Archive for the 'About Me' Category

True Confidence

For years I felt I couldn’t ‘compete’ with other men for the affections of women. I didn’t feel I had ‘enough’ of what it took to ‘win’ them; I wasn’t that dominant alpha muthafucka that I thought they desired. What I’m starting to realize NOW (work-in-progress) is that being an ‘alpha’ male has nothing to do with beating someone at THEIR game, but being at the top of YOUR game. In the past I thought I had to find some ‘edge’ that I had over other dudes. I was constantly sizing them up; trying to see where we lined up and where I was ‘better’/’worse.’ This is that…

“He may be attractive an’ fit an’ have a job an’ alla that, but I bet he hasn’t read any Kafka.”

…shit. And at the time I was doing this shit I was also claiming to be so confidently ‘above it all,’ but how could I have been above anything if I was I so focused on what other dudes were doing? Why was I always firing ‘Sorry I’m not like the dumb thugs you’re used to’ bullshit at the women I was with when I felt they were moving away from me to guys that—to keep it real—I felt ‘threatened’ by? I was seeking VALIDATION from women for traits I felt I lacked (but desperately wanted). If they could boost my ego then maybe I wasn’t as ‘inferior’ as I thought. When they denied me this ‘boost’ I would overcompensate (in cringe-inducingly cumbersome ways) when I should’ve just put in the self-work to self-validate like an ACTUAL confident muthafucka would. That’s the kinda cat who is drawn to so-called ‘threats’ because seeing other people doing dope shit inspires him to step HIS game up; he competes with himself, not other dudes. This is that…

“Damn, Steph’s jumper is nice. I wonder how I can change my shot to hit threes like him. I’m not gonna copy his stroke, I’m not the same kinda player as him, but I’m gonna find my ‘own’ way to get better.”

…shit. And thing is: Dude may never develop a perimeter stroke, but the work he puts in will NO FUCKING DOUBT make him a better him.


To be frank…

I talk a’buncha shit on here but truth is I’m a damn joke. A bloviatin,’ pontificatin’ bitter joke. Goin’ for this above-it-all neutrality. Don’t fall for it, it’s a farce (that D@#$s article comes from a very real place, a ride I know all-too-well; ‘ride’ may have been a poor choice of word). I’m CLEARLY showcasing my ‘issues.’ Alienation. Awkwardness. Inadequacy. A need for approval. A need for closeness. But too afraid to admit it. Too needy when I have it. Just all that makes-you-wanna-slash-already-slashed-tires manic-depressive so-called-artist shit. All (barely) hidden behind faux-bravado. With that said, I’m not gonna stop writing this stuff. Sorry. I kinda gotta go all in now. Might be my only way outta this full’a shit an’ fraudulence parade I’ve called a ‘life’ for a little over thirty spins. But most importantly: I REALLY like doing this shit.

just me and you…

Something just hit me: I’ve been calculatingly transparent with y’all. Yeah, some of the posts feature personal truths, but those are ‘works’ that take days, sometimes even weeks to complete (mostly due to laziness). I seldom just jump on here and tell you what’s REALLY going on. No graphics. No dressing.

Here goes…

First off… I’m a real muthafucking person, just like YOU! That has to be said off top. Secondly… I’m somewhat shocked and then somewhat not by this uncomfortable space a recent ex’s ‘new’ happiness put me. I mean ‘where I allowed it to put me.’ What?! Nah. No need to flip-it-around just yet. The shit was weird. Stung a little. Raised more questions than anything else though. Questions I must put out of my mind. Only leads to me feeling bitter about an-other’s happiness and that’s that bullshit (that lonely rabbit-hole shit; huddled in a corner with multi-layered fantasies about what “they’re” doing on your mind constantly, that’s all “you’re” ‘doing’). Plus, I don’t have any space for ’em. I need room for these awesome ideas to roam around. Speaking of which, any real-life FREE 1s out there wanna help bring some of my crazier, untamed ideas into fruition. Dead serious.


I just realized I installed a ‘hate box’ in my letters section. My whiny-ass letters section. Fuck it. Let’s see what happens.


“It’s all about the glitch. No matter how advanced the programming, there will always be room for glitches. Oddly enough, the more complex the machine, the more susceptible it is to glitches because of the ridiculous amount of virtual synaptic connections complex artificially intelligent systems possess, and there is no way to comprehensively understand the ‘nature’ of all of these connections. As a result, there will always be room—or voids—for glitches to exploit.”

naked black girls by Ray G.

escape from the place where they know my face

I gotta get away from my city. They know all my bullshit in my city. I lied in my city. I said I was gonna do something and then did nothing in my city. I let people down in my city. I acted like a fool in my city. I’ve been compromised in my city. I’ve embarrassed myself in my city. Everybody was there in my city. I did things I regret in my city. I’ve been ignored in my city. I’ve been a hypocrite in my city. I got arrested in my city. I broke hearts in my city. I fell apart in my city. Things weren’t always pretty in my city. People know too much in my city. I gotta get away from my city.

the SPOT light

We all have our secret places. Those mental caverns where light is not allowed to travel…the places we visit when we wanna really dance…unabashedly. They are the untidy rooms we are too embarrassed to show to company. But we are not content with leaving the secrets in the dark. Our drive to actualize our deepest darkest fantasies is too strong. Perhaps that is why we turn on The Light…a light that allows us to peek at the things that pique our secret curiosities. A light that illuminates a dream-like world of virtual realities…a space that exists someplace else.

We peer into the portal, play around for a spell, pop our heads out—back to life, back to reality…no worries…because what we experience through the looking glass isn’t real…it is like a dream—effortless flights of fancy presented in a visually arresting fashion—it doesn’t seem that dirty…like outside, in the dark dirty…with those who manipulate actual grime with their actual hands. We avoid a tactile relationship with the real dirt—we’re dancing with the digital bits…our dirt is virtual…it’s clean, sterile, robotic. It’s all buttons, touchscreens and high definition displays. But there’s a catch—the digital bits are watching us…storing information…keeping records. We know this…we know this quite well…we know that what we put out there has to exist somewhere in order to exist OUT THERE
Continue reading ‘the SPOT light’

Two Years Down


It’s been two years since I started spouting this crazy stream-of-consciousness madness. Wow. Many thanks to those who have stopped by over the years.