Hello Notes, it’s been awhile since I exposed inner thoughts with you. I’ve decided I’ll probably make another site for it if I really need it. Soon enough I’ll take away all the ranting I’ve posted here and leave the art in place. I assume you don’t get that far or that I’m just not that interesting but I need to get some thing off my chest that have resurfaced …It’s raw, I didn’t edit this shit, I don’t care. you’ll figure it out.

Thinking about racial issues breaks my heart, more so because I have survived the silent lesser spoken racism… the racism between lovers.

James went on to tell me a story…. (All names but one is changed)

My earliest memory of myself is me standing in the kitchen of my mom’s apartment in Chicago. The walls were a dry white, the curtains were white with a large fruit print, a white porcelain bowl with blue print around the inside edges on a table. The floor was a yellow tile, hardwood living room floor where I slept on a mustard yellow couch. I had a murphy bed or maybe it was a fold up from a couch but I fell out of it one night and slept on that mustard couch ever since.  

It was on that yellow couch that I discovered myself, I think I was circumcised soon after. I remember telling the doctor I needed to pee, though I don’t remember if it was a male or female doctor, but I was told to “go” where I lay. Hmm, I think I was seven? 

I used to watch Sesame Street and The Electric Company like every other kid but now that I’m older I wonder if that was just for the slow kids? That’s a dumb thought, I know…. 

There’s a lot that I remember but I’m going to jump around a bit. So, my pop died just before my 15^th birthday, just before I graduated elementary school… Now, I hadn’t experienced loss yet, nothing like that, on the outside, I looked okay, but I was devastated… who would save me from my mom now. No weekends or long drives to the beach. He tried to teach me to swim but I think he was baptizing me, or maybe he was trying to kill me… either was I didn’t do so well with swimming.  

Before my pop got sick, I used to sit in the window of my first-floor apartment with mom and sister wishing to be swept away, I didn’t care by who, just as long as I was far away from her.  

My pop would take me on the weekends and drop me off with at my cousin’s home, it was a home away from home and he knew that. Anyways, I’m way of topic… but this was the build up for a short biography.  

I never noticed the difference in race or even the color of people until my pop pointed in out one day when he took me to the home of a black man and white woman with two female children over by Wriggly Field. I met one girl who was nine, I was nine also. I sat with her as she would entertain me by teaching me some Spanish phrases, later we would wrestle… I don’t recall why we did either, but I can tell you now that it made an impression on me because I like a girl who isn’t afraid to ‘get down’ with me. I also remember her following me into the restroom… “do you have a girlfriend”, I told her about a crush I had on Katina Milner. Katina was a lite skinned girl in my class I silently crushed on. But this girl the daughter of my pops friend said… “I’m your girlfriend now” and she kissed me. That was my first kiss, and I don’t even remember her name, but I do remember it started with an O… I think? As we, my pop and I made our exit, I remember seeing the Wriggly sign above and as we crossed the street, he said something like “you want a white momma?”. I thought it was weird that he said that but figured he knew the girl kissed me. 

I’m going to jump again……  

After my mom abandoned me, I found myself in a shelter, having conversations about my perspective on God with a white preacher. Who was very helpful about allowing me to express my frustrations with God. I was really young. I think I had been kicked out of school by then. But one of the volunteers took a liking to me and took me home to feed me and expose me to ‘something different’…. her name was Deirdra Connelly. It is because of her kindness and that interaction with my pops friends’ kid that I have any liking towards those of a lighter shade than myself. 

Side note… I was abandoned at the age of seventeen; pops died when I was fourteen, my mom went crazy and sent me to juvenile for something I didn’t do but haunts me in such a way that I use it as an excuse not to allow one on one situations with some people. I ran away from my legal guardian shortly after that…. because he struck me.  

My mom used to ‘discipline’ me but beating your child with an extension cord is not discipline, I don’t care what anyone says. The black community learned that shit because of slavery and its bullshit that we think it’s okay still today. If I knew I could have called the police I would have.  

My mom was sick, and I got ‘disciplined’ a lot, for the dumbest shit. I haven’t seen my mom since I was 17. My legal guardian, a good family on my pops side took me in but my uncles view of me was not good. He had that “Bird of a feather” idea about me but it I was a loner, lost in my own anger, with my mom and loss of father. I forget why he struck me, but I never went back after that. The age of 15 and 16 are a blur to me aside from school and a music teacher trying to help me. Oh, I think I found TLP around 16? The Teen Living Program is where I met Megan.  

I was torn up inside, I had no guidance, no mentor but I was determined so I finished my GED and started studying old religion vs voodoo. Megan a goth kid, she was a special girl, she said she was a witch. Our relationship was… FUCKED UP!!! Two fucked up homeless kids, a half retarded black boy and Horney white girl. I don’t remember if I met her before or after Bootcamp, but I remember staying in hotels, apartment laundry rooms, etc. I was raging inside and had just recently discovered S&M. She and I would get hammered, fuck in the oddest places, tripping off acid. She helped fuck my life up. 

We were so fucked up that we looked for partners to join us.  

We got pregnant, I don’t remember when or how but I remember the birth, I remember naming and drawing him… Michael Xavior. I remember we used to get drunk, and she’d push me to strike her, and we’d go running down the street into a burger king and fucking in the restroom. I remember her breaking the hotel room sink while trying to break an empty bottle of Night Train. Cutting me… we were fucked up. 

She was the daughter of a middle upper-class woman and made a big deal that her mom dated someone from the movie Rainman. *Sigh. Megan and I talked about suicide…. A LOT! I decided that we needed to stop what we were doing… I almost jumped out a damn window because of her. I don’t recall breaking off our relationship but I got a call one day… was living with a cousin? I can’t remember. But I get this call… from an adoption place. You see, a girl or woman needs to have the fathers’ consent to give a child up for adoption. I was alone, I didn’t have my mom, my father was dead, I didn’t know who to turn to, to help me understand what the hell was happening to my life. They gave me this “it’s the best thing for the child” speech. I sat there looking like a fool as I looked at the people that would take my would-be child.  

I didn’t know what rights I had, or who to call, I had no hope…. When I finally signed the papers, someone told me it would be a closed adoption, that means I could have no contact with the baby. I left there with less hope than I had before. I think that’s when I went to the shelter again… I don’t know.  

Somewhere withing that time, I got to know all the street walkers, male and female… they would pay me to watch out for them and they would do other things too. Stepping back a bit, Megan and I met Rosco… who, now that I am experienced must have been a tweeker and a pimp. I remember him leaving this beautiful girl alone with me… it was one of those unexpected moments where you wonder “did that really happen?” I remember his language now in comparison to a lot of misguided events and molestations occurred were the same. It’s called being “turned out”. 

Just a few years ago… Megan and I reconnected via our son. I still don’t know how, the mother of the second child was able and allowed to connect with the adoptive parents and I was not allowed to have contact?! Anyway!! Megan told me that she was married but much the same person that I knew. She told me that people thought that I was her pimp… “Why would they think that”, I assumed it was because of our open S&M and violent play but she dropped this bomb on me “because I was a ho’ing the whole time” … This conversation was over through email. She when on to tell me that our son was just like me and that she almost fucked him. I am shocked in a way that no man should be shocked, I slap myself to be certain that I am sober, even now I hope that this conversation never happened but as the chat progressed, she would name the people we knew and their roles. She told me about her drug use with others that I was unaware of, then I wondered… was she one of the streetwalkers that paid me to watch them before I went to TLP?! DID SHE KNOW JEFFRY DAHLMER?!! He got one of the kids in my group home and I still to this day believe that he approached me on the street asking to photograph me. After she told me all this, she invited me to stay in touch and that I was one of her favorite lovers and would consider hooking up. I haven’t spoken with her since. OH, to add insult to injury… She told me that she slept with the girl I was seeing prior to her “We were all fucking each other”. She led me to a page where she was writing erotic stories… I recall one called “Daisy”. Where the white girl seduces a black boy and all his friends. Etc. 

*Pause 

Broken, homeless, I turned to my mothers church, where in my anger …run up their phone bill calling chat lines. It seemed only fair; they took her money but did nothing for her. Well… somehow, this woman from another state connects with me. We flirt and talk shit for a few months? I think? She requests my appearance. Now I have no reason or want to travel across the country to see this person so I say sure, I’ll come someday but I’m not, and don’t want to. It’s all flirting to me, killing time to figure my damn life out.  

One day she surprises me, “I bought you a ticket!” Fuck! Well, why the fuck not, I got nothing, I can’t see my damn child. I think I was on the track to stabilizing my shit at that time. I ran into a cousin at a nightclub, and he got me a job where he worked. He knew Megan was a piece of shit, I think she tried to fuck him too. Anyways, this girl pays my trip on a damn bus, and the first words out her mouth is “you’re one of those guys who are all about looks aren’t you?”  

I’m stunned, I look at this overweight white girl, “woman, you called me out here. I’m here to kick it.” 

Not I’m in a whole new world and we kinda hit it off but she’s insecure, I want to do things, go out but she’s not confident in that way. Now, we’re still doing okay, shaky but okay. I tell her I need to go back and see the law in my home state. When I get back, she tells me that she didn’t expect my return. Somewhere in this mess, a cousin of mine comes to stay, sees my unhappiness and invokes a different relationship between myself and another female friend… that’s all she was until that day. In my head… I was done with the girl who brought me here. I felt confined, used, manipulated. She was always talking about some other guy she used to date and how I’m not like him… She only introduced me to two black people, one someone she used to fuck and a crazy crack head vet. I didn’t know he was a crack head until years later. At one point she told me that she slept with the first guy when I first went back to see the law, she also told me she punched holes in the condom.  

Now… we were on the outs but because I was stuck, had Stockholm syndrome and no one I could trust, I wound up still living with her even though I’m trying to get out of this shitty situation. She knows I don’t want to be with her anymore, so I stay out late, find new friends. I’m not saying she was the only monster in the house because I was fucked in the head but if you’re physically beating yourself, I need to get away from you!  

Well, we have a child… it is conceived during an acid trip. The only reason I say this and feel connected is that I feel that I heard her… the child’s voice from beyond, “Hi Papa”. 

We had another falling out and she went away until the child was two… try as I might, we couldn’t get along for shit!! There’s more shit between new girlfriends but all I’ll say is that women are shitty people when they can’t accept rejection.  

That man might not be a bad man, but you put him in a fucked-up position because you’re desperate and lonely. 

*PAUSE 

There’s one last child who I’ve never seen, whose family ran what seemed to be the perfect game. She got pregnant, ran away because her mother wanted her to come home… which by the way, while we dated, she told me that she was excommunicated from her church and couldn’t go home. We made plans and I would get my shit together and make a home for her to come home too. Would we still be together if I had followed her to Wyoming or Utah? She came back once to apologize for running away but she didn’t offer to show me the child. She was gone for two years… I almost died over this because I thought I had finally gotten my mind right and gained a family… I was so wrong… so much so that when her sister came on to me, I knew what was up.  

Most of my relationships with women …girls of lighter hues have been unhealthy and mentally abusing. There was a time I wondered if they knew one another. I mean, what are the chances the two mothers leave town for the same amount of time and expect something from you.  

I told the mother of the last child I was devastated and didn’t want to see her again! Wait!!?? You have nothing to say, you’re not going to express your great sorrow for fucking up my shit. She made no attempt to reach out again… YOUR JOB IS TO GET THAT MAN BACK SO HE CAN BE A FATHER NOT GO MARRY ANOTHER FAT FUCK! Women are too proud to say they have wronged and use that child as a weapon, just so they can see that guy crumble. 

Anyways! There are a lot of lite colored babies born because the white girls throw themselves at black men, some are so bold and hunt them online. Now you might think I’m being conceited for saying that white girls throw themselves in such a way…. YOU MIGHT NOT? BUT YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I’VE DELT WITH and you might not believe such a story. You might not believe that I am paying child support and have no proof any of the people are my children and I am so broken that I don’t care anymore.

But there is much more to this story and other stories like this where you think the black guy is or was the problem but the possible reality is that someone opened the door for his demise.  

I’ve had many ill experiences and I have no concept of family because of these experiences, I can’t even fathom moving back to where I was born and having a relationship with family. I can’t even look at my peers for wondering if our experience was planned, if my addictions are part of the white American scheme to break apart black families. I hate thinking that I might have been someone different if I never met any of you… because we aren’t friends, we never were.  

*Bows head… maybe I’m just crazy and none of this ever happened, maybe racism isn’t real and somewhere in my head, it using it as an excuse for being a fucked up human being. Maybe someone will read this and be upset with what I’ve written, well, you are nowhere near as upset as I am because I’ve been where you will never be, and I have justified anger inside because I know molester, whores, pedophiles, kidnappers, drug pushers also have jobs in city agencies and they all know one another… That might be paranoia but is it really.  

This is a story showing the trials of secret racism, the kind where the female only dates black men, who’s intention is to gain capital from birthing a child and having him and the government flipping the bill. 

This story is showing the trials of a secret racism where it is the job of white daughters to ruin young black boys, separating them from their families, make them think they are crazy with drug etc.. 

This is a story showing that some girls, some people don’t even realize that they are so insecure that the fear of rejection from someone of another race will lead them to do horrific deeds to themselves, the, would be partner and children. 

Now… I know, I seem to be speaking ill of these people, but I am really recalling the experience with these people. We all think we’re doing the right thing all the time…. but if you’re real!! You know you are not.  

Now have I intentionally set out to harm any of them or any person? I can say in all truthfulness NO, though I’ve of it on occasion and I may express it when the world makes me consider the thought that these acts, we’re intentional or racially driven. 

I wish…. I felt, I could fall into the loving arms of my family, but I have no feeling that would allow me such. I can’t love because I don’t know if I’m supposed to care for the woman who’s willing to suck me off or the woman who won’t do it but will make sure I take my pills. I can’t call anyone my real friend because I think everyone has ill motive. Though… since my revival, I am learning to appreciate that others see beautiful things too, despite their difficult times. 

*Break 

If all these activist and bandwagon chasers were serious about the conversation of race, I’d join in, but they are all part timers. Sure, you’re ready to riot, march or whatever and they come out in vast numbers but none are dedicated.  

Someone said it’s about money, we have to hit them in the wallet…… You all are so smart you’re stupid. You don’t need to vandalize or riot…  

The peaceful protest is the most violet act you can do to a country relying on consumerism. It’s the most effective way to spark the conversation and general interest. Instead, if marching up and down the street… sit your ass down in the street and stay there. Take your vacation from work, tell your boss to get on board and sit with you or there will be no one in that office until something happens.  

The power of the people is in unification… if the conversation is about race THAT IS THE DAMN SUBJECT!!! Not animal rights, not your gender or sexual preference, not not NOT! ONE GODDAMN SUBJECT! FUCK YOU IF YOURE TALIKG ABOUT GAY PRIDE IF THE MARCH IS ABOUT BLACK AMERICANS  

*PAUSE 

Do I care if you’re gay? No, I don’t care but I don’t want you flaunting yourself at or around me, I have history and I know gay history. This flamboyant lifestyle is cool but at the end of the day you are just a person like me or and or the person across from you. I like you and willing to try to communicate because you’re a person, not because it’s cool to be gay or a friend of gays. 

I’ll stop there because I don’t want to hurt your feelings and I don’t want you to feel that you’re being attacked but like I said, I’ve seen and done things you have not, and I suffer internally. 

_______ 

There is so much more that needs to be said but it really doesn’t matter because you don’t care, and it really doesn’t matter.  

The only thing that matters is that if you really want to change the world around you… you have to be willing to do what someone else can’t or won’t. 

Imagine if all those people who came out for protest just sat the fuck down and stayed there for days, weeks months and no one moved. No shopping, everyone just got fed up and called into work “we’re fed up and we’re not coming in until we get this shit right”. THATS A FUCKING MOVEMENT!! Black Lives Matter in Portland was a JOKE!!! The subject was NIGGAS, NOT GAYS but you all hijacked it, and let election shit mix in it…. That makes YOU the pawn. I don’t hate the gay community, but we all need to focus. EVERYTIME the subject of black empowerment comes up; someone wants to mix the Kool-Aid.  

Ya know, the chant never should have been Black Lives Matter… You all (white people) sounded like an angry lynch mob. That shit was frighting!! I couldn’t honestly trust any one person saying that and I’ll never wear that damn t-shirt, NOT EVER!! IT NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN ON A TSHIRT, ITS A CRY FOR HELP AND YOU ALL MADE IT A TSHIRT OF THE DAY. AND WHAT PISSES ME OFF MORE WAS THAT I WAS HOMELESS AT THE TIME… AT IT WAS OBVIOUS!!!!!!! THAT I NEEDED HELP BUT DID ANY OF THOSE PEOPLE SEE ME?? A small handful did. But it was all a show, a moment but not a movement. 

I dare you… I dare you to come out like you did before, I dare you to mean it. I dare you to stop America and the world in its tracks. I dare you to stop work, play, your lives, I dare you to fill the streets just as you did before but with the mind that you are ready to take ONE SUBJECT and amplify it. Don’t do it for an organization, do it because you are fed up with the way the world is. You don’t like racism. Talk about that…. talk about each cultural or ethic group singularly don’t group it all up until it’s time to group it all. 

You speak about unification after you’ve addressed everything that needs attention for that ethic group…. Your being gay, your abortion or childbirth privileges comes after we’ve asserted our union as rational thinking human beings and rational educated conscious thinking human beings know how to sit the fuck down and to choose a speaker who can represent a whole. 

___ 

Is it impossible? To make the world take a seat and stop all production… for all of you talking about capitalism ruining the world, you’d think someone have thought of this sooner. You can’t just boycott one company. You have to be willing to sacrifice everything you have. I’m not saying go out defenseless… there are wicked people out there, but they’d be much easier to see if we were on the same page. 

UMMMMM I really should not share this note because you may get the wrong impression of me, but I needed to express what was on my mind.  

Whatever the case may be or the image these tired words paints, I needed to say them. because why would I allow myself to think anyone has this much power over me. I survive today by not thinking about race or who has a finger on my destiny.

Of all my foolishness… I am the only God in my head