10 Ponderations on Love & Friendship: A Survey By Moi

Are you the curious type? I am. I think people are much more interesting when they are faced with telling 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. With this in mind, a while back I composed a survey on one of my other blogs. I thought 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)


1. YOU are at your best and are MOST REAL 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, in the aftermath of a session of 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.



2. When someone physically shows you love or vividly displays their love for you, your usual M.O. is to:


a)reciprocate that action in some form or fashion
b) panic and head 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.

3. When you blatantly tell a LIE to someone you're supposed to love and trust, 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’d feel mad guilty... but I'm not perfect & sometimes a gentle lie becomes necessary.


4. Picture it: You’re engaged in a very intimate relationship where certain shameful secrets and deeply mortifying truths are revealed. Later on... you and your former intimate are no longer speaking, yet, you are still armed with that precious and intimate info… when upset, pissed, in a bad mood, 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.

5. Someone you purportedly love is all 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.


6. When YOU’VE hurt someone, unintentionally, are you usually sensitive or compassionate enough to even be aware of it? If so, how would you generally follow-through to help 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, their issues, quirks and things that upset them. We may be unaware of such issues... so having dinner, breaking bread & talking it out helps us to understand where we're BOTH coming from, and hopefully this will squash the madness, literally.


7. Have you ever meant to tell someone the Gentle Truth, but it came out harsh and hurtfully? If so, did you...

a) Ignore it
b) Try to fix it
c) Pretty it up to avoid drama
d) Simply let that Truth breathe and breed?


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

8. When a close friend wants to hang out with you, but you’re too 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, like a good martyr
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.


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

a) nah. I'm more of a noun person
b) 'what does love is a verb' really mean?
c) hell to duh yeah! I'ma verber by nature!
d) it depends upon my romantic/gentle disposition

LMR: C) I tend to be very, VERY, vurrrrrrrrrr verbal.


10. 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 warm, sentimental and lasting?


LMR: C) Sometimes you have to sacrifice for love. It’s usually your most telling verb.



That's it. That's all.


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


One.


Lin

for a friend who is seriously considering suicide...

Dear G:


Really?


I mean... seriously?


I’ve just finished reading your words. Now this crazy tear sits inside of me. It lingers here... blurring my vision... but I refuse to cry. Now this same tear is threatening to form a gray cloud over my right eye until it mimics some emotional cataract. Always hate it when that happens.

Your thinking is obviously misguided and splintered, and yet your words were clear. Your intentions sounded so decisive and methodical, as if you were standing at this last chance terminal, finalizing your flight plan.

G, trust me... final is a very, very long time, my friend.


I am so sorry that the trip you’d planned and all those arrangements you’d made didn’t pan out the way you’d imagined… especially after you’d hoped and written and prayed that it would. I am truly, deeply, seriously sorry that this person you profess to love, ignored your pleas, refused to even see you, or answer your emails or respond to your texts or take a single one of your desperate calls. I am sorry that you’ve allowed someone else the power to make you feel so meek and small and so damned unnecessary. I am sorry that your efforts were all for naught.

I could say that this is THEIR loss. But I fear that, being in the place you are, you won’t really process this reality or even hear me, now.

G… please know this: When it’s real, when it’s actual, alive and thriving and factual, Love is a Verb; an all-consuming verb. It doesn't play cruel games, ignore or abuse you, or kick you in your gut. Love doesn’t ridicule or crush your spirit. It doesn't hurt or fuck you in some deeply wounding way.


Love is supposed to support you, hold you…. and LIFT you up!



Love is supposed to produce a feeling in its hosts “so High…" your “shoes are scraping the sky”… remember?

But Love, The Real Deal Stuff, doesn’t truly exist if it isn’t reciprocated. Yes, that’s a rough and mad tough pill to swallow, my friend. Yes, it may hurt like all hell, but I swear, it’s true. So what you thought was Love, was, in fact, a joyful memory, a past-life experience, an illusion, or some beautiful dream you’ve retained in your heart.


It doesn’t mean you are not worthy of Love, because you most definitely are worthy. Please know, you ARE worthy of REAL LOVE! This episode simply means that *this thing* this experience, this one-sided emotionally fanatic thing you’ve somehow miscomputed and mislabeled as “love” was not destined to bloom, or flourish or endure for the entirety of your journey.


But... guess what? This Too Shall Pass.


I’m also very sorry that the reunion with your estranged father fell through. I am sorry that your dad chose to spend time with the “beloved” brother, instead of you. Sad. This too is HIS loss. If you have been made to feel as if you’re unloved or loveless, then that is deeply unfortunate. But it also happens to be a blatant untruth.



So now… what? You want to punish those people who’ve hurt you, ignored you; who've chosen not to honor you with their love?


The truth is, your demise might sting some, might hurt others, MIGHT cause a few to grieve you, for only a minute or two. And… then what? You’re gone, and their lives will continue to go on.



I fear you haven’t truly THOUGHT this thing through, my friend.


And what about your son, and his family? You want them to suffer, too? Do you really think leaving them a few things, articles and your precious computer will soothe them through your eternal absence?


What about the friends who’ve offered you help and guidance, Light and Laughter and Love through your consistent episodes of pain? Do you want to spit in our faces, too?


What about those times when the sun shines brightly, and a smile comes into your heart and it crosses your face, and for no reason, you experience what can only be described as a Good Moment? Do you want to destroy those Good Moments, too?


What about the Spirit in you, the one who believes in The Creator... what are you really saying to Him? Are you saying that He Made Some Tragic Mistake in Creating you? Life is rough. It isn't for sissies. Are you, by this foolish intention, stating that you’re not worthy of a full and authentic Life, lived with zest and JOY, heartache and pain?


Truthfully, G, regardless of the few Donny Hathaways and Don Cornelius’ of this world, I really don’t believe suicide to be a natural part of our DNA. We have known Real Tests of The Human Condition: centuries of indignities, kidnapping, and slavery, centuries of systemic emasculation, physically, mentally and spiritually, and still most of us somehow survived without the terminal crutch of suicide.

But *heartbreak* and heartbreak alone is enough to do YOU in?


How Deeply and Sadly and Tragically Un-resilient of You!

Your sensitivity sometimes enlightens me... but your weakness only frightens and defeats me.




I would like to Believe that you are so much STRONGER than this, G. You are a Spirit-filled, God-fearing Being. You are, and you have been, a Light and a Beacon of True and Luminous Inspiration. And so, should you choose to selfishly snuff out that light, everything you ever said, everything you ever stood for will forever ring of fraudulence and dishonesty.


Should you snuff out that beautiful Light, you will truly know Hell, and NOT some sacred peacefulness you only imagine that other plane will be.


You need to remember this: What Doesn’t Kill Us… does in effect Make Us Stronger!

You need to know that the Sun sets... but it does indeed rise again.

You need to realize that suicide is a foolish and permanent solution to a temporary problem.

You need to always remember that as long as you are breathing, life can change, do a 180, and you will bear witness that: This Too Shall Pass.

You need to know and to put into daily practice, this, my friend:

ALWAYS BELIEVE that something WONDERFUL is about to Happen. And then, from the jaws of human suffering, reach down deep within... and...

Snatch JOY!


That’s it. That’s all.


I Love You.


Choose Life!



One.


LMR



P.S. Now I’ve all these crazy tears inside my eyes. Yo! Imagine that! Me. Crying over your tragic black ass! Guess I must be one of those people who actually feels that you matter in this world, G.

*Ponder* that, my friend.





One Love.


Lin

In Honor of World AIDS Day: When Friends Die Young

When Friends Die Young (For James & Jr. & Kim & Cliff & Jet & Cunning & Rosemarie &
Frankie & Richard & Deborah & Every Tear That Falls Down On The Neighborhood Now)

A part of you never
Understands. Your tears fall,
Hard, as violent rainstorms from
The heavens.
You swear at God!
You curse the fates! You barter
In bitter degrees. And you ache. You never stop
This aching. And you wonder why
You’re left behind
To grow older, while
Your friends
Expire into skeletons
Before their time.




When Young Women Die
A part of you never really understands.
You think of babies, never born, and
Of newborns dying,
Of sick babies,
Never forming their lips
In a kiss against
A mother’s cheek.



You swear at God! You curse
This fuckin’ disease! You barter
For survival, in degrees… You make deals with
Your libido, your lust, your loneliness. And
You may exist, for years, without the succulence of
The human
Touch.

When Young Men Die
A part of you grows angry…
Your heart beats faster than
A speeding locomotive,
Your screams pitch
Louder than a subway’s thunder.
You try to remember:
The sounds of a friend’s laughter.
The autumn’s brilliant colors,
The way children smile and
Play with each other when
They think no one’s watching.


But you are watching them…
Watching these shiny kneed little boys
And little cornrowed chocolate girls…
As they grow, evolve, get older,
And life unfurls for them.
You keep watching, like a sentinel,
Or some quietly sobbing god… remembering
When their loved ones were such
A vital part of our
Living.





One.




© 2011 by L.M.Ross moaningmanblues

Junkie

Yesterday, I ran into an old friend who has, over the years, fallen on hard times. Much of this was due to Life and its disappointments, personal weakness and the failure to overcome the adversities we all face. It saddened me how he could have been me, or I could have been him. It saddens me still because between us there are very few differences. After speaking with him last night, I was haunted enough to light a candle for him, and then to write this poem.



JUNKIE


Funky
Skunky
Untrustworthy
Junkie, I might just be
Your only friend
Left.

Maybe ’cause
You haven’t yet
Robbed
My car,
Broken into
My home,
Stolen my TV
And DVR.
You have not
Abused my trust
Turned my love
Into tainted
Dust… or
Made empty
Promises
I knew you
Couldn’t keep.

Yes, I’ve still
Got your back
Because maybe,
Just maybe
I’m nothing but
An addict too…
A junkie, scratching
The scabs of my
Sordid history
With you. I keep
Feeding off
Lost years of
Pick-up b-ball games
And Converse All-Stars
Mainlining
Good Moments and
Memories
Into my veins…




And now I’ve become
Some strange form of
Junkie…
Jittering to
This music
Of a past…
Tripping on times
When laughter made
Jazz and sparks in
A summer night’s
Darkness
And it was cool
To be young and
Foolish, too.

Maybe we’re all
Just junkies
Holding onto
Dreams
Tight as
Hypodermic
Needles…
Always looking for that
Transitory fix

See everyone
I know
Clings to
Something,
To someone
Or some shit
That may never
Come to be…



And so we
Junk ourselves
Away from
Reality. We stifle
We dope
We medicate our
Silent aches
With placebos
With nicotine
With liquor
With amphetamines
With something
That makes disaster
Seem a little more like
A dream.

Funky
Skunky
Untrustworthy
Junkie, I might just be
Your only
Friend left. Maybe
‘Cause beneath
The scratching,
Leaning palsy and
The slow-mo ballet
Just maybe I see…




How my veins
Have collapsed
From the weight of
My dreams
How my desires
Have atrophied
From someone
Else’s schemes
And my fingers
Wear sores and
Skid-marks
From clawing
And clinging to
Some illusive shit
That may never
Come to be.



The only difference is:

I’VE NEVER STOPPED
Believing.


One.

My Tisha Mae, My Favorite Jersey Chick, On Her 46th Natal Day

Dressed down in all black, our berets cocked at a deadly tip, our cool is

heading towards ridicuous and our swagger is becoming the stuff of

legend in this city. Hey, Tisha Mae, in the moment, I am quietly digging your

sway, and how sometimes you'll move in this smooooove unutterable elegance, I

become so impressed by the essence of you... that I almost forget you

know me, know my name, shared my secrets and heard my dreams, and you

even “LOVE” me a li'l bit... that way you Jersey chicks do… or so you’ve said

on a bold or giddy occasion or two… though it seems it’s always me who says it

first...




Night blows by like a hit of good cheeb... and we sit, lit in pink bistro

light. Some slight scatting jazz chick croons from the juke... and jazzoid that

I be I think it’s Rosie Clooney, which is sweet though Nina Simone would’ve

grooved and wooed and taken us home in slow motion. Slowly, we eat, talk, laugh

some. We speak fluently of horny evenings and current sex machines and of poetry

readings in Brooklyn. We each secretly want to be Real Poets kissed by stars of

adoration and acceptance. Yet we only admit this in deeper whispers when those

voices of our inner perverts come gleaming from our eyes. Funny how we become

two groggy victims from this Italian wine with the world "swhirling" and the

traffic sighing around us as Rosemary Clooney serenades us.


"Happy Birthday, Tisha Mae!" I raise my glass and sing in Stevie Wonder style,

as waiter brings a single red cake cupcake and you smile like the sun.



Later on, 27th Street sits all over your shoulders like a navy shawl with

moveable glitter in it.



You want to visit a psychic. You want to pay some mystic to feed you

good news and divine you some brighter future… But I nix this idea. Psychics,

scare me. Besides, I say: 'I’m all the clairvoyance you need, baby! Let’s see:

You still dream to be kid-free, Jersey-free soul-free to write and Be

Heard or maybe if not prominent then at least a cooly popular cult figure.




See? I know your dream. I even share its sheen with you.


No need for juju nor tarot reading mojo-slinging mystic women summoning up

Voodoo, at 1:22AM. No need when nothing but the swoosh of traffic and Cool York

City noise comes on strong in this shrouded voice of Love and yet-to-be poetry

speaks best for you and me.


Hey! Tisha Mae, have I told you lately how your smile paints me softly in

colbolt blue plumes and downtown moonlight? Hey! Maybe it’s infectious, too.

Makes us giggle like junior high fools and beautiful, if profoundly retarded

people do. You smile and it reminds me how I haven’t really smiled from

deep inside my soul in a week (or was it a decade?) or two. Well, at least

since my last time hangin' out with you.





The night turns a cold 59 degree shoulder to us. I walk you in Stagger-Lee mode

to your train, and we wait for its arrival. And it comes in a slow gust of foul

air, and I kiss you goodbye. And you grab my ears... and you smile that smile

you do. "Thanks for making this one a memory, Lin." And you kiss my lips, and

you kiss my cheek. And I back away as you board the train. And I turn back

to see you in the windows. You are moving through the cars… just moving with

this Grace, with such quietly dignified, with such unutterable elegance that

your swagger becomes legend… and you make a new memory... and it's times like

this that I almost forget, you know me, know my name. I forget we've shared

each others secrets. I forget, you know the weight of these dreams I’ve put on

hold… Hell, you even “LOVE” me... a li'l... or, so I've been told…



Seems I'm always the first to say it, though.


Sometimes, inside my mind or in the back of my throat, I find myself

humming it, in a happy-to-be-nappy tune of strangely transforming notes

all the way home.



Happy Natal Day, Tisha Ma. I do… I really do love you, yo.






One.

for a black man who is seriously considering suicide...

Dear Gregory:

Just finished reading your words, and now I’ve all these crazy tears in my eyes. Your words, they sounded so final, so methodical, as if you’re at some ticket office, finalizing your flight plan.

Gregory, final is a very, very long time, my friend.


I am sorry that your trip to London didn’t pan out the way you’d imagined and hoped and written and prayed that it would. I am truly, deeply sorry that the one you profess to love, wouldn’t see you, or answer your emails or take your calls. I am sorry that you feel lost and unnecessary. I am sorry that you feel all your effort was for naught.

I could say that this is THEIR loss. But I fear you won’t really hear me.

Gregory: When it’s real, when it’s actual and factual, Love is a verb. Love doesn't ignore you, or kick you in your gut. Love doesn't crush your spirit, hurt or fuck you in some deeply wounding way.

Love is supposed to support you, LIFT you up! “So High” that your “shoes are scraping the sky”… remember?


But Love, The Real Deal Stuff, doesn’t truly exist if it isn’t reciprocated. Yes, that’s a rough, mad tough pill to swallow. Yes, it may hurt like hell, but I swear, it’s true. What you thought was Love, was, in fact, a joyful past-life experience, an illusion, a beautiful dream in your heart.


It doesn’t mean are not worthy of Love, because you most definitely are. You ARE! It simply and sadly means that *this love* was not destined to endure for the entirety of your journey.


This too shall pass.


I’m also very sorry that the reunion with your father fell through. I am sorry that he chose to spend time with the “beloved” brother, instead of you. This too is HIS loss. If you have been made to feel as if you’re unloved, loveless, love-free, that is sad and most unfortunate. But it happens to be a deep untruth.


So now… what? You not want to punish those people who’ve hurt you, ignored you and chosen not to give you their love?


The truth is, your demise might sting them, might hurt them, might cause them to grieve you, for a minute or two. And… then what? You’re gone, and their lives will continue to go on.


You haven’t truly THOUGHT this thing through, my friend.


Well what about your son, and his family? You want to punish them, too? Do you really think leaving them your precious computer will soothe them through your eternal absence?


What about the friends who’ve offered you help and guidance, Light and Laughter and Love through your episodes of pain? Do you want to punish us, too?


What about those times when the sun shines and a smile comes into your heart for no reason, and you experience a Good Moment? Do you want to punish those Good Moments, too?


What about the spirit in you, the one who believes in The Creator, what are you really saying to Him? That He Made a Tragic Mistake in Creating you? That you’re not worthy of a full life, lived in joy and pain?


Truthfully, Gregory, Black Men and Suicide shouldn’t even be in the same damn sentence. Black men have known Real Tests of The Human Condition: centuries of indignities, kidnapping, and slavery, centuries of systemic emasculation, physically, mentally and spiritually, and still somehow survived without the crutch of suicide.

But *heartbreak* alone is enough to do YOU in?


Your sensitivity enlightens me, but your weakness, it only frightens and saddens me.


I would truly like to Believe you are STRONGER than this, Gregory. You are a Spirit-filled, God-fearing Being. You are, and have been a Light, and a Beacon of inspiration. Should you choose to snuff out that light, everything you ever said will forever ring of fraudulence.


Should you snuff out that Light, you will truly know Hell, and not that sacred peacefulness you only imagine you will.


You need to remember this: What Doesn’t Kill Us… Make Us Stronger!

You need to know that the Sun does indeed rise again.

You need to realize that suicide is a foolish and permanent solution to a temporary problem.

You need to always remember that This Too Shall Pass.

You need to know and to put into daily practice, this, my friend:

From the Jaws of suffering, Snatch Joy!


That’s it. That’s all.

Choose Life!


I Love You.




P.S. And now I’ve all these crazy tears in my eyes. Imagine that! Me! I must be one those people who truly feels that you Matter, Gregory.

*Ponder* that, my friend.


One Love.


Lin