If You Don't Hear From Me After This ... I Probably Went Buckwild Mental...

Here is something you can’t understand ... How I Could just KILL a Fam:

This music is BANGING! I mean BANGIN’ and shaking the freakin' walls, yo! And as I write this, it is 2:34AM! I came home from work at 1:30. The music was THUMPIN then. I’m beyond bone-tired. At this point, it's more like tired as a broke-down Mississippi field slave, under an oppressive August heatwave. As of this summer, I’ve had to work TWO gigs in order to make ends meet. Yes, it’s rough, but thus far, I’m hangin tuff and haven’t gone postal on a mofo yet!

But the night/day is still young.

The music is BANGIN’!!! Why the HELL is that MUSIC BANGIN like this???

Ummm... Here is something you can’t understand... how I could just KILL a fam!

So, I’m stuck here, WIDE awake, and it’s not from a case of insomnia. No. These rude-ass, egregiously inconsiderate African people who moved in a few weeks ago have a teenaged son who insists upon BLASTING his freaking MUSIC at all hours of the night… And I don’t mean just LOUD, I mean BAZOOKA BANGIN’… with this incessant THUMPIN', BUMPIN', PUMPIN', THROBBIN' BASSLINE until objects in my apartment literally VIBRATE! I mean... WTF!!!!???? Why don’t they just tell him to STOP this madness?!? Why don’t they advise him to respect the sancity of this building!? Why the HELL am I writing this ish, when I should be sleeping?



Here is something you can’t understand… how I could just KILL a FAM!

It’s late Monday night/early Tuesday morning!

And to borrow a line from the Talking Heads: “This ain’t no party! This ain’t no disco! This ain’t no fooling around!”

But apparently, his parents didn't GET that memo! They don’t say shit, don't do jack… as if it’s his world and the rest of us are just crazed, sweaty victims to his non-stop turntablism! It has pissed me off to the point where I’ve BANGED on my ceiling (several times!!!!). But my banging does nothing but get lost inside this BANGIN' beat that he’s been rocking on steady rotation!

Here is something you can’t understand... how I could just KILL a FAM!

Now, anyone who knows me, or who even visits this page would know that I LOVE music. Often it’s music alone that’s been my salvation. So, I’m not hating on it. Even though I’m not a mad hip-hop fan, I can nod my nappy head to it, when it’s played at a DECENT level. Hasn't he ever heard of HEADPHONES? Couldn't they chip in and get him a fuckin iPod or something? There are OPTIONS for people who like to play their music LOUDLY! But, without any consideration for the rest of us, this kid just ups the damn VOLUME until it gives new meaning to DISTURBING the PEACE! And still his freaking parents allow this shit to go on & on... well until the break of dawn!



Here is something you can’t understand.. how I could just KILL a FAM!



History verifies that I’ve had absolutely NO LUCK when it comes to neighbors. I’ve lived in this building (a three-family dwelling) for five years. I'm on the first floor, and a very cool, respectful neighbor; a single Jewish gentleman occupies the third floor. It's the SECOND floor that's had a revolving door of oddballs, rebels and miscreants. Each year, someone new moves in, and each tenant has brought their own set of issues, craziness and unlawful activities that's made living beneath them, a living HELL!

First, there was the young, the restless and somewhat freakish couple who frequently engaged in mad aggressive passionate damn-near bed-breaking sex, just above MY head. My walls are very thin. So whether or not I want to, I HEAR EVERYTHING. Luckily, for me at least, the hubby was one of those 3 minute brothas. But what seriously intense and unhinged three-minute-sessions they would be! They had kids too. Keeids would be more like it. Three lil snot-nosed straight-up bratlings who they would allow to run back and forth and scream at the top of their lungs, using their OUTSIDE voices. The kids, the sex, the running, the screams, that terrible combo platter made the quality of life pretty damned difficult for me. Apparently, some people never quite bought into the notion nor the concept of HOME TRAINING!

Here is something you can’t understand... how I could just KILL a fam!

Then came this mother and daughter team who were straight-up ghetto, in the EXtreme, and had no couth whatsoever. Beyond merely scatological, the cussing was so crazy it would've made the late, great Richard Pryor blush and say Dammmmmn, yo! What The Motherfuck? The daughter had one of those rambunctious young’ns who'd fall, a lot, BAM(!), BOOM(!) and CRIED incessantly throughout the night. Like many New Yorkers, we kept our distance, rarely spoke or made much eye contact, but the one time we did, I WAS GRILLED by the mother who, instead of inquiring who I was, went into badass cop-mode, asking what the HELL I WAS DOING on "HER" front porch, because she didn’t “KNOW” me. I politely told this heifer I was her downstairs neighbor, and I’d been living there since BEFORE she (and her gruesome twosome) had ever moved in. I was just quiet and unassuming and didn’t make a habit of being LOUD with my shit! Then, as fate, and a lack of decent birth control would have it, the daughter turned up preg-nasty AGAIN, and I just KNEW that I could not and would not deal with yet another crying baby OVER MY HEAD! Thankfully, (yes, THANKFULLY!) the landlord raised our rent, which was apparently too steep for them, so they decided to leave BEFORE the birth of a new and raging rugrat.

Ahhhhh, peace and quiet at last... or so I THOUGHT!

But NEXT came the invasion of this oddball mother and son dual, who were Italian and very, very shady types. They never worked, hardly ever left the house, and yet they were constantly running their damn washing machine, at all hours! Of course this was right over MY head. They also had a very large dog, which wasn’t supposed to be allowed, and I never once saw them WALKING said dog, so the hallway smelled fluently of mangy bow-wow. Night and day, that damn dog barked... Night and day that damned machine kept agitating me, and I could never figure out WHY they washed clothes so damned often when they virtually NEVER went out of the house! The only time I recall anyone leaving the place was when the young son ran down the stairs in a fury, cursing in a high-pitched voice and screaming: “I FUCKIN' HATE YOU!” then calling his mother the c-word before slamming the front door! Oh my! I was shocked, appalled actually... but I kept my door locked and minded my own business. Turned out that these two were also grifters, con artists who had several expensive cars, including a brand new Lexus, always parked outside, but none of those shorts were ever driven, and yet, for all their fancy high-priced whips, they still couldn’t manage to PAY their damn rent. They were straight-up gangsta with their attitude and the sheer bombasity of their shit. Then, they just refused to leave once the lease expired, so an ‘official’ arrived to order their now squatting asses out… and they were eventually evicted from the premises. Much drama ensued.

Here is something you can’t understand… how I could just KILL a FAM!




After Ma Barker and son vacated, they were soon followed by a whole mess of Mexicans (to this day I have NO idea just how many actually LIVED above me) who were always NOISY as hell and always hyper-active: Selena's music played constantly, far too many people had keys to the front door, strangers were always in and out of the crib at all hours, and there always seemed to be a party, a freakin' fiesta going on (say it with me) OVER MY DAMN HEAD! The rude awakening came when someone knocked on my back door. I opened it to find a uniformed officer standing there. In all my life, I'd NEVER had a cop knock on my door before. But there he was, asking me questions about these mysterious (and plentiful) upstairs people. I knew nothing. He told me that a “kidnapped 15 year old girl” was reportedly there, against her will. WTF? Beats me. I’d long lost count of how many mofos rolled in and out of that place. I allowed the cop to walk through my apartment, through the hall, and up the stairs to their place, since they'd refused to answer the doorbell (but people with something to hide... rarely answer their doors, do they?). Long story short, the following day, they moved out en masse.


Here is something you can't understand... how I could just KILL a FAM!


This bring us to the bitter PRESENT: I now have these African neighbors, who SCREAM in a language I can't dechiper, who have a teenage-LOUD-ass-music-playing-son, and who don’t have a clue of how to raise a respectful, responsible child. These are the latest invaders of my domicile, and there is NO PEACE to be had! I'm about at my breaking point now. With no sleep, this maddening heat, and the apathy of these people who just don't give a damn about my comfort or state of mind... seems like the perfect storm that could just possibly make something inside me SNAP! KABOOM!

So if by chance you don't see any more entries from me, or I cease to visit your page... it's quite possible that I lost it, took my rage on a killing spree with a blood-curdling scream on my lips, and commenced to go straight-up Son of Sam on some mofos! All because, at 4:15AM, I blew a gasket, went mad as hell, and I just couldn't TAKE it any more. Aiight?

Here is something you can't understand... how I could just KILL a FAM!



Peace-out!

One.

Just in Case The Universe Is Listening…

Dear Universe,

How You doin'? You aiight? I hope so. It's Your boi, Lin. You know that cat with all these dreams in his head and longing desires deep in the recesses of his heart and spirit that he *never* tells to anyone? Yeah, that Lin.

Well lately, I've been thinking-- pondering really-- that if we are truly to be on good terms, then perhaps I should speak to You more... tell You what's on my mind, reveal a few of my deepest desires. Actually, this is my attempt at a mini-quasi-prayer session, where I talk, and hopefully... just maybe, You'll listen.

Below are some things I would very much like to see come into my Life.



My Metaphoric Desires:

*"I want to go where the wild geese go.

I want to know what the falcon knows.

I want the sky up over my head.

I want to live until I’m dead."



My Artistic Desires:

I want to realize and manifest my most enduring masterpiece: to live a life of Meaning.

I want to write like no one else, but me.

I want to pen an opus that speaks to and for the human condition.

I want to be artful, and for Art to be my mission.



My Hedonistic Desires:

I want to live out of a suitcase, in Paris.

I want to wear a natty beret, and take copious notes inside some small café.

I want to live and love and dance and sex and live and love and dance and sex.

I want to send my company home, write deep into the indigo hours, and then to sleep, the sleep of accomplishment all day long.




My Beauty Pageant Desires:

I want world peace and unity, now-- dammit!

I want for there to never be hunger in any part of the world again.

I want every man to realize this own humanity, and to appreciate that same quality in his fellow man.

I want every child on the planet to be safe, and happy, and disease-free.




My Selfish Desires:

I want to go on an escavation to all the ancient places within me.

I want every song I ever loved easily accessible to me.

I want to possess every book and manuscript ever placed on my wish list.

I want at least one famous friend who thinks I’m truly “brilliant.”

I want my first book made into a movie with my illustrious dream cast emoting in it.

I want to laugh and cough in the face of every editor/editrix who ever chose to rape my words and sentiments.

I want to be comfortably rich and successful within the deepest regions of my soul.

I want to be known and respected for my gift, and yet remain paparazzi-free.

I want that dream of my grandmother’s prophesy for me to become a wonderful reality.

I want to make sweet Mrs. Ferreri (my 1st grade teacher) be mad proud of me.

I want the astute Mrs. Lang (my high school English teacher) to have been right about me.



I want “The Next One” to be the Best One, and The Blessed One.

I want to buy my beloved mom a modest colonial home in Virginia.

I want a better home, a flyer wardrobe, and finer art on my walls.

I want to throw a huge NY party for all my friends and thank them for their unceasing love.

I want a certain well-loved face to be right beside me throughout my journey.


I want my last play produced on Broadway, and a fabulously memorable opening night.

I want the homeless cat down the street to have and lead a better life.

I want the ease and ability to pay off the bills of all the people I love.

I want a grand piano, topped by a mess of photographs, each with a sepia glow.

I want to compose the perfect sentence, perfect poem, the perfect torch song.


I want to hitch a camel ride somewhere out of mind.

I want to sit with the Maharishi at the foot of the Himalayas, and ohmmmmmmm... from deep within my solar plexus.

I want Heaven to truly exist for all people I love and miss; I need to believe they are there.

I want my spirit to breathe free and my eyes to be wide-open on this journey of self-discovery.


I want to be healthy

And wise

And well…

Always interesting

And interested.



*See, 'I wanna go where the wild geese go.

I wanna know what the falcon knows.’


I want to paint my most enduring masterpiece.

I want to write like no one else on this planet, but me.





Peace-out, Universe. Thanks for listening.

Again, this be Your boi, Lin. Aiight?


One.




•*Partial lyrics to the song “Right On, Be Free” by The Voices of East Harlem
 

About Motherfuckas, And Why They Are So Necessary

Recently, I experienced a great and profound disappointment in my life. Boo-hoo. Woe is me. Being a human being, I’m not exactly a newbie in the field of disappointment.

This particular one, it hurt me so much, I felt it down deep in my soul. When your soul hurts, it’s serious business.

Without going into great detail, I will say, I’d lost my trust in man, and in all humankind. I'd forgotten to Trust Only in God, as a rule. Man is full of bones, damaged hearts and bullshit parts, and thus, man is bound to bullshit you, and disappoint you, and lie to you, and smile in your face and stab you in the back with such cunning and swift precision, you won’t even see the blade coming.


When someone does this to you, whether they be a man or a woman, it’s A Motherfucker’s Move.

In life, we need to be aware of the Motherfuckers. They are everywhere, yo! You can’t and you won’t always spot them right away. Why? Because Motherfuckers are shape-shifters, damn it! Act like you know! They can wear the face of a friend or your boss, your family, or even your lover. What makes them Motherfuckers is that they won’t really care enough about you to support you when you’re down, or have your back when that back is against the wall. When you’re hurt, when you’re struggling, when you’re trying to keep your head above water, that’s when the Motherfuckers will show you their True Face.


That’s when a Motherfucker will rise from the darkened dens of their wretched Motherfucked-ness.


So, upon the Great Disappointment in my life, caused by another kind of Motherfucker entirely, I sought and needed friendship, instead of unappreciated stress. I sought understanding, instead of madness. I sought empathy, instead of selfishness. And I sought love from those who claimed to love me.

When you love someone, if they require space, you give them space.
When you love someone, if they ask for peace, you give them peace.
When you love someone, and they need to be left alone… you grant them their alone time.

But a Motherfucker won’t care about any of that shit. Why?


Because, a Motherfucker has his or her own agenda.

A Motherfucker will always make demands upon you.
A Motherfucker will make erroneous accusations about you.
A Motherfucker will not give a shit about you or your feelings.
A Motherfucker will always find some new shit to bitch about.
A Motherfucker will say some shit with no other objective than to Piss. You. Off.

And yes, a Motherfucker is chronically insecure.

A Motherfucker will secretly smile at your misfortune.
A Motherfucker is a stranger to the word "loyalty."
A Motherfucker doesn’t care if there’s a death in your family.
A Motherfucker will only crave more attention.
A Motherfucker will drain you of your last ounce of energy.
And then that Motherfucker will still ask for more.
A Motherfucker can’t stand it when you tell them NO!

A Motherfucker truly believes they are the planet’s most important person.
And yet, that same Motherfucker needs constant emotional reinforcement.
A Motherfucker will try to make you doubt your own abilities.
A Motherfucker is truly a miserable human being.


But I want to give all The Real Motherfuckers their rightful due.

You Motherfuckers inspire me to be the best that I can be.

You Motherfuckers give me new confidence in myself.
You Motherfuckers make me realize the hero within me.
You Motherfuckers make something in me rise higher.
You Motherfuckers stoke my creativity’s fire.
You Motherfuckers are soooooo damn necessary.
You Motherfuckers make me stronger than I ever knew I could be.
You Motherfuckers force me to make a LIAR out of you.

So, thank you, Motherfuckers.

Even if you don’t know you’re a Motherfucker... I know it now.

I hope... No. I'm sure others recognize your wretched Motherfucked-ness, too.


One.




Note: This is a repost, the remix, the encore... which is just as necessary as it was before.

LMR