained by the ideology leading them away unwillingly

Held captive, set sail for the voyage of a lifetime

Generations died, millions gone, no lifelines

It’s our time

To be educated as well as motivated

To take a stand

Be on opposite lines, us against the command

Open eyes see the destruction

Open eyes leak of tears shed for the fallen

Open hands instead of clenched fists, non-violence

Open hearts spreading love, is this such a hard concept?

No it's simple

So why are we making things so difficult

Is it so hard to give up material things for the good of the people?

The green should be burned not spent

Enlightenment

This will be the real Renaissance. We need a rebirth

Everything old will crumble, a new law unearthed

By the minds of the youth cause they are our future

We need to adopt the fallen instead of killing those cursed

By hasty couplings that show

No education equals no growth

All my teachers keep em’ heads up

I know you’re trying your best

Learning from example is key

Only when you emulate greatness

When that ship first set sail,

I could only imagine what they where thinking

Should I be angry at the foreign Whites who took me away from my people?

Or maybe my anger redirected

To those who’s color matched my complexion

For they sought trade too

Why me and not you?

picture: http://blog.caat.org.uk/2011/04/21/the-abolition-of-slavery-in-arms/

Class Notes

Urban Sociology #2

How I took notes in my Contemporary Cities class 3/08/12

Cities cause alienation and isolation

Father Marx what’s up with all this exploitation?

Maximizing profit, workers united,

Overthrowing capitalist

Ideology isn’t just corrupt, it’s the people within it

Yo, you amp’t off that city life, trippin’

Sophistication, anonymity leads to over mental stimulation

Simmel calculate this, open our minds. Satisfaction

Small towns don’t see differences

Identity lost, no more compasses

Guiding the way for social acceptance

Louis Wirth, Determinist Theory

Is it still happening today?

So what if a nanny raises a child

The parents working by the green mile

Everyday I’m hustling, minimum wage

Wait what? I gotta pay to meet people?

Group-control mechanisms, isn’t that illegal?

I’m just saying

Values should be learned in the youth

Parents pay attention, it’s the truth

You are just a piece to a puzzle

Constructed on a table, middle of nowhere

Cultural knowledge leads to cultural pride

Yet there is no common law we all share

Education is down, teaching all different types of curriculums

They’re tryin’ to cripple us

Succeeding to instill in us

Acceptance of a caste system

picture: http://www.facebook.com/pages/KASHMIR-AGAINST-THE-CASTE-SYSTEM/95755694407

Short Story

                                                                       My Street

 

My street is what some would consider small. Cunningham Street is many things however lengthy is not one of them. Stationed towards the bottom lies a dead end street, which gives homes to many despite its petite stature. My street can be lively and my street can be silent. As a hill, walking down my street is a breeze however the uphill commute may leave one’s legs a little unsteady upon reaching the top. Just before one reaches the top, my house will come into view surrounded by a fence with a no parking sign in front of the driveway.

A car alarm awakes the street, a sure sign of a restless morning. Today is Wednesday, Trash day. Looking out the window, I can see the car omitting that piercing sound while the owner fumbles for the keys. I watch the man drive away; trying to enjoy the few times my street’s in silence. I watch the leaves blow sporadically. Birds are softly chirping in the tress while pigeons walk aimlessly on the sidewalks looking for food. My attention is now fixed on the roaring sound of garbage man coming to collect the trash put out the night before.

I make my way outside as the truck disappears around the corner. Outside is a beautiful day. The leaves I saw blowing earlier managed to collect themselves into a nice heap at the bottom of my stairs. I see some of my neighbors upon my retrieval of the trash bins, wave whist giving a friendly ‘good morning’ are the only recognitions given. A man, his name is Mr. Adams, is raking leaves and picking up trash in front of his house. He is an old man yet age does not deter him from assuring his section of the street is clean. A group of kids, maybe middle school, make their way up the hill. They are having a conversation that does not travel to my ears but the similes on their faces and their laugher help me presume that their journey will be enjoyable. A school bus picks up a girl waiting with her mother at the corner of my street and the dead end one. A brother and sister, running past me hand in hand with oversized book bags and metal lunchboxes, try to catch the yellow automobile before they miss their only ride to school. Bins placed where they belong leave my morning observations for a later time.

The mailman brings in the afternoon. My street is pretty empty. Cars that usually populate the morning are now randomly scatted along the street. Music blaring focuses my attention on an all black car parked in the driveway across the street. This is an everyday occurrence. Whether this car or another, people on my street feel the need to showcase their music preferences for all to hear. The women next door to me is shaking out her rug over her porch while whacking it with a straw broom. Yelling brings my gaze to a group of kids, ranging from eight to about thirteen, getting reading to play a game of some sort in the street. One is holding a football while another a small bat. Two of the children had skateboards as the rest ran around. To each his own.

Red and blue lights appear by my living room window. The time is evening. My street has since lain dormant, engulfed in a stillness well deserved. The view from my porch allows me to better assess the trouble of my street. I am not the only one who has sparked an interest in the street’s nightly routine. Whether perched on one’s porch or shielded slightly by a window curtain all eyes are locked on the scene displayed. Cunningham Street is the name, with a crime watch sign at the corner. Muffled voices over car radio frequencies leave onlookers puzzled. Nightly patrols are common. Neighborhood safety is a goal of our small community with the hopes to gain reassurance that criminal activity has waned due to this established support group.

It is unclear what transpired that night. It was neither the first nor the last for Cunningham Street. On brighter days we are all eyes seeking something greater, something worth chasing, in order to provide the youth with a community full of role models, instilling education, compassion, concern for others, as well as correct conduct.

picture: http://www.canyontx.com/index.aspx?NID=202

Song Poem

Suga’ Happens…

Drunk every night, freshman yr., like snooki

That’s a simile I believe, good looking

Out

Yeahhh…

See you later alligator

Yeah, I took a pause

Suga’ just happens, get it cracking

There’s no room for flaws

Well pardon me,

I guess I'm misplaced out of this ideology

Cause what I believe to be sane as well as morally engrained

In the essence of our being           

Maybe voidness, like Buddhist teaching.

Whatever the case, it’s a race

Survival of the fittest

Aye yo Father Time, can you tell

Baby New Year to bear witness

Cause it’s a new age of rebirth

Another Renaissance of some sorts

Suga’ just happens

Best believe, it is present

Baring gifts of the worst possible satisfaction.

Music blaring in my phones, monster beats printed

Black like the identity I presumed and was politically given

I don’t mind though I like it

In the sense that I must admit that

There must be a gene engraved in my DNA

Its so hard to explain so I’ll break it down, even skip foreplay

Speaking from a stereotypical given,

Lessons of American living,

A dream only achieved whilst one’s sleepin’,

Borderline acceptingly called, myself African American.

Wheeww, another one

Back to the meaning of the truth of which we come

From a life in which we struggle, then it always comes down to one

To start a Revolution, or maybe not that extreme in all cases

For example, Harriet T maybe the coolest woman I could ever known existed

Conducted a movement, disguised it as a railroad

Light posts guided the way as safe points

With hidden tolls,

This story could never get old.

Wake up and breathe,

Take a second and look around

Read your history

Yeah, it just got personal

Like I just had a moment, lost in time

Tears drop for the fallin’ souls

Shall you reach true happiness, real talk.

Black people need to take a stand

Because with struggle comes success

Cause it takes a hard worker, simple comparative as that

To achieve greatness in a world of the racially oppressed

And one would think MLK teachings…

Pardon the brief introduction

Would have been instilled in our hearts instead of movies and booklets

We praise him, Malcolm X, and we can’t forget Miss Rosa

Pocket full of dreams, they had rallies like sold out stadium concerts

Spreading music, old-school tunes, remixed by my time’s musicians

And this melody should float off the vibrations instead of getting lost in translation

Their message left the minds of our youth

Leaving them in despair, oh what’s the use?

I guess we didn’t take the latter

Made what we call the “White Man’s” pocket fatter

Black people we exploit ourselves like we lost all hope, a change a comin’

I hope

But I digress, suga’ happens daily

That’s why my mind can’t seem to stop going crazy

In a good way,

All the bad teaches me and makes me enlightened

I feel more connected to my feelings and my surroundings

Letting people know when I’m not vibein’ their speech, lip

Gotta have the last word, then dip, just avoiding conflict 

A step in developing consciousness

But suga’ happens, we’re prevented

Limited and ignorantly oblivious,

Of the actions that we've taken,

To leave us dependent on the “enemy” turning our backs on our brothers and sisters

Who cares if the N-word comes up

Don’t respond if you know that’s not you

Bully’s feed off of control and abuse

So lets stop internalizing ideologies,

And combat the real problems, words are just mirages

Who will lead us to finally take a stand?

No words spoken, in this present time, when? 

picture: http://www.indiatalkies.com/2011/08/pak-leaders-talk-state-oppression-home-swept-carpet.html

Creation Story

The Performer and His Friend

Where do you come from? Don’t tell me your ethnicity and I do not want to know your race. The nation in which you were born does not interest me. Can you convey what I’m trying to say? Maybe not. We are just projections of one universal body. Kind of like a light spectrum. Speaking of light, doesn’t it come in many colors? And wouldn’t you say that ‘yeah this is blue and yeah this is red, no difference its still Crayola’? Hmmm….so if we are all just sitting chillin’ out in sold out seats because we were all chosen and our tickets were free. And the one performing for us only performed once before. In a time when fairytale life was real, when life was carefree. In a time where good always triumphs over evil and everyone lives happier ever after. But wait. People die in these fairytales, how can death ever seem good.

He first arrived with a song and people started catching on. But he noticed that there was one who didn’t sway to the beat or move to the drums. Whose ears would bleed whenever the song played, couldn’t escape the sound. Underground he went. Set up shop, how homey. But soon he realized times were getting too lonely. Could it be that the performer and he met before all this started. They were buds sharing hugs, nothing competed with their friendship. But the performer wanted more. He aspired to be great. And He realized ‘why not have an audience and perform on a stage’.

I’ll be all knowing and I’ll be all being. Knowledge of my presence is a must be, along with loyalty and unity. As long as they follow me I’ll be true to thee. Hmm…where do I start? Let me think of something bright how bout I start with a spark and a counterpart for when the bright turns into dark. Kind of cliché its okay, ouhhhh how bout something wet. Let me mix some oxygen and hydrogen together and see what I get. What a color, how bout another maybe something more solid. I’ll paint it green with some trees that would get them enlightened. I’ll put creatures in the green and blue, land and ocean respectively.

But over a time communication started to wane. The reason behind this blew by never stopping to pay, close attention to the performer on stage. His mic blew out and now his followers looking away. His friend offered a comforting hand. Saying that nothing is always really all that you plan. If it were me I’ll give up all these foolish games and concentrate on the friendship that we’ve made.  He agreed for a while until He had another thought. And yes He knew that this decision would break his friends heart. But what is a performer without a sound so He started to sneak around and constructed what we consider today our inner self. Humans they would be called made of natural resources. And for the sake of argument, He created male and female subjects.

His friend was not blind and he noticed the performer spending time in the studio recording a different type of chime. ‘No this couldn’t be’, he said. Fool me twice shame on you. You just wait till your back is turned and I’ll make my move. The performer, though lacking stealth, never faltered from His friendship and saved a seat front and center for him in the audience. Seat noted however the friend wasn’t very grateful because, he felt always vacant and never part of the scene. So one day while the performer was taking a nap, because tinkering always did something to his lower back. The friend took this time to unleash his plan. To turn the audience against their number one fan. Middle of the stage he spoke persuasively…

TBC