*About Motherfuckas, And Why They Are So Necessary

Just recently, I experienced a great and profound disappointment in my life. Yes, I know. Boo-hoo. Woe is me. Within this business of living, just existing, and having these prolonged human experiences, much like everyone else, I’m not exactly a neophyte in the treacherous fields and hills and valleys of disappointment.


But this particular strain of disappointment, it hurt me so much, I'd begun to feel it down to the depths of my very soul. When the soul hurts, please believe... that's some deep and very serious business.

Without going into great detail or naming anyone's name, I will say, I’d lost my faith in all humankind. I'd forgotten to Trust Only in God as a rule. Man is full of trick bones, tainted hearts and bullshit parts, and thus, man is bound to hurt you, bullshit you, disappoint you, lie to you, smile in your face and stab you in the back with such cunning and swift precision that it can be mad ALARMING! Most times, 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 keenly aware of the Motherfuckers. They live, breathe, bob, weave and co-habitate among us. They secretly dance in the shadows and sometimes waltz in broad daylight. They are madness incarnate, but with sanity's eyes. They can sneak up on us and often surprise us because they'll say or do the wickedest of shit. But most of all, 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 true '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 stressed, when you're struggling, when you’re just 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 oozing dens of their wretched primordial Motherfucker-ness.


So, upon the Great Disappointment in my life, caused by another kind of foul-ass Bearilla Motherfucker entirely, I sought friendship, instead of 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, and they require space... you give them space.
When you love someone, and they ask for peace… you give them peace.
When you love someone, and they need to be alone… you give them their alone time.



But a Motherfucker won’t care about any of that shit.
A Motherfucker has his or her own agenda.

A Motherfucker will 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 doesn’t care if there’s an illness or even a death in your family.
A Motherfucker will only crave more and more and 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 quite sure that others will recognize your Motherfucked-ness, too.





One.




* repost

Almost Three Weeks Smoke-Free. Applaud Me!

Almost three weeks ago, after 26 years and countless Newports inhaled in times of stress and boredom, exhaled, like some co-conspirator who rode shotgun with my pleasure, inhaled in those socially awkward moments, exhaled while shooting the tedious shit with friends and associates, inhaled in times of hunger and creative constipation, and exhaled as if the nicotine equivalent to an after-dinner mint, I decided the time had come to stop, to quit, to finally abandon my vile cig habit.

Cold turkey.



Yes. Applaud me! Thankyavurrrrmuch!


Doing anything cold turkey ain’t no joke, yo. The mind plays all kinds of cold and vicious tricks on you. You feel at odd times: sick to your stomach, tense, stressed, desperate, confused, deranged, deprived, moody, nervous, depressed, short-tempered, impatient, pissed, irritable, prone to mean-spirited sarcasm… and more. Trust me, those are pretty much the GOOD things on the cold turkey menu.

Without tribes of rabid monkeys gnawing their sharp little teeth against your back or some creepy sensation of bugs crawling all over your body, you still feel very much like a junkie trying so desperately to kick! As a result of this, you begin to suck as a person. For real, though. You make lousy company. You’re no longer any fun. You can’t even remember what fun feels like. Your charm is gone. Your wit has split. And your creativity has taken a severe hit.... or else it's on some extended vaca on the Isle of Time Out Of Mind.

But I’ve quit, yo! Yes, I'm currently crutch-free. No. Don’t applaud me, yet!

This. Is. Without Doubt. One. Of. Dee. Very. Hardest... (no, make that HOARDEST) Things I’ve Ever Had To Do! And I’m doing this to myself. I’m putting myself through this exercise in sensory deprivation and outright cruelty. The masochist in me is flipping the switch to my own suffering. The only saving grace is that I keep telling myself: I’m also doing this FOR ME!

I’m doing this because a New Year dictates that I usher in some new priorities.

I’m doing this so I’m no longer treated like a third-class citizen in this country.

I’m doing this to prove I have some power and some degree of self-control.

I’m doing this because, lately, I am not loving the sound of my own breathing.

I’m doing this to prove to myself that I’m not a weakling.

I’m doing this so my clothes won’t reek of smoke.

I’m doing this so I will become kissable again.

I’m doing this so I can walk up stairs & hills & long inclines without wheezing.

I’m doing this for economic reasons (cigarettes sell for TEN dollars in my ville, and the obscene sum of THIRTEEN DOLLARS a pack in NYC!!!).

I’m doing this because, although life is often hard, I would actually like to live as long as possible.


Yes. I’ve tried (3x) and failed to quit before. Strangely this time around feels more legit. All those other times I'd go a lil crazy, begin jonesin', and HAVE to light up, like after a good meal, however, now I’ve somehow refrained from that habitual behavior, and instead will just suck on a cough drop.

Although I’m not exactly a happy pappy these days, I still don’t have the desire to spit at, wish a pox upon, cuss a fool out, insult someone's mama, or murder anyone. YET!

Applaud me!

At this point, after almost three weeks, if I were to suddenly start smoking again, then I would consider myself a colossal failure. I hate failing at anything! I know that I am strong. I must learn to revel in my own strength and conviction, and, without vanity, to applaud my own magnificence.

I am learning something new every day about myself... and about this concept called WILLPOWER. You see, mentally, I’d made myself believe that I could not even write without my nicotine companion. The train of my thoughts would often derail, my creative gas pedal would stall, and there I’d be, lost, stranded in the scenery of a deep and profound writer’s block, unable to think, compose, come up with something decent or anything original. And then, I’d reach inside my shirt pocket, my fingers finessing the smooth contour of a cardboard green and white box. Inside there lay my twenty muses, or soldiers willing to help me overcome this battle. I’d light up a Newport, and suddenly, I was brilliant again.



Words came as if arriving on cool freight trains. New sentences were born, and ideas were fleshed out and fine-tuned, and all I had to do was inhale, and exhale. I’d romanticized this concept. Hmmm... Sheer creative brilliance came in this little green and white packet. Or so I’d thought.

But you see… that was all a lie… a dangerously clever lie the nicotine mentally placed inside my brain.

I am saner now. Despite my bouts of depression and my irritable disposition, I am saner because I’m no longer willing to walk through snow-blinding blizzards or schizophrenic alleys to cop my oh so dependable nic-fix.

See? I’m doing me now... the uncharming, unwitty, but ultimately FREE and liberated me, no longer a slave to Phillip Morris! And I am no longer that alarming social outcast reeking of smoke and nicotine all the while parading his weakness and his character flaws for everyone to see.

Yes. It’s been almost three weeks and counting…

So dammit, yes... applaud me!

One.

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 the 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, heart 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 feel 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 dens of their wretched Motherfucked-ness.

So, upon the Great Disappointment in my life, caused by another kind of Motherfucker entirely, I sought friendship, instead of 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, and they require space... you give them space.
When you love someone, and they ask for peace… you give them peace.
When you love someone, and they need to be alone… you give them their alone time.

But a Motherfucker won’t care about any of that shit.
A Motherfucker has his or her own agenda.

A Motherfucker will 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 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 once 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 Motherfucked-ness, too.


One.