Ten Ponderations on Love & Friendship

I'm a curious kinda cat. I think people are much more interesting when they are faced with questions that reveal their true nature. I mean questions that make one think and consider the way they roll through this comic strip called LIFE. So, with this in mind, a while back I composed a survey on one of my other blogs. I figured, why not try it here, for those who are bold or honest enough to face the truth of themselves. So, without further ado, I now present

Moanman’s 10 Ponderations on Love & Friendship:

(A survey by me)


YOU are at your most realest when:

a) you’re comfortable with another soul
b) when you’re drunk off your azz
c) when you’re all alone
d) when buck-naked, after transcendent sex?



LMR: A) When I'm comfortable w/ another soul. When the vibe is right, whether we're engaging in convo or long stretches of silence, everything else just flows.

When someone shows you love, your usual M.O. is to:

a) reciprocate that action in some form
b) panic and out for the nearest exit
c) smile, sigh and let the moment pass
d) take it as a given and do nothing?


LMR: A) Usually I'll return the gesture. Not that I should *feel* OBLIGATED, but I firmly believe that kindness begets kindness, and love should be a sharing of spirits.



When you blatantly LIE to someone you're supposed to love, do you:

a) feel mad guilty about it
b) let it go of it like an accidental fart
c) say a silent prayer
d) assume everyone lies, so what's the biggie?



LMR: A) I feel mad guilty... because lying is an affront to my better nature, but I'm not perfect & sometimes a gentle lie becomes necessary.


Picture it: You’re engaged in a very intimate conversation where certain secrets and truths are revealed. Later on you and your former intimate are no longer speaking, yet, you are still armed with that preciously intimate info… when upset would you:

a) use that precious info against them
b) make a crude joke about it
c) still hold tight to that precious information
d) tell all your friends and have a good loud laugh about it?

LMR: C) Keeping someone's secret is a sacred thing. All we have is our word, and if I promised to keep it earlier, then my word is my bond.

Someone you purportedly love is hurt-up and emotional. *You* did *not* personally cause this hurt, but you’re really NOT in the mood to deal with it. Do you

a) tell them that in effect 'This too Shall Pass'
b) sigh, let them riff and bore you to tears
c) be kind and listen with an understanding ear, perhaps even offering advice
d) simply tell them buck-up, and stop being such a drama queen?



LMR: A & C. I would try A... hoping it will help and that they might become philosophical about their plight. But if that didn't work... *sigh* then C would be the move.

When YOU’VE hurt someone, unintentionally, are you usually sensitive or compassionate enough to even be aware of it? If so, how would generally follow-through to help to close that emotional wound? Would you most likely

a) let time pass and trust them to get over it
b) make an effort to fix what's broken by a call, an email, a letter
c) invite them out to have dinner and a long talk
d) shrug, and question if this friend is a bit too damn sensitive for your comfort level?


LMR: C) Communication is key. Everyone has their stuff and things that upset them that I might unaware of... some having dinner & talking it out helps us to understand where we're BOTH coming from, & hopefully this will squash the madness, literally.


Have you ever meant to tell someone the Gentle Truth, but it came out harsh and hurtfully? If so, did you try to fix it, pretty it up, or simply let that Truth breathe and breed?

LMR: Depending on the situation, I might see the need to let the truth breathe, hoping that they might begin to check themselves.



When a close friend wants to hang out with you, but you’re busy or just not in the mood, your tendency is to:



a) deliver a quick and feeble excuse
b) tell them you’re not feeling it, and hope they’ll understand
c) shrug off your plans, sigh, and accompany them
d) gently remind them that you have a life that doesn’t always have to include them?



LMR: B) Being that I'm an author, I'll often use the little free time I have to write and be creative. So, a true friend would have to understand that, and not take it personally.


If Love is a verb, are your verbal enough for, and to those you love?


LMR: Very, very, vurrrrrrrrrr verbal.


Was the last thing you did in the name of Love?

a) something sweet and kind
b) something sexy and physical
c) something martyr-like and sacrificial
d) something warmly sentimental and lasting?


LMR: C) Sometimes you have to sacrifice for love.

And for those who chose to answer, thanks for the honesty.


One.


Lin

Ask Me Who I Be

If you ask me
Who I am
I will tell you who
I be...

Before sex
Before color
Before complex
Theology... I be
Simply this


A Poet.

A poet, I say
Designed
And molded from
The Creator’s
Clay,
To feel
And process
To write and
Manifest
To say
And narrate
This makeshift
Reality.

A Poet
With pen inclined to
Scribe
My truth

A poet
With lips poised
To spit
Soliloquies of
Beautifulness and
Ugliness, too...


You ask me
Who I be
And I will tell you:

A poet
And simply this.

No heroic
Posturing of
A stoic
Human being-ness...
But so divinely
Human
It’s hurts
Sometimes.
Just to exist.

God-designed
To see
With eyes
Wide...
To whisper
To scream
To cry
To bitch
To unleash
This makeshift
Vulnerability


See...

It lives in me
In you
In us...
It crouches
It folds
It bends
It thrusts

It speaks
It lusts
It hollers
And sometimes it
Weeps...

It bounds
It leaps beyond
The surface
And goes down
Soul-deep.


Ask me who
I be... and I will
Tell you
Proudly,

I be this
Complex
Carbohydrate
Of tears
And screams,
Fire and
Energy...
No more
And no less than
Simply this:

A Poet!




One.

Throwin' Bows & Shit Like Dat

Sometimes I feel so sad for men. For me, my friends, for them, for us, we Penis People. We fail so miserably at being ourselves, at liking, then loving, then embracing our Selves.

We master the Art of Cool Pose by the age of ten or twelve, and by then we’ve surrendered all our sensitivity and Realness to this faux state of: Cool.

We resort to being Cool Fools with attitude who pimp and pose, as if we’re in full control. We demand respect (when we don’t even respect our damn selves), and we tend to forget we have tongues and brains, and so, we throw bows.

Throwin' Bows is the subject of this blog.


I work in a bar. I see people lose or relinquish that person they were when they first entered the place. They get ripped, blitzed, blasted, wasted, stupid, ill, and if someone calls them on their behavior, on their drunk-azz braggadocio act, they are so quick to see RED! And then, with astonishing quickness they are red to go, red to blow, red to start throwin dem blows!


Yes, there was one of THOSE encounters last evening. One of those that ended in blood, a broken nose, a superficial knife wound, the arrival of cop cars, and the red waltzing beams of ambulances on the scene.

But this one was different, because the person throwin bows, the main bow-thrower was a cat I call my friend. At least, I considered him one.

Has a college degree, and decent gig, and no prior history of thug-like activities. Until now.

And now I look like the damn fool who invited his damn azz to the spot, to the soiree because I though we were damn cool like that. I was the fool who set him up, who served him two freebies, and who THOUGHT, erroneously, he’d be a MAN, a laid-back-in- the-cut, have-himself-a-good-time with good people in a sedate social setting and conduct himself like a GENTLEMAN.

Was that too much expectation on my part? Perhaps it was. I was not watching him, wasn’t monitoring his words and actions. I was not on Red-Alert, or babysitting watch, was NOT clockin his every move... and didn’t feel I needed to be.

Dumb! STOOPID! DUMB! Foolish ME!


Apparently, when my back was turned, somebody ‘stepped to him wrong.’

Don’t know what was said. Don’t know what was applied. Don’t know jack, other than, HE swung on some guy. And he, my friend, my boy, my quasi-homey is the one with the broken nose.

Somehow, if history repeats that same old tired refrain, I supposed this will all morph into being MY fault.

But this is what we men do. We lose the ability, the class, the common sense to excuse our boldly masculine-frontin’ asses away from potentially volatile situations. We’d rather puff-up, act out, draw attention, draw a crowd, and then draw blood. That’s what we men do. Yes, some mad women do it too… which is even wilder and sadder.

But that’s not the subject here.

It’s men.

Or I should say males: Penis People, who from the outside resemble MEN… but who in actuality are foolish little boys with fragile baby egos, with G.I. Joe Complexes, and these quick-to-snap-like-a-bitch tendencies that some believe make them tough, make them strong, make them invincible, but they're wrong! Homey you’re dead wrong!

Sometimes I feel so sad for men. For me, my friends, for them, for us, we Penis People. We fail so miserably at being ourselves, at liking, then loving, then embracing our Selves.

And if only we learned to RESPECT ourselves, we could become one hell of a species.


One.

Peace-Out, Bernie Mac...

So, it would appear that another entertainer has left the building. Comedian Bernie Mac has stopped breathing air. It's so hard to believe this reality. Bernie Mac, who dressed like a grand pimpish dandy, and who, when he opened his mouth, delivered his own unique brand of keenly observational humor. Bernie Mac so boldly and so LOUDLY spoke of the things most people only whispered about.


However, the reported death of this actor-comedian has been one of the most bizarre adventures in confirming a legitimate celebrity passing in recent memory... mostly due to the net. Lately, it has become a morbid act of punking where the supposed sad news of famous and infamous people's death peaks in cyperspace before there is ever any REAL clarification or reports by The Legitimate Media sources.


When I heard of the death of Bernie's this morning, I was stunned. I had just awakened, so I thought this ' BREAKING NEWS ' was a part of some dream I hadn't finished dreaming.

This news came byway of my local NYC media. I rolled over, turned up the volume, then instantly click on CNN. Nothing. Maybe IT was a dream. Surely Bernie Mac had done enough in his career to garner a mention, right? Other local stations were also MUM on this story. I clicked to MSNBC. Again, nothing. Fox News, nada.

WTF?

I went online and discovered that only ONE source was reporting this... The Chicago Sun Times. Mind you, this was the quoted source given by the station which reported the news here. This report was vague and sketchy at best. I'm always leery of information coming from unnamed sources, or 'a source close to the family.' It reads very tabloidish... very Star magazine, National Enquirer type shit. Names, damn it! Give me names!


I then discovered SEVERAL online ' reports' (which would better be termed GOSSIP) that mention Mr. Mac's death as long ago as LAST WEEK.

If the man died last week, WHY was there no reporting of it?

Turns out THOSE reports were indeed rumors. Thus, to paraphrase Mark Twain: the reports of Bernie Mac's death were greatly exaggerated.


To make matters worse, the initial station here in NYC which reported the news this morning suddenly DELETED it from their website. WTF?

I began to feel better. I thought: Okay. Here we go again! Some sick person with nothing better to do with their time, starts a disturbing rumor and posts it online. Then, because of the speed of the net, someone else picks up on it, and it spreads like wildfire, producing grief and condolences from fans and admirers and shockwaves all over the place.

I've seen it happen before. Didn't the cat who played Urkel, actor Jaleel White, allegedly commit suicide a couple of years back? Well, he DID according these damn NET rumors. But, happily, the actor is still very much alive.

WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS????

Do these twisted people even CONSIDER what such rumors do to those people who are family and friends of the 'dead' entertainer.. people who receive word of these bogus deaths before an accurate accounting and clarification can be made?

Do these sick and twisted individuals believe in KARMA... or is it all fun and games until someone loses an eye ... or a life?


Well, after about an hour of scrambling to get to the truth, Mr. Mac's publicist finally issues a statement that INDEED Bernie Mac died this morning. Dead, at age 50.

Wow! Sad. Sad news. One has to digest it, to get past the shock of it. Dead? But... wasn't this publicist was the very same person who'd reported to the media the day before that he was improving and responding well to the meds? Sad. Just sad.



Bernie Mac is dead... and I'm not feeling too good myself.

My issue here is not with Hollywood, or its publicists, or even the news media... some of which actually practice one of the first LAWS of journalism: CHECK and RECHECK your sources and get a legitimate confirmation BEFORE releasing information to the general PUBLIC! This would most likely explain WHY most media outlets didn't run with the story this morning, UNTIL it could be confirmed by more than one lone source.

No. My issue is with the twisted people who start this shit... the ones looking for some sick minuscule form of fame by spreading lies, the most ULTIMATE of lies, proclaiming someone dead (who is still among the living) because the rumor of it gets them some little piece of attention.

This crazy, erroneous reporting of popular actor- fill-in-the-blank-has passed seems to be the new IT thing to do for these creepy net-crawlers. But at what cost?


Anyway, this entry really should be about the tragic, untimely loss of Bernie Mac. I dug Bernie Mac's humor. He was a funny, funny man with an urban delivery that made me think of members of my own family. I dug his show, and most of his films, because he always brought some comic reality of life to the table of entertainment.

I will miss him. I began to miss him the moment I heard of his passing. I was, at first, grief-stricken... and then made to feel POSITIVE that it was all some horrible untruth.



Rest In Peace, Funny Man. You always kept it REAL up in duh field!

My sincere condolences go out to his wife and daughter.



And for those sad people who put such negativity into the universe, then whatever or whomever you believe in, I would recommend some serious prayer.



One.

My Personal Soundtrack

There oughta be

A soundtrack to

My life. A rhythm…

A rhythm,

To my walk

Like Shaft's...

A cat-like grace,

Choreographed, by

Me.


There oughta be some

Tom-toms

Pounding some

Urgent drums sounding

The long drawn

Song of my

Discontent. There oughta be some


Sad sexy

Saxophone thrown in

For tender moments…

Some strings

Played and serenades

Made to commemorate

Those Blue Moods, too…


Even if no one

Ever sees my movie

There oughta be

A soundtrack

To my life…

A discordant set played to

The complex maze,

A cadence to this

Strut of Independence…



If this day be my

Masterpiece,

My freak dance,

My opus,

Let the pace of

A Hip-hop beat

Speed thru my progress…


Let the guitar's wah-wah play

Me cool and

Ridiculous.


Let my lyrics be

Sweetened by

A ménage of flutes

And a mad marathon of

Trumpets...


And let my adversities

Be accompanied by

Something like a

SCREEEEEEEEAM!



And let my adversities

Be accompanied by

Something like a

SCREEEEEEEEAM!



See, there oughta be

A soundtrack

Some mean-ass brass,

A ballsy high-hat…

And a crazy

Cry… of tenor sax

To accent it all.


Even if no one

Ever sees

My movie

There oughta be

Some music,

Some attempt at harmony


And some chords played

Finally, finally right…

To accompany … this


Riff, this flight,

This trip-hop scat bop

Doo-doo-wow

Jazz flop

I call


My Life.



One.


By L. M. Ross

Making Love... A Confessional Poem

Confession:

I've made Love

Far more times

Than I've ever had

Sex. My

Imagination is

A whore… yes… but my body

Has been

A temple

Composed of

Fear and Poetry and

Hope for romance. The penis




Is a jerk meat

With piss-

Poor judgment.

It works,

It rises, it throbs when

We breathe.



It pretends to be

A magician...

No rabbits, only

The fluid of

Lust cums

From its hat.



Me? I've always dreamed

Bigger

Wider

Better

Than that, and so…

I've made love

More times than

I've ever had

Sex. Yet,



My head,

My home has been

A promiscuous dome

Where Illicit

What Ifs play

Twenty-four-sevenly.



This is what we

Men do. We thrust

Our erections into

Illusions and

When we arrive

We come...

Into the reality

That we are most alone

Inside this bed

In our heads.


But sex with no emotion

Was too easy, too dangerous,


So instead

I've made love to faces with names,

To orifices with brains

And souls who fell

Shamelessly to their

Knees.



And I've fallen, too

Before false gods

And goddesses, who

Made me kneel

At the alter of

Some thing

That felt

Soft and Hard…and Real, like


Love.







One.



By L.M. Ross