Category: General Topics

Clowns Are Creepy

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It was in the early 90’s when the image of clowns changed for me. Not that I was much of a fan anyway, but one event made it that much more clear that clowns were creepy little creatures; cowards who hated themselves so much that they hid behind make-up. What grown man or woman wants to bounce around with a red nose? And why do you look like that? Anyway, something was going around the projects about a serial killer dressed as a clown who went around kidnapping children. At the time I was only about seven years old and I can remember being released from school early. Everyone had to have someone to pick them up from school and walk them to their building. While there was no adult to pick me up, being a twin always had its perks; it’s called having a lot of friends. So a large group of us walked home together. I even had a weapon, a super sharp pencil that was prepared to slice and dice the first orange or red Afro I saw coming. It didn’t occur to me that the pencil could break. And how would I sharpen it again? Nope, never crossed my mind, nor did my second grade education prepare me for such an event. I suppose I could just pencil stab him to death, not sure how that would work. Maybe he’ll get lead poison or something, who knows.

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According to the rumor, the killer targeted children by standing next to mailboxes and eating bananas. I’m not sure why he would be eating bananas; an obvious indication that someone had probably just watched Stephen Kings IT and made the whole thing up. But that didn’t stop us from believing it. As we walked passed the first mailbox, our hearts caught in our throat, trying to walk as silently as childhood footsteps would allow. In the end we would make it home safe and sound. But when I went to sleep that night there he was, that ugly looking clown. I was looking out the window of Chicago’s Robert Taylor Homes to the building next door where someone else was also looking out the window. Yea you guessed it: the clown. He smiled until his cheeks almost reached his ears and his teeth looked as if he had painted them yellow. Suddenly however, he ran away from the window. “Oh no! He’s coming over!” Before I knew it a clown was in my living room chasing me around the couch. Even though it was just a dream this was a very serious situation. Yea, looks like someone would definitely not be invited to the next birthday party.

Goodnight 2014

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The wind has released itself from its chambers and spreads its body over the earth. A blanket of hammers slamming low temperatures into the atmosphere, it carries the clouds; full and dark with storms they are coddled into position. The sun has set and is nestled inside the crook of fire in the west wing of the heavens until it is time to renew itself again. The trees expose its private parts except the fourteen or so that do not lose its leaves to the whistling death sentence of winter. In less than a week from now, when the stars loiter on top the sky amidst the backdrop of midnight, people will decorate themselves with the image of change and resolutions, and make intoxicated promises they will never keep. Maybe it is just the warmth of liquor wrapping its arms around their spines, cooling their blood, and pulling at their heart strings. Suddenly it will happen, that moment when the bullet is separated from its shell, the parties burst into confetti, and this moment hushed into a lullaby. Right here, in the middle of a dead winter; everything cold and stiff and silent and yet loud inside a lowering orb of momentary bliss. This is the excited murmur of a new era and it is the canvas to which they will usher in a new year.

Be careful out there.

Mail

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“Here’s the mail that never fails, it makes me wanna wag my tail, when it comes I wanna yell, MAIL!”

Yea yea, I’m quoting Blues Clues. I know were supposed to all be grown and boring and stiff, but I still love getting packages in the mail. It’s a building anticipation of something good. A private party thrown by some invisible person who selected you specifically because you’re just special like that. You tear into the package with the beating heart of a child. Doesn’t really matter what it is, it’s just that it’s there and it’s yours and that’s all that matters in the world. One important attribute we should never lose as we age is appreciation of the little things. Children are so content sometimes with the simplest of things. They are so keen in to the moment itself that nothing else matters in the world. Yesterday has gone and tomorrow may never come. All we ever have is this moment and the taking advantage of what it offers. Life is serious enough; each day already packed with its own set of circumstances. That said, I would love to sit and be mean with all you grown people who don’t really know what it means to curl your mouths up into that positive looking gesture, however I just got books in the mail I am dying to devour; we can complain about your problems later.

Dreams are Over-Rated

No, not those dreams, the other dreams. The ones we are taught to reach for.

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Ever get tired of hearing people talk about dreams and dreaming? It’s like the whole world is dancing in fairy tales. I think vision is great, but it is not the same thing as action. It isn’t the same as taking an idea and turning it into a full manifestation of being. Taking a thought and materializing it into something tangible. To dream is cool. In fact, I have enough dreams to build castles in the air, but dreaming isn’t the same as doing. I used to sleep, and as such I used to dream. But if I consider myself one to have been awakened, if I operate under full consciousness and awareness, I must do more than just dream, I must also act.

Wasted Words

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Have you ever felt like you are doing something for nothing? That it is all in vain? Sometimes I regret bathing in the blank wake of my passion. I do not wish to follow Strands advice; I am not kissed by white paper. I know that my words will just fall unmercifully on death ears like falling stars praying for repentance that will never come. They will fall like the leaves of trees upon the ground like death and rot around my feet. I will be filled to the brim with excitement and anticipation of sunlight before the reality of wasted words darkens the skies and fills the clouds with storms. I will push forth in determination, only to be reminded by splashes of thunder that the droplets of failure have already proceeded to gush forth. I am not the one to give up (let’s not get that deep!), but judge me not for my lack of enthusiasm today. I am human after all; made up of emotions, flesh and bone. I get tired sometimes too.

Cloudy with a Chance of Writer’s Block

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The invisible force waiting until we want to write before blessing us with its presence; it moves gracefully throughout the smoke filled rooms of trial, tribulation and circumstance. In its left hand is a sickle of distraction, have you come forth to reap what had not yet been sown? In its right are the sketchy blackboards of daily events that only wish to distract away the concept of creativity. The unmovable rock falling from the sky like hailstones is writer’s block. It pops up unannounced and hides itself underneath our fingernails. Its motivation triggered only by greed; the satisfaction of witnessing the wavering minds too off guard not to let it in. I am determined, however, that the weathering of my mind and the inspiration of my thoughts will not give in to the falling bricks of mortar coming my way. I will gather the scraps of words lingering in the corners of unmarked territory, move against the stillness of idle hands and write about the sound of this here concrete tapping against my frontal lobe. I will see the weather changing and prepare myself against the storm.