The month of April is special to some people. I'm one of them.
April is my birth month...Taurus stand up! I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to contribute to the universe, as a thank you for allowing me to see another year. But, I know it will involve some acts of charity, some self-reflection and a lot of sharing.
April is also National Poetry Month. Last year during this time, I was invited to do a public reading thanks to a story contribution I had in an anthology. It was my first public reading, so I devised an original poem:
Title: 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
Recently, I was invited to give a presentation to Polytech School for Black History Month. I quickly devised this particular poem (that seems to be my go to genre huh?) and I thought it would be perfect to share here:
Title: Who We Are
Who Am I?
Who Am I? Who Are You? Who Are We?
The concept of ourselves is built outside of ourselves
Who tells you what to wear, what to be, what to like?
Even if you think it's you, it's not.
You have to go to another person's store to buy your clothes
Another person's website to find your job
But organic, raw, original, fresh people rarely come from nothing
They are built on inspiration, on something
Something that already existed, already profound
So I am a part of history, you are a part of history
We are a carbon copy of what came before, with just a little tweaking,
A pinch here, a snip there, and here we are...
Somehow individuals.
Lastly, April is National Jazz Appreciation Month in honor of jazz as an original American art form. I wholeheartedly appreciate jazz music. How can I love hip hop without understanding this influence? I declare to spend at least 80% of the month, listening to this genre. And yes, Kendrick Lamar!
4/02/2015
3/30/2015
My Subconscious at work
The universe is a wonderful and mysterious thing. You put things in its ether without knowing, or sometimes on purpose, but when the reveal happens it's always amazing.
Kendrick Lamar released his latest album, To Pimp A Butterfly, on March 16th...only a few weeks ago. Yet, before I hit the "purchase" button, I caught wind of a single called "Alright". Immediately, I scowled my face and stopped what I was doing. This song was so incredible on simply the first listen. I searched it on YouTube and literally, no I mean literally, as in seriously for real not kidding, played this song at least 57 times a day.
I loved this song so much, I looked up the credits to see who in the world could produce such awesomeness. And of course, it is Pharrell.
Anyone who knows me or reads anything I place on social media can understand the love I have for Pharrell's work. His producing credits are the instrumental soundtrack to my life...all the way back to 1996.
Why I find this so fascinating is because this has happened to me many times. I don't know why I haven't expected it at this point. When Frank Ocean released Channel Orange, I couldn't stop listening to "Sweet Life" before I heard any other song. When Kendrick released Good Kid, Maad City, I couldn't stop listening to "Good Kid". Same goes for Mac Miller (Objects in the Mirror), T.I. (Hello), 2 Chains (Feds Watching). I couldn't get to these albums without burning a whole in these songs first...initially not knowing Pharrell was behind the music.
Now, if I could only concentrate my conscious on becoming a billionaire so my subconscious can kick in!
Kendrick Lamar released his latest album, To Pimp A Butterfly, on March 16th...only a few weeks ago. Yet, before I hit the "purchase" button, I caught wind of a single called "Alright". Immediately, I scowled my face and stopped what I was doing. This song was so incredible on simply the first listen. I searched it on YouTube and literally, no I mean literally, as in seriously for real not kidding, played this song at least 57 times a day.
I loved this song so much, I looked up the credits to see who in the world could produce such awesomeness. And of course, it is Pharrell.
Anyone who knows me or reads anything I place on social media can understand the love I have for Pharrell's work. His producing credits are the instrumental soundtrack to my life...all the way back to 1996.
Why I find this so fascinating is because this has happened to me many times. I don't know why I haven't expected it at this point. When Frank Ocean released Channel Orange, I couldn't stop listening to "Sweet Life" before I heard any other song. When Kendrick released Good Kid, Maad City, I couldn't stop listening to "Good Kid". Same goes for Mac Miller (Objects in the Mirror), T.I. (Hello), 2 Chains (Feds Watching). I couldn't get to these albums without burning a whole in these songs first...initially not knowing Pharrell was behind the music.
Now, if I could only concentrate my conscious on becoming a billionaire so my subconscious can kick in!
3/15/2015
For the Greater Good
I have a new goody that I want to share. All of my "For the Greater Good" posts share products that I buy in support of literature.
James Baldwin:
An American novelist, essayist, playwright, poet and social critic.
He is best known for his first, semi-autobiographical novel, Go Tell it on the Mountain, Notes of a Native Son and Going To Meet the Man. He's also known for being good friends with Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Sidney Poitier, Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison. He marched in the Civil Rights Movement, was openly gay, and influenced a plethora of future writers.
As soon as I saw the opportunity to buy this tote, I jumped on it. I now carry it proudly, in honor of a writer who contributed so beautifully to the culture.
James Baldwin:
An American novelist, essayist, playwright, poet and social critic.
He is best known for his first, semi-autobiographical novel, Go Tell it on the Mountain, Notes of a Native Son and Going To Meet the Man. He's also known for being good friends with Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Sidney Poitier, Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison. He marched in the Civil Rights Movement, was openly gay, and influenced a plethora of future writers.
As soon as I saw the opportunity to buy this tote, I jumped on it. I now carry it proudly, in honor of a writer who contributed so beautifully to the culture.
2/09/2015
57th Grammy Awards
The National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences presented Grammy Awards last night to recognize outstanding achievement in the music industry. This particular award show has always been controversial, due to it socially being deemed as the highest award an artist can receive for their art.
Quoted from Wikipedia: Record companies and individuals may submit recordings to be nominated. Nominations are made online and a physical copy of the work is sent to the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences. Once a work is entered, reviewing sessions are held, by more than 150 experts from the recording industry, to determine whether the work is eligible and entered in the correct category for official nomination. Recording Academy members vote on the final ballots.
Here are the winners (not all named, just my favorites):
Record of the Year - Sam Smith
Song of the Year - Sam Smith
Best New Artist - Sam Smith
Best Pop Solo Performance - Pharrell
Best Pop Group Performance - A Great Big World
Best Rock Song - Paramore
Best Urban Contemporary Album - Pharrell
Best Rap Performance - Kendrick Lamar
Best Rap Song - Kendrick Lamar
Best Rap Album - Eminem
Producer of the Year - Max Martin
Best Music Video - Pharrell
And here is what I considered the highlight of the evening...
Quoted from Wikipedia: Record companies and individuals may submit recordings to be nominated. Nominations are made online and a physical copy of the work is sent to the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences. Once a work is entered, reviewing sessions are held, by more than 150 experts from the recording industry, to determine whether the work is eligible and entered in the correct category for official nomination. Recording Academy members vote on the final ballots.
Here are the winners (not all named, just my favorites):
Record of the Year - Sam Smith
Song of the Year - Sam Smith
Best New Artist - Sam Smith
Best Pop Solo Performance - Pharrell
Best Pop Group Performance - A Great Big World
Best Rock Song - Paramore
Best Urban Contemporary Album - Pharrell
Best Rap Performance - Kendrick Lamar
Best Rap Song - Kendrick Lamar
Best Rap Album - Eminem
Producer of the Year - Max Martin
Best Music Video - Pharrell
And here is what I considered the highlight of the evening...
1/09/2015
The Underdog...The Underrated...The Overlooked
In addition to my literature and music addiction, I love movies. I especially love cult classics. The movies that bombed at the box office and got horrible ratings, just to turn around and become the best things in your stash. I wanted to list some of my favorite cult classics (in no particular order) both movies and music. In sharing some of my beautiful nostalgia, I hope it encourages you to "let go" this new 2015 year and see where things take you. Sometimes your projects may not be well received at first, but if it was made from your heart, it will always find success somehow.
Movies:
The Fifth Element
Under the Cherry Moon
Robin Hood: Men in Tights
Galaxy Quest
Serial Mom
Who Framed Roger Rabbit
Cool World
Boondock Saints
Flowers in the Attic
In the Mouth of Madness
Killer Klowns from Outer Space
Satan's Little Helper
Music:
Christion - Full of Smoke (that whole album really)
Omarion - Touch
Sia - Soon We'll Be Found
Chico DeBarge - Love Still Good
M.I.A. - Bad Girls
...and plenty more!
Movies:
The Fifth Element
Under the Cherry Moon
Robin Hood: Men in Tights
Galaxy Quest
Serial Mom
Who Framed Roger Rabbit
Cool World
Boondock Saints
Flowers in the Attic
In the Mouth of Madness
Killer Klowns from Outer Space
Satan's Little Helper
Music:
Christion - Full of Smoke (that whole album really)
Omarion - Touch
Sia - Soon We'll Be Found
Chico DeBarge - Love Still Good
M.I.A. - Bad Girls
...and plenty more!
6/12/2014
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.
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.
4/29/2014
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
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
4/05/2014
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
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
3/28/2014
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 :-)
3/12/2014
2/27/2014
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.
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.
2/22/2014
"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.
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.
7/22/2013
Video Inspiration: Michael Francis + Marcus Castillo
One lovely day, I was working on my computer (as usual) and watching music videos (as usual) when this random video came on MTV2. The music immediately made me stop what I was doing and the visuals spellbound me too. All of it just came out of nowhere. His voice, the simplicity of the setting and storyline...
You know I was forced to write something right?!
I couldn't find much information on the video director, Marcus Castillo.
Michael Francis, however, is an independent singer from New Jersey. He's been slow releasing material for the past couple of years, even doing a remake of Ginuwine's "Pony". I especially love that he was interviewed by KARMALOOPTV back in January 2012. Peep a snippet of the interview...here.
Loyalty. That's the essence of family. What defines it. Michael and Francis, my brothers, and I had a loyal bond. It defined us. And we strengthened it every January by taking a hunting trip to Montana. We went out at sunrise with the goal of at least one score. Michael led the way. After an hour in the cold, stopping several times to rest, we had nothing to show for our effort and I was getting tired.
"Samuelson, go east. I think I see something over there." Michael said with his Marlin 336 poised and pointed north, his back to me. I turned my head but saw nothing. I wasn't about to go on an empty chase through the backwoods, on a hunch.
"I don't see nothing."
"It just moved again. I see it in the corner. Go check it out!"
"Just go Samuelson." Francis whispered. With my shoulders slumped and head bowed, I trudged through the hard, wet snow looking for a deer, a bear, anything to qualify as our first score. About 30 feet in, I felt it. I felt another presence and saw something run by. It was fast too. I lifted my Browning T-Bolt on my shoulder and bent down, casing all angles. I felt the rush, the thrill. It didn't take long for the shadow to come into focus. Bits of brown and black, white and gold. This wasn't animal. I hesitated to move from my position, half wanting to call out to Michael and Francis. But during this whole trip, they could tell I was distracted. I wasn't the same. Calling for them would only make me feel worse.
I followed the movement through the trees, through the snow, until it stopped and came into view. Then I saw her. My Nona. Standing right in front of me, 500 + miles away from our home, she was as clear as the wind. I could've been dreaming but I wasn't. Had I missed her so much that I was seeing things? I dropped my gun and followed, further away from my brothers. She had always led me away from them. From the moment we met, years ago, we formed a bond that even they couldn't break. But they tried. They told me she was breaking my loyalty. They told me I should leave her. And they gave me a choice.
I followed Nona, or her mirage through the trees, through the snow, until we reached a white house on the hill. Inside was a blur because all I saw was her. My love. I saw her face. I touched it. Her skin set me on fire. It felt so good. This couldn't be a dream. But somehow this was right. It didn't matter that I hadn't seen Nona since the day I chose to leave her, two years ago. She was here now. She was with me now. I closed my eyes and drank in her presence.
There was a tap on the window. Where was I? What just happened? I sat up and looked around, still not seeing all that was in front of me. I remembered being with her. But she was gone now. Outside, Michael and Francis waited for me. They had found my gun. Their stare communicated what I wouldnt acknowledge.. I was going off the deep end again. There was no Nona. There was no house. No creamy skin. Two years ago, I chose my brothers over her. Two years ago, they didn't think I would do it...and they chose to kill her. Verbally, I forgave them. How could I not? Family is loyalty. But mentally and emotionally, our bond was broken. I would forever be with Nona. If I saw her ghost every day of my life, it would be fine with me. This is what they made me into. Instead of allowing us to be happy, they now have to deal with my misery. And it's better this way.
You know I was forced to write something right?!
I couldn't find much information on the video director, Marcus Castillo.
Michael Francis, however, is an independent singer from New Jersey. He's been slow releasing material for the past couple of years, even doing a remake of Ginuwine's "Pony". I especially love that he was interviewed by KARMALOOPTV back in January 2012. Peep a snippet of the interview...here.
Loyalty. That's the essence of family. What defines it. Michael and Francis, my brothers, and I had a loyal bond. It defined us. And we strengthened it every January by taking a hunting trip to Montana. We went out at sunrise with the goal of at least one score. Michael led the way. After an hour in the cold, stopping several times to rest, we had nothing to show for our effort and I was getting tired.
"Samuelson, go east. I think I see something over there." Michael said with his Marlin 336 poised and pointed north, his back to me. I turned my head but saw nothing. I wasn't about to go on an empty chase through the backwoods, on a hunch.
"I don't see nothing."
"It just moved again. I see it in the corner. Go check it out!"
"Just go Samuelson." Francis whispered. With my shoulders slumped and head bowed, I trudged through the hard, wet snow looking for a deer, a bear, anything to qualify as our first score. About 30 feet in, I felt it. I felt another presence and saw something run by. It was fast too. I lifted my Browning T-Bolt on my shoulder and bent down, casing all angles. I felt the rush, the thrill. It didn't take long for the shadow to come into focus. Bits of brown and black, white and gold. This wasn't animal. I hesitated to move from my position, half wanting to call out to Michael and Francis. But during this whole trip, they could tell I was distracted. I wasn't the same. Calling for them would only make me feel worse.
I followed the movement through the trees, through the snow, until it stopped and came into view. Then I saw her. My Nona. Standing right in front of me, 500 + miles away from our home, she was as clear as the wind. I could've been dreaming but I wasn't. Had I missed her so much that I was seeing things? I dropped my gun and followed, further away from my brothers. She had always led me away from them. From the moment we met, years ago, we formed a bond that even they couldn't break. But they tried. They told me she was breaking my loyalty. They told me I should leave her. And they gave me a choice.
I followed Nona, or her mirage through the trees, through the snow, until we reached a white house on the hill. Inside was a blur because all I saw was her. My love. I saw her face. I touched it. Her skin set me on fire. It felt so good. This couldn't be a dream. But somehow this was right. It didn't matter that I hadn't seen Nona since the day I chose to leave her, two years ago. She was here now. She was with me now. I closed my eyes and drank in her presence.
There was a tap on the window. Where was I? What just happened? I sat up and looked around, still not seeing all that was in front of me. I remembered being with her. But she was gone now. Outside, Michael and Francis waited for me. They had found my gun. Their stare communicated what I wouldnt acknowledge.. I was going off the deep end again. There was no Nona. There was no house. No creamy skin. Two years ago, I chose my brothers over her. Two years ago, they didn't think I would do it...and they chose to kill her. Verbally, I forgave them. How could I not? Family is loyalty. But mentally and emotionally, our bond was broken. I would forever be with Nona. If I saw her ghost every day of my life, it would be fine with me. This is what they made me into. Instead of allowing us to be happy, they now have to deal with my misery. And it's better this way.
7/02/2013
Video Inspiration - Wale + Sarah McColgan
Wale released his super highly anticipated album, The Gifted, last week on June 25th. Today will reveal how well the album did for its first week. In my own little way, I'd like to help him celebrate with this video inspiration (and since Wale began his style with poetry, this is in the form of a poem)
The video for LoveHate Thing was directed by Sarah McColgan, released on June 23rd and features Sam Dew.
Sam - He's a RocNation artist and doesn't look anything like he sounds
Sarah - She's a photographer as well as director. She has directed Miguel's video for "Candles in the Sun" and also photographed one of my favorite artists...Kelis!
Love/Hate Thing
Black and White
Rich and Poor
Up and Down
Life is Love, is what They tell me
Or what She told me.
Hot air, dusty room
We Have Each Other, I Assume
Fans Blow
I Love Her Though
Conflicts and Questions
Reaching Goals
I ask her, She asks me
We Dig One Another’s Soul
Decisions about Love
Decisions about Life
I Hate the Battle and The Strife
Champagne and its Bubbles
Dusse and No Trouble
3 Piece Suits
Her Smile and Mine
Hard Work, Pray Hard
Our Favorite Line
I Love Her Though
I Hated the Battle
I guess it’s a Love/Hate Thing
The video for LoveHate Thing was directed by Sarah McColgan, released on June 23rd and features Sam Dew.
Sam - He's a RocNation artist and doesn't look anything like he sounds
Sarah - She's a photographer as well as director. She has directed Miguel's video for "Candles in the Sun" and also photographed one of my favorite artists...Kelis!
Love/Hate Thing
Black and White
Rich and Poor
Up and Down
Life is Love, is what They tell me
Or what She told me.
Hot air, dusty room
We Have Each Other, I Assume
Fans Blow
I Love Her Though
Conflicts and Questions
Reaching Goals
I ask her, She asks me
We Dig One Another’s Soul
Decisions about Love
Decisions about Life
I Hate the Battle and The Strife
Champagne and its Bubbles
Dusse and No Trouble
3 Piece Suits
Her Smile and Mine
Hard Work, Pray Hard
Our Favorite Line
I Love Her Though
I Hated the Battle
I guess it’s a Love/Hate Thing
6/26/2013
Jay-Z pushing my agenda #MagnaCartaHolyGrail
In the summer lineup of Kanye West, J. Cole, Wale, Mac Miller and Drake, Mr. Z decided that he needed to jump into the fold of new releases as well: Enter Magna Carta Holy Grail. It's the title of his new album, set for a July 4th release. Let's not forget to note that he and wifey love the number 4. And he has never released an album in the month of July. November is a popular month for Mr. Carter but July is a newbie.
Anyway, as you know, my blog's purpose is merging the Literature and Hip Hop worlds in ways they never have before. Well Mr. Z, in a slow-crafted marketing campaign, has been rolling out bits and pieces of his album until the final date. He debuted a gem of a commercial during a NBA playoff game, which sent the Internet into chaos, then he started dropping song lyrics all story-like and getting people interested in reading actual lyrics again:
Commercial:
Lyrical Stories:
Anyway, as you know, my blog's purpose is merging the Literature and Hip Hop worlds in ways they never have before. Well Mr. Z, in a slow-crafted marketing campaign, has been rolling out bits and pieces of his album until the final date. He debuted a gem of a commercial during a NBA playoff game, which sent the Internet into chaos, then he started dropping song lyrics all story-like and getting people interested in reading actual lyrics again:
Commercial:
Lyrical Stories:
6/08/2013
Video Inspiration: J.Cole + Colin Tilley
On the anticipation of J.Cole's album, Born Sinner, set to release on June 18th, I thought this was a perfect time to do a short (very short) story to "Nobody's Perfect". I loved this song and the video when it was released in February 2012. Out of all Cole's videos, I thought this was the most appropriate for a story. If you're a fan, you know that all his lyrics tell a story and almost all the videos explain that story to the fullest. But this one...was kind of left up to your imagination.
We all know how unknown and untalented Colin Tilley is right? I've talked about him before in other Video Inspirations but he really has no impact on the music world. He's done silly videos such as:
Mindless Behavior "All Around the World"
Kelly Rowland "Kisses Down Low"
Justin Bieber "Never Let you Go"
Rick Ross & Wale "Bag of Money"
Chris Brown "Don't Judge Me"
I mean really, why are we even talking about this no-resume having guy ;-)
When I told her that I wouldn’t be back for a week, at least, she shrugged her shoulders and kept typing. She was working on a paper that I knew wasn’t due for another week.
“So, this is how you’re going to let me leave?”
“Good luck. I hope you get the deal.” She said, with her back still to me. I stood there for a few more seconds, then grabbed my bags and left her sweltering hot dorm room. It seemed like we always argued about the same things and I was always left with the short end of the stick. I thought about her on the ride to the airport, as I ascended and descended, when I met with the label’s top A&R and when he handed over the contract I had been dreaming about all my life. He told me I had 24 hours to sign. ‘Look mama I made it.’ I thought.
“Nobody’s perfect.” Said a voice next to me. I looked up from checking in at the hotel and found my eyes locked with a girl I thought I knew.
“What?”
“I said nobody’s perfect.” She handed me my black, Goyard bag. Our knuckles bumped and I felt her spark.
“You left this in that chair over there. Funny, you always act like Mr. Perfect on campus. Strutting across the yard with your boys after practice, staying in the gym and blowing that good weed behind the Fredrick Douglas library.
“Oh you know about that?” I smiled. She licked her lips. She licked them slow. Suddenly I remembered where I knew her from.
“What are you doing all the way up here?” She asked.
“Got a record deal.” I waved the papers, which I had been holding on to for dear life, in the air above my head.
“Really? Congrats. You know we have to celebrate now.” She inched closer. I thought about my girl again. She was my rainbow after a storm, my star in a dark sky. But she was also an insensitive bitch as of late.
“Nah, you know I can’t.”
“Can’t, but want to.” She ain’t never lied. I took my room key from the clerk and leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. However, she moved her face at the right time and I caught her lips instead. I pulled back.
“Just because she’s my roommate doesn’t mean we are best friends.” She said and took my room key from my grasp. I watched her walk to the elevators and rubbed my chin. This was so wrong. Yet, so right. Everything happens for a reason. I slid in the elevator with her just as the door closed. I thought about my girl. And concluded that nobody’s perfect.
We all know how unknown and untalented Colin Tilley is right? I've talked about him before in other Video Inspirations but he really has no impact on the music world. He's done silly videos such as:
Mindless Behavior "All Around the World"
Kelly Rowland "Kisses Down Low"
Justin Bieber "Never Let you Go"
Rick Ross & Wale "Bag of Money"
Chris Brown "Don't Judge Me"
I mean really, why are we even talking about this no-resume having guy ;-)
When I told her that I wouldn’t be back for a week, at least, she shrugged her shoulders and kept typing. She was working on a paper that I knew wasn’t due for another week.
“So, this is how you’re going to let me leave?”
“Good luck. I hope you get the deal.” She said, with her back still to me. I stood there for a few more seconds, then grabbed my bags and left her sweltering hot dorm room. It seemed like we always argued about the same things and I was always left with the short end of the stick. I thought about her on the ride to the airport, as I ascended and descended, when I met with the label’s top A&R and when he handed over the contract I had been dreaming about all my life. He told me I had 24 hours to sign. ‘Look mama I made it.’ I thought.
“Nobody’s perfect.” Said a voice next to me. I looked up from checking in at the hotel and found my eyes locked with a girl I thought I knew.
“What?”
“I said nobody’s perfect.” She handed me my black, Goyard bag. Our knuckles bumped and I felt her spark.
“You left this in that chair over there. Funny, you always act like Mr. Perfect on campus. Strutting across the yard with your boys after practice, staying in the gym and blowing that good weed behind the Fredrick Douglas library.
“Oh you know about that?” I smiled. She licked her lips. She licked them slow. Suddenly I remembered where I knew her from.
“What are you doing all the way up here?” She asked.
“Got a record deal.” I waved the papers, which I had been holding on to for dear life, in the air above my head.
“Really? Congrats. You know we have to celebrate now.” She inched closer. I thought about my girl again. She was my rainbow after a storm, my star in a dark sky. But she was also an insensitive bitch as of late.
“Nah, you know I can’t.”
“Can’t, but want to.” She ain’t never lied. I took my room key from the clerk and leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. However, she moved her face at the right time and I caught her lips instead. I pulled back.
“Just because she’s my roommate doesn’t mean we are best friends.” She said and took my room key from my grasp. I watched her walk to the elevators and rubbed my chin. This was so wrong. Yet, so right. Everything happens for a reason. I slid in the elevator with her just as the door closed. I thought about my girl. And concluded that nobody’s perfect.
2/10/2013
Video Inspiration - A$AP Rocky + Samantha Lecca
So, I'm an ASAP Rocky fan. I'll let that linger for a moment...I fully understand that lyrically I shouldn't be, but I like his style. His swagger. (That word just won't retire)
I adore this video for its uniqueness in the hip hop world. No half-naked girls, no 80 chains around the neck, etc. We are slowly but surely moving away from some of the sterotypes.
The best part of this video that inspired me to write a short story, was the two women. Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to finish this but I didn't want to hold on to it so long that I never put it up. If you can't take this song (lyrically), at least watch up to 2:00. That's where my story kind of ends...
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you want to know?”
“Because if there is someone out there who looks just like me and people are stupid enough to be confused by that, then let them.”
“But she’s white.”
“And?”
“And nothing I guess.” She sighed. “You are so weird.”
“Thank you.” I slipped the right side of my black, satin, de la Renta dress over my shoulder and turned around so that Sarafin, my roommate, could zip it up. Tonight was a special gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was so nervous. I felt like a teenager at prom. They said anybody who’s anybody was going to be there, but they say that about everything. I looked at the clock.
“Yes. Your car is already downstairs and you are going to be late if you don’t leave in 60 seconds.” Sarafin said.
“I know, I know.” I grabbed the rest of my things and slipped into my heels.
“If you want to know her name, Kevin told me. He was the only one not shocked enough to talk to her.”
“I don’t want to know anything. I’m not indulging this silly rumor.”
“It’s not a rumor.”
“Goodnight. Wish me luck.” I walked out the door and the down the steps of our building, to the rented, black town car.
“Good evening ma’am.” The driver said as I approached.
“Hey!” Sarafin yelled from our apartment window.
“I have to go!”
“Her name is Vivian. Did you hear me? I mean, doesn’t that make you want to know more?” I turned my head and thought for a moment. A moment too long, in my opinion. I got inside the car and we took off.
“Oh darling, don’t you look lovely.” “Is that Oscar? Turn around and let me see the back.” “Oh, how have you been?” “Glad you could make it.” The party was packed and the atmosphere exquisite. I had been careful about eating too much, but was enjoying my third glass of champagne. My fingers ran along the smooth, white couch against the wall, as I sat on it admiring my view. Suddenly, far across the room, I saw them. Kevin was wearing a dashing tuxedo with a red rose in his lapel. She had on a white, sleeveless, v-cut dress that flowed down to her feet. I knew it was the Oscar de la Renta dress. At that exact moment, she looked over and saw me too. I stood up. She started walking first. My heartbeat was rapid and I felt the beads of sweat. We reached each other. My lips parted, just a bit, but I could form no words. We both stared into each other’s eyes. I put my hand to my cheek and she did the same. She put her hands up in front of me and I raised mine to meet hers, but we didn’t touch. It was too jarring. She was my spitting image.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Vivian. What’s yours?”
“Vivian.” I answered.
I adore this video for its uniqueness in the hip hop world. No half-naked girls, no 80 chains around the neck, etc. We are slowly but surely moving away from some of the sterotypes.
The best part of this video that inspired me to write a short story, was the two women. Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to finish this but I didn't want to hold on to it so long that I never put it up. If you can't take this song (lyrically), at least watch up to 2:00. That's where my story kind of ends...
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you want to know?”
“Because if there is someone out there who looks just like me and people are stupid enough to be confused by that, then let them.”
“But she’s white.”
“And?”
“And nothing I guess.” She sighed. “You are so weird.”
“Thank you.” I slipped the right side of my black, satin, de la Renta dress over my shoulder and turned around so that Sarafin, my roommate, could zip it up. Tonight was a special gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was so nervous. I felt like a teenager at prom. They said anybody who’s anybody was going to be there, but they say that about everything. I looked at the clock.
“Yes. Your car is already downstairs and you are going to be late if you don’t leave in 60 seconds.” Sarafin said.
“I know, I know.” I grabbed the rest of my things and slipped into my heels.
“If you want to know her name, Kevin told me. He was the only one not shocked enough to talk to her.”
“I don’t want to know anything. I’m not indulging this silly rumor.”
“It’s not a rumor.”
“Goodnight. Wish me luck.” I walked out the door and the down the steps of our building, to the rented, black town car.
“Good evening ma’am.” The driver said as I approached.
“Hey!” Sarafin yelled from our apartment window.
“I have to go!”
“Her name is Vivian. Did you hear me? I mean, doesn’t that make you want to know more?” I turned my head and thought for a moment. A moment too long, in my opinion. I got inside the car and we took off.
“Oh darling, don’t you look lovely.” “Is that Oscar? Turn around and let me see the back.” “Oh, how have you been?” “Glad you could make it.” The party was packed and the atmosphere exquisite. I had been careful about eating too much, but was enjoying my third glass of champagne. My fingers ran along the smooth, white couch against the wall, as I sat on it admiring my view. Suddenly, far across the room, I saw them. Kevin was wearing a dashing tuxedo with a red rose in his lapel. She had on a white, sleeveless, v-cut dress that flowed down to her feet. I knew it was the Oscar de la Renta dress. At that exact moment, she looked over and saw me too. I stood up. She started walking first. My heartbeat was rapid and I felt the beads of sweat. We reached each other. My lips parted, just a bit, but I could form no words. We both stared into each other’s eyes. I put my hand to my cheek and she did the same. She put her hands up in front of me and I raised mine to meet hers, but we didn’t touch. It was too jarring. She was my spitting image.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Vivian. What’s yours?”
“Vivian.” I answered.
1/04/2013
Workaholics
I know that I'm lazy. Not in the sense of "sitting around watching TV in my sweatpants and eating cheese curls all day" lazy, but more like procrastination. I have things that need to get done and I tend to drag my feet until the last minute. In the end, everything seems to always work out.
But, there are two people, in my two favorite categories, who I absolutely wish I had the workaholic strength to be like.
Literature = Anthony Trollope
Music = Nancy Wilson
Anthony Trollope was one of the most successful, prolific and respected English novelists of the Victorian era.
He wrote his earliest novels while working as a Post Office inspector, occasionally dipping into the "lost-letter" box for ideas. He wrote a total of 78 published works (consisting of both short story and novel) and published sometimes 3 or 4 novels a year. My favorite by him is "The Claverings".
- And if you follow the link of this picture, it will take you to another blog which has a very interesting literary essay on Trollope and his works.
Most of the NYT Bestselling Authors don't accomplish more than one book in a year!
Nancy Wilson is an American jazz singer, with nicknames such as "Sweet Nancy", "Fancy Miss Nancy" and "The Girl with the Honey-Coated Voice". She has won three Grammys but has put out more than 70 FREAKING ALBUMS!!! Not even my idol, Prince, over four decades, has that many CDs. Again, she's hitting you with two, three, sometimes four albums in a year.
These two make accomplishments of today, pish posh. I'm sweating and losing sleep over publishing one, little novel that has taken me years to write. And these two...flick of a light switch and they are done! Ah, I know it isn't that simple and they worked harder than hard, and for that I admire tremendously.
But, there are two people, in my two favorite categories, who I absolutely wish I had the workaholic strength to be like.
Literature = Anthony Trollope
Music = Nancy Wilson
Anthony Trollope was one of the most successful, prolific and respected English novelists of the Victorian era.
He wrote his earliest novels while working as a Post Office inspector, occasionally dipping into the "lost-letter" box for ideas. He wrote a total of 78 published works (consisting of both short story and novel) and published sometimes 3 or 4 novels a year. My favorite by him is "The Claverings".
- And if you follow the link of this picture, it will take you to another blog which has a very interesting literary essay on Trollope and his works.
Most of the NYT Bestselling Authors don't accomplish more than one book in a year!
Nancy Wilson is an American jazz singer, with nicknames such as "Sweet Nancy", "Fancy Miss Nancy" and "The Girl with the Honey-Coated Voice". She has won three Grammys but has put out more than 70 FREAKING ALBUMS!!! Not even my idol, Prince, over four decades, has that many CDs. Again, she's hitting you with two, three, sometimes four albums in a year.
These two make accomplishments of today, pish posh. I'm sweating and losing sleep over publishing one, little novel that has taken me years to write. And these two...flick of a light switch and they are done! Ah, I know it isn't that simple and they worked harder than hard, and for that I admire tremendously.
12/04/2012
Video Inspiration - Jay-Z (Meet the Parents)
This isn't a traditional video inspiration because there isn't an official video that goes with this song. I have always just loved the imagery of his lyrics.
So here's my short story inspiration that this song gave me:
(Sorry but you have to go to this link. I couldn't find an embed)
http://iloverap.tumblr.com/post/263359590/jay-z-meet-the-parents-produced-by-just-blaze
“This is going to be hard to say to you Ms. Isis, but know that it’s coming from a friend.” There was a silent pause after the statement, which prompted Isis to focus. She turned the television completely off and tapped her cigarette out on an orange plate. Flashes of faces crossed her mind, knowing the voice on the other end would tell her of someone she knew. She leaned forward off the couch and braced herself for Tommy’s message. Tommy, the city morgue’s favorite messenger.
“Isis, I’m afraid it’s your boy. Sean’s dead.” His voice was soft just like the calming rain outside. His words were eerie like the grey skies. He continued talking and explaining but somehow his language seemed too foreign for her to comprehend. The phone receiver dropped from her grasp and landed beside her right foot, knocking down the cocaine mirror on its way.
“I…I can’t…why…” She couldn’t hold it together. Her words were stumbling through her tears, which fought their way through her slobbering sobs. Tommy called her name, through the speaker on the floor, countless times to exhaustion then eventually hung up after understanding that she would never return to the phone.
Sean was her only son. Her eighteen year old baby. It was just the two of them, always had been. Chris, his father, had only seen him once and dismissed the responsibility without a second guess. Isis rocked back and forth on the teal colored couch, half struggling to breathe, half fighting down her anger. Several minutes passed and she came to a decision. She got up and tore out of the house, slamming the screen door behind her and marching purposely up the street. Neighbors gawked, neighbors laughed, neighbors were used to seeing the haggard, coke head walking around with no shoes on and gripping her tattered, holey brown sweater.
“Where’s Chris?” She yelled. “Where’s that bastard of a man? Somebody better tell me!” By the time she was four blocks down, a little crowd had gathered behind her, anxious to see what was going on. Most assumed Isis was just on a drug craving though…had to be if she was yelling for the most notorious drug dealer in the neighborhood. Chris was leaning against a telephone pole talking to some younger drug dealers and giving them their stash for the day. He had on clean, white sneakers, heather grey sweatpants and a crisp white t-shirt. The rain had halted but the air was still muggy.
“Isis baby, what’s up? You need something?” He asked, flashing a million-dollar smile.
“Last night you were in that back alley over there arguing and fussing with somebody. I saw you from Candace’s window. I couldn’t see who you were arguing with because they had they back turned to me.”
“So what. What do you want?” Chris asked, but darted his eyes around in a paranoid-like way.
“So I know you shot that somebody while ya’ll was arguing.”
“Look Isis-,” he said and gripped her up by her collar. “You don’t know nothing and don’t go spreading rumors like that you druggie.” Isis kept her expression calm and pulled the gun out from her sweater.
“You use these young boys to sell your stuff, but you never look them in their eyes. You never really see them Chris. That boy you shot last night was my son. I know it now because he didn’t come home last night. That boy you shot last night was your son.”
So here's my short story inspiration that this song gave me:
(Sorry but you have to go to this link. I couldn't find an embed)
http://iloverap.tumblr.com/post/263359590/jay-z-meet-the-parents-produced-by-just-blaze
“This is going to be hard to say to you Ms. Isis, but know that it’s coming from a friend.” There was a silent pause after the statement, which prompted Isis to focus. She turned the television completely off and tapped her cigarette out on an orange plate. Flashes of faces crossed her mind, knowing the voice on the other end would tell her of someone she knew. She leaned forward off the couch and braced herself for Tommy’s message. Tommy, the city morgue’s favorite messenger.
“Isis, I’m afraid it’s your boy. Sean’s dead.” His voice was soft just like the calming rain outside. His words were eerie like the grey skies. He continued talking and explaining but somehow his language seemed too foreign for her to comprehend. The phone receiver dropped from her grasp and landed beside her right foot, knocking down the cocaine mirror on its way.
“I…I can’t…why…” She couldn’t hold it together. Her words were stumbling through her tears, which fought their way through her slobbering sobs. Tommy called her name, through the speaker on the floor, countless times to exhaustion then eventually hung up after understanding that she would never return to the phone.
Sean was her only son. Her eighteen year old baby. It was just the two of them, always had been. Chris, his father, had only seen him once and dismissed the responsibility without a second guess. Isis rocked back and forth on the teal colored couch, half struggling to breathe, half fighting down her anger. Several minutes passed and she came to a decision. She got up and tore out of the house, slamming the screen door behind her and marching purposely up the street. Neighbors gawked, neighbors laughed, neighbors were used to seeing the haggard, coke head walking around with no shoes on and gripping her tattered, holey brown sweater.
“Where’s Chris?” She yelled. “Where’s that bastard of a man? Somebody better tell me!” By the time she was four blocks down, a little crowd had gathered behind her, anxious to see what was going on. Most assumed Isis was just on a drug craving though…had to be if she was yelling for the most notorious drug dealer in the neighborhood. Chris was leaning against a telephone pole talking to some younger drug dealers and giving them their stash for the day. He had on clean, white sneakers, heather grey sweatpants and a crisp white t-shirt. The rain had halted but the air was still muggy.
“Isis baby, what’s up? You need something?” He asked, flashing a million-dollar smile.
“Last night you were in that back alley over there arguing and fussing with somebody. I saw you from Candace’s window. I couldn’t see who you were arguing with because they had they back turned to me.”
“So what. What do you want?” Chris asked, but darted his eyes around in a paranoid-like way.
“So I know you shot that somebody while ya’ll was arguing.”
“Look Isis-,” he said and gripped her up by her collar. “You don’t know nothing and don’t go spreading rumors like that you druggie.” Isis kept her expression calm and pulled the gun out from her sweater.
“You use these young boys to sell your stuff, but you never look them in their eyes. You never really see them Chris. That boy you shot last night was my son. I know it now because he didn’t come home last night. That boy you shot last night was your son.”
10/01/2012
Video Inspiration - Chris Brown + Colin Tilley
This video has been lurking around in the back of my head for several weeks now. To me, that is an involuntary inspiration and a sign that I should just go with it.
Now we all know that Chris Brown is just an average singer. Nothing to sneeze about, and someone we will all forget in a few months...my sarcasm is fantastic. ;-)
And of course we all know that Colin Tilley has directed the worst videos ever, for the most no name of artists:
Lil Wayne & Rick Ross - John
Jeremih & 50 Cent - Down on Me
J.Cole & Missy Elliot - Nobody's Perfect
Justin Beiber - Never Let You Go
Tyga & Lil Wayne - Faded
I mean really...who has ever heard of those people?
Seriously, here's the video from Chris and Colin that inspired my short story (sidebar - while I've thought of this video I never actually wrote the story until my recent, weekend writing retreat):
Here's the story:
His Saturdays were usually routine. After watching David and Xavier’s baseball game, he dropped them off at their friend’s and went grocery shopping. He would wander aimlessly in and out of the aisles thinking about what life would be like if Marlena wasn’t so wrapped up in all her glorious bullshit. If she didn’t ooze bullshit from her thighs and stomach, neck and face. It was disgusting. After the week’s worth of groceries were packed away in their Honda van, he would carry them home to put away and start on the laundry. That was it. Kids, food and dirty clothes. His Saturday nights couldn’t get more depressing. Tonight, however, was different. Not because certain events were unusual but because Paul had willed it to be different. He was in the bread aisle outwardly dissecting the difference between the 100% wheat and 100% butter top wheat yet inwardly challenging himself to do it, to walk over there and say something. A whole minute passed by while he studied the bread. A whole minute had passed by and she was still standing at the far end of the aisle. Carin was every man’s fantasy, including Paul’s. She was that neighbor whose smile draped with flirtiness. The neighbor who seductively leaned over her petunias, letting one breast peep so gently out of her low cut shirt. Now she was standing at the edge of the hot dog bun shelf, licking her lips and looking his way.
“So, what are you going to do, write a report on the bread or what?”
“Oh hi Carin! I didn’t see you there. I…um…I’m trying to make sure I get the heartiest kind-,”
“And then what are you going to do?” She interrupted.
“Well go home I guess.” But he didn’t want to go home. Even the words tasted sour coming out of his mouth. His wife Marlena was waiting for him at home. She was the reason for all his imaginary excuses for staying at work late and lingering in this supermarket. He didn’t want to go home to her or her bullshit.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” Carin asked. Paul started sweating.
“Come on. You know I’m married. Don’t say things like that.” He picked up a pack of Stoneground 100% wheat and placed it in the cart. She strutted her way down the aisle and ended up right next to him, face to face.
“114 E. French Boulevard. Apartment 13D.” And with that she was gone. Paul couldn’t pay for his items any faster than he could blink. He stumbled out of the store, dropping his keys and clumsily throwing the bags into the backseat.
“Hey honey, h-how’s it going?” He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, which had formed at the mere thought of driving in the direction of Carin’s apartment. At this point in his life, Paul couldn’t care less about Marlena. Her bullshit was always getting in the way. He needed a break from it.
“When will you be home?” She asked.
“Soon…er, well actually I’m headed to work to work on something. So, you probably don’t need to wait up.”
“Did you even get the groceries you dimwit? I’m hungry. I want my dinner.” She was beginning to annoy him and ruin the mood he created just for Carin.
“Okay I have to go. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Paul! You can’t just hang up on me like that. We are not done-,”
“Gotta go honey. Bye.” He ended the call quickly and made a sharp left turn, running through a yellow light. The phone rang again with Marlena’s name flashing in bright neon. He ignored it. Only four more streets to go. His mind wandered to when Marlena’s bullshit began. It was definitely after they had Xavier, and became worse after David was born. The boys were almost teenagers now. Time seemed like it stopped but her bullshit just grew and grew. Carin was perfect. Not an ounce of bullshit on her. Finally, he pulled up in front of the 114 E. French Boulevard apartment building.
Now we all know that Chris Brown is just an average singer. Nothing to sneeze about, and someone we will all forget in a few months...my sarcasm is fantastic. ;-)
And of course we all know that Colin Tilley has directed the worst videos ever, for the most no name of artists:
Lil Wayne & Rick Ross - John
Jeremih & 50 Cent - Down on Me
J.Cole & Missy Elliot - Nobody's Perfect
Justin Beiber - Never Let You Go
Tyga & Lil Wayne - Faded
I mean really...who has ever heard of those people?
Seriously, here's the video from Chris and Colin that inspired my short story (sidebar - while I've thought of this video I never actually wrote the story until my recent, weekend writing retreat):
Here's the story:
His Saturdays were usually routine. After watching David and Xavier’s baseball game, he dropped them off at their friend’s and went grocery shopping. He would wander aimlessly in and out of the aisles thinking about what life would be like if Marlena wasn’t so wrapped up in all her glorious bullshit. If she didn’t ooze bullshit from her thighs and stomach, neck and face. It was disgusting. After the week’s worth of groceries were packed away in their Honda van, he would carry them home to put away and start on the laundry. That was it. Kids, food and dirty clothes. His Saturday nights couldn’t get more depressing. Tonight, however, was different. Not because certain events were unusual but because Paul had willed it to be different. He was in the bread aisle outwardly dissecting the difference between the 100% wheat and 100% butter top wheat yet inwardly challenging himself to do it, to walk over there and say something. A whole minute passed by while he studied the bread. A whole minute had passed by and she was still standing at the far end of the aisle. Carin was every man’s fantasy, including Paul’s. She was that neighbor whose smile draped with flirtiness. The neighbor who seductively leaned over her petunias, letting one breast peep so gently out of her low cut shirt. Now she was standing at the edge of the hot dog bun shelf, licking her lips and looking his way.
“So, what are you going to do, write a report on the bread or what?”
“Oh hi Carin! I didn’t see you there. I…um…I’m trying to make sure I get the heartiest kind-,”
“And then what are you going to do?” She interrupted.
“Well go home I guess.” But he didn’t want to go home. Even the words tasted sour coming out of his mouth. His wife Marlena was waiting for him at home. She was the reason for all his imaginary excuses for staying at work late and lingering in this supermarket. He didn’t want to go home to her or her bullshit.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” Carin asked. Paul started sweating.
“Come on. You know I’m married. Don’t say things like that.” He picked up a pack of Stoneground 100% wheat and placed it in the cart. She strutted her way down the aisle and ended up right next to him, face to face.
“114 E. French Boulevard. Apartment 13D.” And with that she was gone. Paul couldn’t pay for his items any faster than he could blink. He stumbled out of the store, dropping his keys and clumsily throwing the bags into the backseat.
“Hey honey, h-how’s it going?” He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, which had formed at the mere thought of driving in the direction of Carin’s apartment. At this point in his life, Paul couldn’t care less about Marlena. Her bullshit was always getting in the way. He needed a break from it.
“When will you be home?” She asked.
“Soon…er, well actually I’m headed to work to work on something. So, you probably don’t need to wait up.”
“Did you even get the groceries you dimwit? I’m hungry. I want my dinner.” She was beginning to annoy him and ruin the mood he created just for Carin.
“Okay I have to go. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Paul! You can’t just hang up on me like that. We are not done-,”
“Gotta go honey. Bye.” He ended the call quickly and made a sharp left turn, running through a yellow light. The phone rang again with Marlena’s name flashing in bright neon. He ignored it. Only four more streets to go. His mind wandered to when Marlena’s bullshit began. It was definitely after they had Xavier, and became worse after David was born. The boys were almost teenagers now. Time seemed like it stopped but her bullshit just grew and grew. Carin was perfect. Not an ounce of bullshit on her. Finally, he pulled up in front of the 114 E. French Boulevard apartment building.
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