Video Inspiration: Rick Ross + Dre Films

Need to find a video. What has inspired me lately? New music or old music? Well, old videos really. The only new video I think I've seen is Thug Cry. While that's a good video, I don't know if it's inspiring enough that I can come up with a story about it. Well, I am a genius. So, technically I can write a story about anything. I think I'm going to like that Penny Dreadful series. It's very dark. I like dark things obviously. For the Thug Cry video, maybe I could write something dark.

Funny, that was my beginning notes as I started to craft this entry. When I read back over it a week later, I thought I should keep it. It lets you know how random my mind wanders. Anyway, I absolutely have been obsessed with Rick Ross' song "Thug Cry" and when I saw the video, I fell deeper in love. Who doesn't like Wood Harris? Like honestly? Go Google him if you don't. I'll wait.

And Dre Films - (Jon J) Director of this awesome video, among many others:

Rick Ross - Rich Forever
Meek Mill - Amen
Wale - Ambition
(And almost anything else that Maybach Music Group does!)

Okay, watch the video, then read the story...you know the drill. (By the way, the intro is so extra. I would start at 1:33 if I were you.)






"Did you pick up the dishwashing liquid too?" Samera asked, sifting through the grocery bags.
"Yes."
"Yeah, but you don't always do what I tell you to, so I gotta check. And don't let Jerrod stay up late again. I gotta deal with that in the morning, you don't."
"I got it." Steve said, taking one item out at a time and putting it in the fridge. Samara unbuttoned the top of her bartender shirt, took Jerrod's food out of the microwave and set it in front of him at the table.
"Mommy loves you ok? Be good for daddy tonight while I'm at work and I'll see you tomorrow."
"Bright and early?" He asked.
"Before the birds chirp." She smiled. But Steve just huffed under his breath. Don't no birds chirp where they live. Gunfire chirped. Crackheads chirped. No birds though.
"So you trying to get beat in some video games before bed little man?"
"I'm better than you. You'll never beat me."
"Said the gingerbread man." They laughed.
"Yo, man open up it's me. And I got Abe and Ty too." It was Rocky. One of the friends Samera always told Steve to stay away from. Guys like him, were the definition of trouble. Steve walked across the kitchen and opened the back door to let them in.
"What's up with you? You coming out tonight right?" Rocky started.
"You know I can't." He nodded to Jerrod, who was silently nibbling on his food with his head down.
"Come on. This is getting tired. She can't keep hemming you up on kid duty and shit."
"It ain't like that. This is my son. I'm doing this because I want to."
"Yeah, well, I can't let you off the hook tonight. We need you." Steve looked to his other boys, who were no help. They both pretended to have the utmost interest in the wallpaper and the floor tiles.
"Ain't it your bedtime or something? Who eats dinner this late anyway?" Rocky said to the little boy.
"Jerrod, go in the other room. You can finish this later."
"But I'm not done." He whined.
"I said go!"
"Say what you have to say. What's the big deal about tonight?" Steve said when the boy was out of sight. Rocky took a seat at the table and rubbed his hands together.
"I got this problem. You know how I usually meet Andre every week to re-up on my stash right?"
"Right."
"Well, I'm going to come up short this week."
"So."
"So, that's a problem. He's going to make it a problem and I might not make it out of the meeting alive motherfucker, now you helping us getting the money for him or not? And before you say not, know that it's not an option." Steve put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes vigorously. There was no way he could do this. He was on parole, had Jerrod to look after and promised Samera things like this were in the past. But he owed Rocky his life. If he said jump, he had to say how high. Taking a bullet for another man will do that to you, keep you chained to their ankle practically forever. Steve called the neighbor and asked if she could come over for a little while, watch his son and put him to bed. He put on his coat, tucked his gun in the small of his back, kissed the boy on the forehead and shut the door.

It wasn't quite 5 in the morning when Samera turned her key into the lock of their home. She expected to find the house a mess, tv still on and video game controllers sprawled out. But she found it exactly how she had left it. The only difference was her son curled up in a ball, on the couch, with no blanket. She put her stuff down and covered him, then stormed into the bedroom to yell at Steve. That no good, deadbeat, motherf-, she paused when he wasn't in there. She took the same attitude to the kitchen where she found it empty as well. He had left a note on the table explaining that Jerrod could finish the dinner in the microwave, then he had to go to bed. It was addressed to Kenesha, the neighbor. Samera dialed her faster than she could think.
"Please tell him I'm sorry. I left a voicemail that I couldn't come over. And since he didn't call back, I figured he was good. Girl, don't put him in the dog house. It was my fault. Was he trying to meet you or something?" Samera hung up. He had left their son in the house alone, overnight and never came back. Did he like leave? Like leave for good? Leave them? Or did something bad happen? Oh my gosh, if something happened and she's worried about yelling at him...She sat at the kitchen table, note in hand, until Jerrod shuffled in rubbing his eyes.
"Good morning mommy. Where's daddy?" And outside, a bird started to chirp.

Poetry Reading

In December 2013, the anthology WANDERINGS was published on Amazon.com, with one of my short stories included. The Hockessin Book Shelf invited all 16 writers of the compilation to read publicly in honor of National Poetry Month, this past Sunday, April 27th.

Because of my previous post, I made it a point to construct an original poem. My inspiration came from two characters in a story I've been working on:

Titled: How I See It

She's staring at me
Now she's dressing like me
Talking like me
Emulate
Copy
Idolize
Match
Outdo
Is she better than me
A higher version of me
Irritate
Agonize
Frustrate
But her model was me
Her new statue is me
Her whole transformation was because of me
Sympathize
Understand
Accept
Grateful
Humble

It's that time again...National Poetry Month

Sound the trumpets! Line up the Drake Trophies and all! National Poetry Month is here!

I'm a prose writer, and a proud one, but any writer of any genre will always say that they appreciate poetry. Well, at least they should say that. I appreciate it for two, simple reasons: (1) the fact that the best poems say so much in such short lines is phenomenal (2) my favorite music genre (hip hop) is rooted in poetry (along with blues of course).

My favorite poet is Nikki Giovanni. I've mentioned her several times on this blog (and probably even posted this twice) because she really and truly is a gifted poet. A woman who can write about anything and make anyone feel its depth. Her poem, I Wrote A Good Omelet, literally made me stop in my tracks when I first read it. You can't just glance over a poem like that. It makes you ingest its words and really consume its meaning. Please, please enjoy and embrace:

I wrote a good omelet...and ate
a hot poem... after loving you
Buttoned my car...and drove my
coat home...in the rain...
after loving you
I goed on red...and stopped on
green...floating somewhere in between...
being here and being there...
after loving you
I rolled my bed...turned down
my hair...slightly
confused but...I don't care...
Laid out my teeth...and gargled my
gown...then I stood
...and laid me down...
To sleep...
after loving you

Currently Reading: Dracula by Bram Stoker

I have a "thing" for horror books and movies. The good ones keep me on the edge of my seat and the even better ones etch their characters in my mind forever. This book, Dracula, is a serious gem to me right now. If you've ever seen the 1992 movie with Anthony Hopkins, Gary Oldman and Keanu Reeves, you would know how complex they made this story about vampires.

Sometimes I struggle with whether or not to write horror stories myself. I like the setup of a thriller and how an author can build mounting suspense. It takes quite a bit of skill to master that, to hold all of the good tension until the right, exact moment. It makes me think about life in general. As we all go through our journeys, it seems that we are holding on to a fantastic part of our potential, that is released at an exact, right moment. And it can happen spontaneously or we can control it. Have you ever been in a situation where you knew you had the talent or information with which to surprise someone? Your boss is having computer problems at a crucial time in the day and you realize you know how to fix it, but they don't know that you know...? I guess it's like that. Suspense building.

I'm on page 211, and even though I know how this book will end, I love savoring every word, sentence and page. Hopefully, I'll get the courage to try my hand at writing horror/suspense and in the meantime, simply work on it in real life :-)

That's What I Always Say...

Video Inspiration: Gregory Porter + Pierre Bennu

This isn't my usual Hip Hop-inspired story. But, I loved this song and this video so much that I felt it deserved a "breaking the rules" moment. Initially, as most of my stories, I wanted this short story to have a death in it and the video certainly gave me room to play with that. But after watching it about 157 times, I was struck by something more than death. Loneliness. To live with that is much worse.

Gregory Porter is a jazz vocalist and songwriter. He was a promising football player in high school until a shoulder injury ended that hope. It was his mother's wish that he fulfilled his passion for singing and so that became his backup plan, right after her death.
Although he released his latest, third album, Liquid Spirit, in September 2013, this song "Be Good (Lion's Song)" is from his second album, Be Good. I know I'm behind on the song's popularity but as I've said before - good music is good music, a good video is a good video. Time be damned.







He believed a rose was at its most beautiful when it dangled from a woman's hair, right over the arch of her eyebrow. Gloria was her name and such a rose was positioned ever so carefully in her jet-black curls. She was the most classy, humble and lively person that Ben had ever met. When he approached her that night, in Ray’s Boom Boom Room, and asked if she wanted to dance, even her rejection sounded like soft, melting butter. In front of her crowd of friends, she boldly told him that she didn’t want to dance with the likes of such a lion as he.

“What does that mean?” He asked sincerely. But she only turned her head. Ben walked back to the other side of the room, thinking, plotting of another way to win her over. He watched her intently, the way she gently sipped her drink, covered her mouth when she laughed, and the way her body swayed as she danced alone in the middle of the floor. Alone. Her movements were graceful but her face was empty. Ben knew she wasn’t content with being alone. That was his cue.

“What makes me a lion?” He asked genuinely, hoping she didn’t walk away. She forced back a smile and said that men like him are dangerous to women like her. They hurt. They caused pain on purpose. When he asked her how she could tell he was such a man, she simply replied that lions were made for cages, just to look at and delight but you dared not let them walk around, cause they might just bite. His heart ached as she left him for the other side of the room. He stood alone, lonely, for what seemed like a very long time. It pained him to watch her all over again and even more so not to try one last time.

“What is a rose? A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. A lion named Ben would love nothing more than to dance with you…if he could.” He said, pouring his heart into his hand and extending it. His nerves were frozen and he said a silent prayer. One more refusal would just about break him. But suddenly, he felt warmth. It was the touch of her hand melting into his. They glided across the dance floor, disappearing into one another and being content with entrapment.

"I think I like who I'm becoming..."

I've been away from this blog for a long time. Life had me distracted. But in the last few days, I felt that if I didn't get back on track with this part of my creative mind, I might lose it forever.

Random as it may be, I love this poem by Nikki Giovanni and while it explains a physical lover, right now, in my life, I see it as I'm in love with myself and I must say...I think I like who I'm becoming...

I wrote a good omelet...and ate
a hot poem... after loving you
Buttoned my car...and drove my
coat home...in the rain...
after loving you
I goed on red...and stopped on
green...floating somewhere in between...
being here and being there...
after loving you
I rolled my bed...turned down
my hair...slightly
confused but...I don't care...
Laid out my teeth...and gargled my
gown...then I stood
...and laid me down...
To sleep...
after loving you

- Nikki G.