Plop,plop, fizz, fizz. Oh what a relief it is!

Don’t know if you remember but in the movie Lean on Me, Morgan Freeman portrayed Joe Clark, a hard nosed, no nonsense principal trying to turn around a high school. In an early scene, Sams, a student who was kicked out goes back to tell Mr. Clark he made a mistake and the kid he (Clark) is referring to isn’t him (Sams). Clark takes him to the roof. Sams smokes crack and Clark is telling him that he’s killing himself by smoking crack, he’s just doing it slowly. In Clark’s opinion “if you want to kill yourself, don’t f*** around with it, do it expeditiously. Jump!” Hee hee, oh the emphatic truth that rests within that harsh, unfeeling, unnerving yet necessary statement.

With reference to the statement, I’m not referring to suicide, I’m referring to…whatever. I’ll give you 2 scenarios.
#1. It’s hard being a cheerleader, especially for someone who seems to have lost all hope, desire and will to live. You all know someone who, at one time or another, has gone through or is going through something and they see no joy around them. Everyday is a Pep Rally for you, in that you are charged with the task of keeping their spirits up, helping them see the bright side of things, willing them to keep pushing, being the life that they seem to have lost inside. After a while, it gets old. You’re like, damn, can you breathe for yourself or must I do that for you too? The harsh reality of it is, and I know because God and I have had these types of conversations, you do want to say… look, if you want to give, go ahead and give up but be quick about it because I’m going to need all the time I can get to get over this and move on with my life, so if your going, get the f’ on. My aunt is a prime example. I don’t talk to her as much because quite frankly and sadly, she is without joy. She has nothing and I mean nothing positive to say about anything. I pray for her everyday. I pray that she will see the grace that has been bestowed upon her by having a daughter who loves and cares for her 25/8. She got upset with me one day because I wouldn’t leave my house to bring her some lettuce and tomatoes (mind you, she lives with my cousin/her daughter) and made a crazy statement, something like, she was just going to starve to death because nobody gave a damn about her. I said ok, I’ll be sure to bring them (the lettuce and tomatoes) to your funeral and hung up. I used to feed into her, but not anymore. I play crazy right along with her and life, at least for me, is no longer a Groundhog Day Pep Rally. Yes; I appreciate you, I love you and all that goes along with it but hell if I’m going to 2,4,6,8 all day everyday, you can miss me with that.

#2. Someone I know, notice I didn’t say friend, is constantly and no, I’m not exaggerating, talking about what they are going to do. Getting ready to… quit, make a move, get organized, start a business, run, jump, yada, yada, yada. It gets particularly lengthy when they are going through something and they are professing to the world that they are going to “give it to God”. We know that last part never happens because a day or 2 later, they are STILL talking about whatever it was they were going to give God. I want to say soo bad, would you PUH-LEEEZE STFU about getting ready. If you were waiting on a ride or something, you’re a** would be left because you always getting ready. What are you going to do on Judgment Day when it’s time for you stand and give an exact account of your time here on Earth, tell St. Michael hold on, you getting ready?

Point is, whatever it is, do it with purpose. Living, dying, working, quitting, whatever INGing it is, DO IT and DO IT with purpose. That clip of Lean on Me is both humorous and frighteningly sad.
___
Moliere said “we die only once and for such a long time”
I pondered this as I sat in my meantime of death

The sum of pills meant to induce death over a few hours
Civilized, slow, clean, quiet and peaceful

The sum of bullets meant for loading into the gun, inducing death instantly
Messy, quick, powerful, loud

The sum of the noose, meant to induce death by choking, breaking the neck
Clean, slow, painful, quiet

If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window
for it has not performed to my level of satisfaction.
Operator error and there is no warranty.
I came with no instructions, I did the best I could
The bible confused me, people rejected me
Why must the process take so long?

Who knew doing something once, would be the sum of my life. (10/4/10)
______
Now I must go do penance for my language. Despite those who say people who use foul language have a limited vocabulary, sometimes it takes an expletive to drive a point home.

GetMended Ya’ll. 🙂

Azab Dabaq

If your life is held together with spit and a half a piece of gum, then prepare for that sucker to crumble like feta. Life for me is like a roadster – room for 2 only. Metaphorically speaking of course, I have plenty of room in my life for others but I am quite persnickety about who enters my realm. You’ve got a better chance of getting into Buckingham Palace than you have in getting in my life. I’m funny, oh it’s true, just ask Tracy of Jennifer. I’m funny but I’m a friend for life (if your Chi is right. No Chi, No E!) I think my alter ego is Yosemite Sam. He has the best temperament when he gets upset. I wish I could be so brave, but we have these rules and people tend to frown upon such behavior (eyes rolling). Or better still, Rat from Pearls before Swine. Love that guy. There was this one strip where he would do a long ski jump look (you know the one where you just stare straight ahead, stiff bodied) every time somebody said something stupid or what he thought was stupid. Man, I would be in a constant state of ski jump look. Or even Danae from Non-Sequitur, THAT little girl just rules, kid after my own heart. So I guess that leads to the question, who am I? Answer, whoever I’m required to be at the time required. People ask me, what’s your real name, what does EJ stand for – why? Are you going to do Ancestery.com to see if we’re related or are you just asking because you’re nosey? We ARE NOT friends, call me by what I introduced myself to you as, not what you heard someone else call me. Who do you think you are? I don’t say a lot, but my face, it betrays me often. I try to talk to it, but it just blows me off. Sorry, my ADD kicked in and I got off track, forgive me. Roadster, yes. Seems now, I don’t even need that extra seat because I’ve been forsaken. Taylor Swift-ed. Left out in BFE with no H2O. It’s all good, things happen. I don’t eat feta but when you’re starving, left-out, leftover fish is quite appetizing. Beware loose lips lacing promises of … Guess I’ll get me a dog. At least then I’ll be the one to do the forsaking. Who am I? I… am alone but in the words of Mary J., I’ll be JUST FINE FINE FINE FINE FINE FINE HOOOOO.

1,2,3 – Tap Out

I lost my Wilson (think Castaway). No, I take that back, lost implies that you don’t know where something is. I know where Wilson is, Wilson just doesn’t want to be here with me. It’s a funny thing when your life needs mending. Love is unraveling, family is fraying at the seams, it can get pretty raggedy and there’s never a needle and thread handy when you need one. I believe in pray. I pray, not just during the bad times, when things are in a crap-hole dug in the ground, nor do I forget to pray when the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. I pray. All prayer is, is a heartfelt request of hope. Hope that things will get better, directions will be given, right decisions will be made, etc. Remember when Jessie Jackson said “keep hope alive” well, it remains true today. Hope is ever present; it’s the amount of hope that you have that will determine your level of mending. No hope, then you can pretty much toss whatever is unraveling or fraying into the pile marked Goodwill. Life for me Ain’t been no Crystal Stair, but it hasn’t been a candidate for demolition either. I was never promised an ache free, tearless life and let me tell you, life has kept its promise. Images I had in my head about how things would be and how they ultimately turned out, were often times not even in the same galaxy. If life were a friend, we definitely wouldn’t be on speaking terms right now. She’s left me disappointed, hurt, angry, depressed and lacking. I don’t blame her really, she never promised me anything. It was I who had all these expectations and plans so I have no one to blame but myself. She promised me nothing and gave me change everywhere I turned. Change is the requirement to accept something that we weren’t expecting to happen in the first place, be it good or bad. Change isn’t necessarily bad but when the change that happens isn’t bringing any smiles to your face, then in our book, it’s bad. Life for me is changing now, through no fault of my own and to my human credit, I fought against it hard. I tried to deny it at every turn; throwing my best high blocks and punches but alas, I was no match for Change. On Saturday, I surrendered and acknowledged my defeat and skulked away, licking my wounds. I fought a good fight, but I did not win the race. I was no match for the Change that started some 3 years ago. I tried to be accepting, accommodating, and every other action that yields to Change but alas, she proved too much for me. I’ve all but given up Hope that Wilson will return, but I try to keep Hope alive. After this, Change and I won’t be on speaking terms for a little while at least. It’s inevitable that we’ll reunite, but until then, I will climb these stairs; full of nails, splinters, loose footings and handrails. I will climb these stairs, in darkness and in light, alone and unafraid because fear provides no service or assistance here. I will climb and keep climbing; Hoping that with every step Change is there, waiting to make it better. This is my prayer.

“Lost and insecure
You found me, you found me
Lying on the floor
Surrounded, surrounded
Why’d you have to wait?
Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late
You found me, you found me” (The Fray)

Someone please dial 911.

Tell them I’ve just been show down, and the bullet’s in my heart. And it’s piercin through my soul.  Feel my body getting cold.

I wanted to call 911.  I wanted to cry, I did cry.  I wanted to hurl this new aged do-hicky against the wall into a million pieces, all because it lost my words.  Anyone whose ever worked on a paper can attest to my pain, but it’s just slightly different.  As an artist, words, sentence structure, meaning, they are all fleeting and once down on paper, that is our way of remembering. I don’t know what happened.  I’d been backing up this document since Monday.  Even shutdown my computer for updates and there were my changes as soon as it rebooted.  For some reason, an extra thumb placement, too many key strokes, something, caused all my hard work to disappear and all I could do was sit silently and let the tears fall where they may.  Maybe secretly I was hoping my tears would cause and electrical short and like in the movies, my work would reappear, but alas, nothing.  Someone please call 911.  For a writer, losing words is worse than losing your wallet, or even your kid.  At least you can cancel your credit cards and you really can call 911 if your kid is lost but who helps look for lost words.  After all, they are just words.  I let out a heavy sigh and wipe my raccoon eyes, staining my sleeve and stared in disgust and dispair as 2 nights of work just vanished, like a fart in the wind, but without any lingering remnants.  I miss my words.  I want my words back and I will continue to search for them, even it if is in vain.  Maybe if I put up fliers and offer a reward.  I love my words and want them to know I care.  Someone please call 911.  If this is the kind of love mama used to warm me about, man I’m in trouble.  I’m in real big trouble.