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Saturday, November 29, 2008

Freak Comes Clean

Let me tell you a secret:

When I first saw you, I wanted you. I wanted you physically, spiritually, emotionally, too. I wanted to kiss me so badly… I kept stuffing that urge in a cool place, hoping my hunger wouldn't show so much. I wanted to do you… but even more, I wanted to hold your wholeness.

And now I want to make an Art of you, to let my fingers crave Love upon your body, like warm wet Plaster of Paris. Imagine it: me, with my chisel, hard as diamond, hammering into your hot marble flesh…. me, with my chisel… molding and erecting this brand new shape to your heart.

Yes… you would be my art's food, my chisel's muse… as a carve and drill and erect this space inside you, where your caged freak soul flies free.

Let me tell you a secret:

I'm one of those romantic fools, those Sensitives who sometimes holds tenderness too close to the heart and the bone. Am alone to sometimes think of sex as Art?

So ponder: Does this make me, a freak, or simply an Art Groupie?

Some tend to see, to think of Love as a Science, a question of Chemistry; a continuous series of complex equations. E=Mc2. See. You've lost me? I always sucked at science of scientifics. I excelled instead at fitful poetry. I could never recite the Table of Elements, but I can be your creative idiot savant.

Let me tell you another secret:

I sometimes some nights forget to be so tender. I sometimes want to grind your mind in time with mine; to grind you finer than you mill your coffee. See you with your flava, and me with my vintage beans… imagine what a brouhaha we could be together!

And my kisses… oh, my kisses might begin so butterfly soft, and then the intensity of them increases… and that butterfly becomes a freakish raven.

That kiss alone might cause tongues to chafe like flint and kindling igniting flames of desire…wild hot fiery flames that smolder, smother and consume us both to ashes of moist lust.

Let me tell you my final secret:

Love makes me artful, thoughtful, sensitive and tender, angel and devil, madman and savage. Love and me… we've this running history with schizophrenia, baby.

See… I'm not a ho.

I'm a freak, yo.

I just told you.

Now you know.


Thursday, November 27, 2008

Just a lil Turkey Day Love In Yo Face...

Today, I just wanted to leave a shout-out in a small Thanksgiving message to The Universe.

I hope all of you who celebrate the day enjoy a happy, healthy and safe occasion. Whether you spend it with family, friends, loved ones or alone, be grateful for what you have in this life, and never take even the small things for granted. This year, for the fourth time, I'll be spending part of the day serving Thanksgiving dinners to the homeless people in my community. I've found this really gives me a sense of purpose. I'm dealing with a nagging backache, which at this point has become chronic (aging sucks, yo!), but something about lending even a small service to others helps to decorate the soul. So, some soul-decoration will be just what the spirit doctors ordered.

And, oh yeah. I have something I'd like to share with you. Yeah, yeah. I know everyone has their own lil ritual... but here's sum'm new you might wanna try...

A Moanerlicious TURKEY RECIPE:

I thought this sounded good. Here is a turkey recipe that also includes the use of popcorn as a stuffing ingredient -- imagine that. When I found this recipe, I thought it was perfect for people like me, who just are not sure how to tell when turkey is thoroughly cooked, but not dried out. Give this a try.

8 - 15 lb. turkey
1 cup melted butter
1 cup stuffing (Pepperidge Farm is Good.)
1 cup un-popped popcorn (ORVILLE REDENBACHER'S LOW FAT IS BEST)
Salt/pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Brush turkey well with melted butter, salt, and pepper.
Fill cavity with stuffing and popcorn. Place in baking pan making sure the neck end is toward the front of the oven, not the back.

After about 4 hours listen for the popping sounds.

When the turkey's ass blows the oven door open and the bird flies across the room... it's done.

And, you thought I didn't cook...


Happy Thanksgiving Y'all!

Snatch JOY!



Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Lata for SEXY! I'm Bringin' 'AMAZING' Back!

Today, I made a discovery in blog-ville. Like to hear about it? Hereitgo:

Through the sheer goodness and charity of her heart, the lovely Mizrepresent has nominated my meager lil blog as something deemed “Über Amazing!”


Peep the Blogging Star on the right!

I’m getting a little emotional. Please, talk amongst yourselves!

Yeah, yeah. I’ll wait until the applause dies down before I continue.

This news comes as a complete and utter shock to my system as I’ve only been blogging here for a minute, and actually don’t have many readers. However, apparently this title/ award is given to those sites that:

* inspire you
* make you smile and laugh
* give amazing information
* are a great read
* have an amazing design
* and/or any other reason that makes them Uber Amazing!

How about that?

While I’m primarily a poet/novelist, I have blogged in other spots when time allows. It’s very gratifying to know that your blog is being read and appreciated so, I humbly accept this award with no degree of hubris implied.

But, on the real: now it’s time to Pay It Forward:

It’s also important to read and recognize others as well, so in that spirit, I hereby nominate the following five blogs (bloggers) as my recipients of the Uber Amazing Blog Award:


Free Spirit


Joaquin Carvel


tout noir

All of the above criteria (and actually much more) would go into describing your blogs and the contributions that each of you make to the concept of blogging through your hearts, spirits and talents as writers.

I admit to a certain weakness for poetry, and this was a part of my nomination process. Also there are many other people whom I read and enjoy, but I had to narrow it down to five (these were the rules—not my own arbitrary decisions). It is my hope that all of you will receive this award in the spirit in which it is given and "play it forward" to other bloggers as well, so we can share as much love and support for one another as possible (maybe y'all can hit some of the others that I missed).

The rules for the award are as follows:

1. Put the logo (award image) on your blog or in a post.

2. Nominate at least 5 blogs that you feel are Uber Amazing!

3. Let them know that they have received the Uber Amazing Blog Award by commenting on their blog.

4. Share the love by linking to this post and the person you received the award from.

I’ve now completed this mission, and so, my gig is done.

Congratulations to all you mad Creative ‘Úber Amazing’ Mofos! (smiles)




Monday, November 24, 2008

Cyber Suicide: The Next Frontier?

I'm not the most tech savvy cat on the planet, and I have no real desire to be. And yet, there are some elements of the net that truly confound me. For instance: Cyber suicide? Is this the fly new 2K version of a snuff film?

People have given birth on camera. People have sex whether either with a partner or via self-gratification on camera. People have even been beheaded and the event shown to millions who had the stomach to watch. Was good ole American on-cam suicide ever far away?

On Wednesday, police found the body of 19-year-old Abraham Biggs Jr. dead in his father's bed. It was 12 hours after he first declared on the web site for bodybuilders that he planned to take his own life. Sticking to his promise, he took a fatal drug overdose in front of an Internet audience

Have we lived too long, and seen so much that we’ve become an emotionally impenetrable society? Sometimes I wonder.

When we’re born, each of us starts out with a clean slate. We are pure, innocent, and we are vulnerable. But somewhere along the way, this world has a strange and tragically numbing effect of desensitizing so many of us.

Reading of this 19-year-old kid taking his life online, I could only shake my head at the sadness of it. I wonder, in a world where some people have become so desperate in their loneliness, and so obsessive in their need to be noticed, was this his final bid to say to the world: PLEASE! LOOK AT ME! NOTICE ME! LET ME KNOW I MATTER!

Was it a cry for help? A cry bellowed to a bunch of strangers who really didn’t give a damn about him?

It’s beyond outrageous that several people watching from their computer screens actually egged him on, as if seeing someone take their life somehow would make their day. A slow tear came to my eye as I pondered the insensitivity of this shit. What has happened to our humanity? Has it been cyber-raped along with our inbred censor of right and wrong?

Although some concerned viewers actually DID contact the Web site to notify police, authorities did not reach his house in time.

I can’t help but think that many of those who watched this happen thought it was a trick, a bluff, or a dare of some kind. And when it happened, they must have been truly horrified. But I’ve no doubt that some undiagnosed sickness in the heads of others actually WANTED to see it. And so, they got their wish.

This young man was obviously an unhappy soul. He was on medication. He was apparently clinically depressed. He'd made other attempts previously. I’m not so sure if the net is the proper place for some people in such a vulnerable and delicate mental condition. Why? Well, because while there are many folks out there who are good and kind enough to want to help, there are millions more who have no tools, no advice, no words for them. Tragically, there are even more who simply don’t care and who really don’t give a shit. Next! Click

When you break it down, we’re all just strangers passing through, aren’t we? But every stranger has a story, an emotional life, a past, a secret, some unshared ache, and a need to connect with the spirit of another being. Everyone wants and needs someone willing to understand them, to console them when they’re down, to lend a hand, a kind word, a joke, a positive outlook, a sense of sympathy, or empathy, and to provide a core connection that binds us all as humans.

I wish this young man had happened upon such a person in his real life, or even online.

Instead he found only contributors to his misery, only those who wanted to see a show.

Maybe that was this young man's final memory: We’re all alone, and then we die.

All I can hope is that some part of his soul manages to find the peace and understanding he obviously wasn’t allowed to experience here on earth.

Have we lived too long, and seen so much that we’ve become an emotionally impenetrable society?

God help us if we have!

Snatch JOY!


Thursday, November 20, 2008

A Universal 'Thank You!' To Those Who Saved My Life

Has anyone ever saved your life? I mean seriously rescued you from the certain clutches of death?

If so, did you ever properly THANK them?

This is my THANK YOU note.

Truth: I almost died three times. The first time was as an infant, from pneumonia.

This is all family legend. I was far too young to recall any vivid details. But everyone who was around back then told me I was very close to death.

So, to whichever doctor or team of doctors saved me in my infancy… THANK YOU!

The second time, I was 12 years-old. It was at summer camp. I'd seen all the older kids daring to launch themselves from the high heights of the diving with the skill of seasoned Olympians. And not wanting to be thought a coward, I mustered up the foolish courage to boldly, foolishly jump into the deep end of the pool.

I promptly sunk to the bottom.

Drowning is an almost spiritual thing. First you panic. That panic state seems to last forever.

Then, it occurs that:

No one is going to rescue you. Poor you. Either no one cares, or no one notices, and world just goes on without you.

You stop panicking and something very strange takes over. You begin to float with a kind of slow-motion KNOWING that this is to be your fate. You begin to surrender to it. It becomes almost calming. Mentally, you begin to say silent goodbyes to the people, the faces and places in your life. You’re not afraid of dying anymore. You almost embrace it. There's this slow and blue kind of ballet you dance to; and you dance to it, all alone.

You wonder what people will think, say about you, and if they’ll even
remember that you were here. I mean, how much of an impact could you have
made in a scant 12 years?

But you don’t care, because this new and glorious slow-motion peace has descended
and it feels sooooooooooo placid and calming. You begin to imagine… Heaven.


The reverie ended!

I heard this noise, this fevered sound of slapping water heading towards me… and I KNEW it wasn’t my own fevered sound. And then, something seemed to clutch me up and out of my floating death. And I knew it wasn’t the Hand of God.

It felt oddly like a kind of betrayal that this hand would snatch me from the slow and peaceful place I was entering.

I think I was fighting that hand.

But that hand belonged to a kid I knew, a beige long-legged, long-toed skinny kid,
we used to call “Frog.” Yes, as kids, we were all so creatively cruel.

The lifeguard blew his whistle, and quickly jumped in after the kid. But the Real
Hero was Frog. He’d snatched me up and brought me back to the water’s surface,
back to the land of lifeguards, curious crowds and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,
back to that morbid fascination and the embarrassment of concern, back to a less
peaceful world of living in black 12 year-old kid skin.


No! THANK YOU, John Holiday, for saving my life that fateful day in my 12th summer of living. Maybe I was too mad, or too embarrassed, or too deeply mortified to give you your due. Maybe, back then, I never properly THANKED YOU. But I’m sending this shout-out to The Universe: THANK YOU!

My third time of near-dying occurred when I was 22. 22 and cool-man-cool, so damn cool, I could party like a new fool, drink, pop strange pills, be disarmingly charming while still drinking at will. I was 22, cool-cool & soaring inside my own skin. 22, & thinking everything was so fine, so ridiculously fly, and I could still party-hardy like it was 1999.

Popping another ‘lude, was like throwing another shrimp on the barby of that night, that hot night, that wild night when I was careless with my existence.

It was a night when my words became slurred and I couldn’t tell. My posture was little more than a junkie’s slouch, but I thought my spine was perfectly erect. I was heading into some deeply dangerous territory, and was way too high to even give a damn.

But someone did give a damn. Someone noticed I was not being myself, and he was my boy and co-worker, Bryan. We’d gone to that club together, and he was by no means, a saint. But,that night, that wild night, he became my sentinel and savior.

Bryan knocked that last drink from my hand. He grabbed me by the elbow and led me through that high, wasted and dancing crowd. Outside, he loudly scolded my leaning smiling ass, and he told how foolish I was acting, and deadly my behavior was that night.

He told me how I could “fuck around and O.D. or die” mixing all those drinks with pharmaceuticals... and I, I just laughed at him.

And he hauled off and smacked me, HARD. And TRUST, White boys just did NOT go around smacking me, HARD or otherwise! But it was the Cold Hard Smack of Reality.

He forced me into his car and drove me home, And suddenly my heart raced, and I felt sick, then more sick, then a panicky gut-clutching, stooped-over, toilet-yodeling kind of sick… that was sicker than I’d ever felt in my entire life! It was then that I knew something was horribly wrong with me.

And Bryan held my head as I vomited up all that was left inside me that night. He stayed w/ me until I was coherent and nearly back to being me again.

Bryan was a better friend to me than I’d been to myself.

Of course, my coolness, my embarrassment precluded me from ever truly thanking him properly.

So THANK YOU, Bryan Zee.

I know we’ve lost touch, but I think of you often. You were a good Friend, and I really hope you’re still breathing air. Maybe you’re somewhere out there, smacking sense back into people who temporarily lose touch with theirs.

Anyway, with it being near Thanksgiving, I've been pondering here on the ponderosa... and I realize that there are some Special People who've made a Real Difference in my life... and without them, I may not even be here today.

So, Thank You From the Depths of my Soul, You Special People.

Whoever reads this, if you’ve ever had someone, some Angel who saved your life, THANK them, in a Real Way… and maybe the Universe will play the postman.

That's it. That's all.

Snatch JOY in living!


Tuesday, November 18, 2008

A New Word I'd Like To Introduce Into The Venacular

Working in a bar you meet all kinds of people. I dig people. I’m a people person. But some people cause me to ponder.

Picture this:

You meet someone, whether in real life or online, and you initially find them kinda intriguing. You don’t know why exactly. They are not your usual type. They may be off-the-wall, slightly offbeat, or just OFF. They might even be a little shady. But on the personal tip, you have always prided yourself on having a very LOW stankosity quotient. You're that sort of person who can get along with most anyone (at least until they give you a reason NOT to). This is just the way you roll. You try not to judge people. So if someone steps to you, you don't put up the sign of the cross if they happen to have bad skin, bad teeth, missing teeth, or a single rotten toofus… You are able to overlook the bad grammar, a bad odor, or a little whiff of danger. They might come off a little too shrill… a little ill, but still there’s this dirty little thrill about them.

They entertain and they amuse you. In your own private way, you actually kinda like them, and almost admire their swagger and sway. But you’re not exactly falling in dig with them.

Anyway... They leave you their number, but you know you’ll never call them. Yet, there’s some strange thing that's almost, but not quite appealing about them.

Maybe they provide good convo. Maybe they make you laugh in spite of yourself. Maybe they possess an esoteric kinda charm thing, or perhaps a certain strain of edginess.

No. They are not drop-dead gorgeous, or whip-smart, and not particularly your cup of hot java. Still… you find them interesting… Interesting, yes… BUT maybe just a little stank.

And sometimes you find yourself wondering: hmmmmmm… what up with those people… those interesting, yet slightly stank people?

Interestanks I calls em.

I’m sure you must know a few interestanks, right?



Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Miriam Makeba aka Mother Africa Draws Her Last Breath


MIRIAM MAKEBA, the Empress of African Soul collapsed on stage in Castel Volturno, Italy during a Sunday solidarity concert on behalf of six Ghanaians who immigrants who were shot to death several months ago.

She died on Monday from a heart attack at the local hospital.

To her dying day, she gave voice to those who no longer had a voice.

MIRIAM MAKEBA was born in South Africa on 03-04-32 and became a famous songtress of South African music and a vocal opponent of the Apartheid policies of the South African Government. After starring in an anti-government documentary that was filmed outside of the country and entitled; "Come back Africa" (1959) she was banned for over 30 years from returning to her home country. Becoming the most famous performer out of "Black Africa" she was called "Mama Africa".

I clearly remember as a kid my mother playing this strange rhythmic song called "Pata Pata." Although I didn't understand the language there was something in the quality of her voice that compelled me to listen. I would continue to listen for years.

It was followed by another strange (to African-American me) yet intriguing composition "The Click Song" ("Qongqothwane" in Xhosa), where she used a language composed of a tongue clicking sound which was and the native-speak in Xhosa. This was as educational as it was enthralling. Miriam Makeba used her gift of song to teach us new and important things about the world she inhabited, and those of us who listened, we were all the better for it.

In later years, it was she who inspired me to pen a poem that became my first piece published in the National magazine, Essence:

**"I dreamed you were
A Poem,
Composed in Makeba clicks
And hypnotic chants. I dreamed
You were
An ancient dance of
A poem."

During her career she had performed with several musical legends from around the world including NINA SIMONE, DIZZY GILLESPIE, PAUL SIMON & HARRY BELAFONTE. Her work with HARRY BELAFONTE lead to her 1960’s American Grammy Award. She also sang for world leaders such as the late President John F. Kennedy and South African President Nelson Mandela. During her personal life she was once married to South African trumpeter HUGH MASAKELA "Grazing in the Grass" (1968, #1 Pop/RnB) from 1964-66.

Also she was married to the Black Power Activist Stokely Carmichael from 1968-78. Carmichael changed his name to an Africanized one and became the President of the African Country of Guinea.

MIRIAM MAKEBA announced her retirement three years ago, but true to her art, the woman never stop performing. It was on her 75th birthday that said, she "would sing for as long as possible…..and will until the last day of my life!"

When one loves the beauty of their country, and yet decries its ugliness in song, in activism, and in the very spirit of their artistry, perhaps the best way to die is in expressing your soul in music before a crowd that loves and appreciate it.

Rest in Peace, Mother Africa!

One Love.

** excerpt from the poem "Art Groupie Exile," ~by L.M. Ross

After We Fuck (Recitation From my One- Act Play)

After we spark

After we talk

After we kiss…

After we touch

After that fit of

Magic happens between

Us... After we descend

Like slow and falling

Stars… After

Stripped virtues

Quickly depart

After the stardust

After the rush

After we bust

That final nut…

After our bellies

Fill with

Mild disgust

After the silence

What'll become of


After we've moaned

And groaned our

Frenetic groans...

Shivered in rivers

Then made excuses

To head home

After we've fucked

In the absence of lust

After night sucks passion

Like a Hoover Deluxe

Will what happened

To them

Ever happen to


After we fuck...

After we've fucked?

After we've howled

After we've screamed

After we've exchanged

These bodily fluids

After we’ve hummed

And come…

And made shit and dust

Of a Sacred Moment

Will tomorrow be implied

Inside this silent kiss

Or will tomorrow be…

Just another muscular


After the suck

After the ride

After the fuck

After the lies

After we've kissed

After we've touched

After we've descended

After we've fucked?

After we


That final nut…

After our bellies

Fill with mild



The Hoover night has

Sucked passion up…

Will what happened to

Those others

Ever happen to us…

After we’ve fucked?


Wednesday, November 5, 2008


America has a brand new swagger this morning. It strides and moves in a unified sway, and it feels to me like the rhythm of change.

I am proud that on November 4, 2008, World History was made. I am proud that I was able to experience the Monumental Event come to pass as Barack Obama became the 1st African American male to be elected President of the United States.

I am proud, as a Black Man, because I am well aware of the tumultuous history of this country.

I am proud because Barack Obama's victory speaks multitudinous volumes, and has set the stage for people of ALL races.

I am proud because Obama is living proof that we are in the land of opportunity.

I am encouraged that Obama's ascent did not solely manifest from the works, the deeds, the hopes nor the dreams of black people or white people, or brown people or yellow people or young people, or women or men. His being elected to the Highest Office this country allows did not rest solely upon the shoulders of straight or gay votes, nor the rich, middle class, the poor and disenfranchised alone. His ascent to this position is due to all these people coming together as one in a profoundly beautiful AMERICAN MOSAIC.

I am encouraged that we each now have the opportunity as Americans to unite and work towards rebuilding this country. The 2008 Elections have been irrefutable evidence that this change can and will happen.

As I watched President-Elect Barack Obama give his acceptance speech, I thought of my late grandmother Margie, who lived most her life under the spirit-robbing, soul-smothering blanket of Jim Crowism, and who didn't get the right to vote until she'd reached middle-age. I thought of my late father who quietly raged against his perceived limitations and his ultimate station as a black man in this country.


It makes me believe in the strength of the law of attraction. Americans came together promoting change and empowerment through a sense of passion and hours spent in preparation of this election.

It is evidence that what you think about, you bring about.

And comes the time for Americans and the world to THINK ABOUT empowering ourselves, and to BRING ABOUT the spirit of positive change that is yet to come. Barack Obama has made it clear that he can not accomplish the herculean task before us all by his lonesome. He needs US!

I am proud to know that you and I and we are far more powerful than we've been conditioned to believe.

This election has affirmed for me that America has begun to live up to its creed.

Never again will I allow anyone to tell me I am not deserving of the life of my dreams. Barack Obama by his mind, his will, his plan, his determination, his sheer 'audacity of hope' has already proven that YES WE ALL CAN!

America has a Brand New Swagger this morning. It feels like the rhythm of change.

As Sam Cooke once sang so prophetically over 40 years ago:



May GOD be with you.

One Love.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

An Emotive Election Day Here in Moan-ville

Today, wanting to avoid the crowds, the long lines, the stress and headaches, I was one of those wise people (or fools) who ventured out into the pre-dawn darkness to cast my vote for President.

One of the wonderful things about this country is that we, as a people, are given a voice. It’s probably the only chance laypeople and non-politicos ever truly get to exert a sense of power in the way things are governed. Ultimately, the big cheese, the big baller, the grand poo-bah, the main fat cat who’ll be running things, calling the shorts, making the tough and necessary choices, this all becomes OUR decision.

Today, I walked with just a little more power in my stride as I headed off to get MY vote on.

As I entered the building (a local youth center in my ville), I encountered an elderly man behind a desk in the lobby. An old Italian gentleman in bifocals, I took him to be a retiree hired to meet and greet, and be social. He had a friendly face, and I gathered this position made him feel useful. He reached out his hand and said, “Welcome. Good to see you come out this morning.”

As I shook his hand, I thought that would be it, and I’d keep it moving. But, no. He then went on a mini tangent about the candidates. His words clearly favored Obama to the point of dogging McCain.

I like McCain. I think he’s a decent man. A funny man, too. John McCain is a man who has served his country well. I don’t see him as my enemy, just as I don’t see Barack Obama as my savior.

I guess this old gentleman assumed, that since I was a Black man, he was already preaching to the choir. Suddenly, I was elected to be his AMEN corner. To be quite honest, this felt a little condescending. However, I’d always been taught to respect my elders, so I just let him speak.

It was then 6:25 AM. More and more people were steadily arriving. Each of them had the casual luxury of stepping past his desk and going directly to the voting room. I, meanwhile, was a prisoner to this man’s political diatribe/monologue. He’s ranting about how unfair the campaign has been to Obama. How McCain’s people should be “ashamed” of themselves for suggesting socialism was at the core of Barack’s philosophy; ashamed for questioning the man’s religious faith, his true agenda, etc. etc. Me? I just nodded along. He then went into the subject of Obama’s father leaving him and not representing what a father should be. And he waxed on into Obama’s grandmom’s passing, and how emotional Barack was while speaking about her.

Now I’m thinking: Okay. This old man’s for real. He’s a fan of Barack’s. He wants to BARACK the vote, yo!

But people were coming and going, and my early-bird intentions are lost, as I’m standing there, nodding my head at him. At one point, I wondered: WHO CAN STOP HIM? Would someone PLEASE stop him!

Finally, I looked at my watch and said, “Great speaking with you, sir. But I’ve gotta get in there and vote, before I head off to work.”

He ends his monologue with, “All right, then. Go vote! But I pray he (Barack) wins.” He then pulls out a crucifix from behind the collar of his pale blue shirt. He raises it slightly to the heavens, and kisses it.

Yup. This old cat’s for real.

Once I make it inside the voting room, there is a smallish crowd of maybe 20 people in line. They are young and they are old. They are Black, White, Brown and Yellow. They are the faces of this country.

I show my ID to this elderly lady sitting behind a table, as another checks to see if I’m registered. I admit this part was a tad stressful. I’d heard some horror stories about some people don’t being able to vote in this election for various reasons. Sometimes it reeks to me of the pre-civil rights era in the south. But luckily, my name is listed, so I’m cool. Good thing, too, cause I really didn’t wanna have to SET IT OFF up in that mofo! Especially so damn early in the day!

As I waited my turn in line to cast my ballot, I was reminded once again of my power. There was power in my little vote. I was thinking how this day was a historic event, no matter which candidate wins the election. I began to feel this sense of PRIDE to be a small part of it, and have lived long enough to see it. Perhaps it’s the writer, the chronicler of events, this poet in me that actually brought on a twinge of emotion.

I didn’t take this lightly. I hope no one does.

As I pulled the lever to close the curtains, I remembered my childhood, and my grandmother telling me how she wasn’t able to vote until she was in her early forties. The laws didn’t ALLOW her to vote. Such were the troubling and racist times in her native Virginia.

How dare I or anyone else take this right for granted!

Well, I voted. Pulled four separate levers, and then it was done.

I walked out of the place at 6:47AM. The sun was out by then, and it was shining, almost brightly.

I walked away with just a trace of power in my stride.

Yo! No matter which candidate you favor, just VOTE people! Go get your power surge on!