Fuck Wayne's Lying Ass

"The World In My Head" Pt. I

Recently, it seems like everything I do fucks up. I'm fast becoming an habitual and seemingly professional fuck-shit upper, or as I like to call it, fucker-upper (has a nicer ring to it, sounds like something a little kinky, and I am a fan of kinky..even when that bitch ignores my calls).

I've invested my time in shit that's fell through, most of the people I've incorporated in my life don't matter to me and don't give a shit about me... I'm beginning to suspect that secretly they've been plotting my demise.
So..
I'm either on the verge of an epiphany, a breakdown...
Or I'm showing symptoms of schizophrenia.
Either way, something's up.

So I've decided to fall back on my ego. But to the extreme.
Extremego.
Sounds like a Pokemon.
Or the name of Freud's son.
Extremego.
I am God.
That's right you fucks. The creator of all things is....
me.
Now I know what you might be thinking right now... So shut the fuck up. Nobody asked you. You don't matter. I'm God.
I am the creator of all I see, hear, taste.. You know.. sense and shit. There is nobody but me. All of you are merely the creation of my very powerful will and imagination. I was lonely. So, I decided to create you fucks. Now knowing that having puppets would do nothing for my loneliness, I made it so that all of you act seemingly independent of my will. And to convince myself, I made myself forget that I was God. But, in the words of one of my more brilliant creations, I've "misunderestimated" myself. So I've remembered.
Thank God/Me!
Being worried about what you think all the time was getting extremely bothersome. I had to figure out how to live amongst you and matter to you. Now none of that matters. It's like a breast of fresh air, a fuckload off my shoulders.

God smiles on you today.

You see I've been assuming this whole time that I am like you.

I've assumed that because you all die. I, too, will one day die.

But now I have nothing to worry about. Why worry about something that I can never know? ... Something that just doesn't exist to me.

You.

Yep, that's right... Not. At. All.

I'm free. And it feels good. And Yes..

You should be scared.

The Dutch Master Scripts

First I'd like to apologize to my audience for not finishing the #30Days30Poemas movement, I will as soon as time allows..

I've begun memorizing some of my poems for an audition to perform with Saul Williams and Amiri Baraka in the Howard Homecoming Poetry Cipher. The audition is this thursday.. Wish me luck!

This post is dedicated to something different. Last semester, a friend of mine, in true collegiate spirit, passed out a brochure of sorts (more like an essay in the three column brochure form).. It read as follows:

"The African American, excuse me negro female is the (often unknowing but many times aware) ardent ally of the white supremacist campaign to weaken the condition of the 'African' man. She is all too often the virulent, insidious, enemy from within while the overt, vigilant forces attack in concert from without. I am aware that this is a sweeping indictment of 'her' with straight talk. But the salvation of the African man comes from his self-redemption and his total amputation from the (deliberate quotes) Negress and the gangrene decaying of his masculinity that she represents. Now notice I have defined my terms specifically. The African female and the Negro female are 2 separate entities. So do not be alarmed. My position is overwhelmingly grounded in reality. The Negro female makes statements like the following 'Some people gotta sleep with some people just to get money, but why should I sleep with you if I can get money from you otherwise.' The value system of the Negro woman is apparent; avariciously acquisitive, malevolently materialistic, soul drainingly self-interested, and nastily narcissitic. The African woman in her proper form is quite a different creature (regardless of her geographic origins). Most notably she does not believe that a man is only what she can consume of him and from him. He is much more. (He is a MAN) The African man is much more. He is a man with a soul independent of most western norms. He is not defined by the human properties of slavishness and stupidity so well exhibited by the negro man. The negro man and woman should be together so they can destroy themselves in righteous genocide to the benefit of true Africans, the true black people. I tell men that they key is to get grounded in principles. "If a woman does not have solid ethnic ties, don't fuck with her!" It is evident from the divorce rates and the non-marriage statistics amongst negro women. 74% of negro women will never get married. It is their natural fate. They get guys locked up, divorce and despoil them, betray and beguile them. The African woman does not do this (at least not to a single degree in that frequency). The negro woman is often not satisfied to partner with a man. She must imprison or enslave him, or abandon and reject him. She often has no true loyalty to a loyalist; no ethical framework of any worth. She can be said to have pseudohumanity, for she has mind/biology but a very undeveloped soul (as the Jill Scotts' of this hemisphere might have). The problem is that men who acquiesce this are divided by the archaic idea that (all) females are delicate (in this environment). As black people, our men are vulnerable to no avail and no response by and because of our often alleged 'partners', but look at the lock up rates. Black (Negro women) are the parties that get 'niggas' locked up on false charges, despoil them in divorces, and institute or reinforce restraining orders to the satisfaction of the 'other' man, at the expense of our community. Where are our Michelle Obamas that would date us at higher levels even with holes in the floors of our cars? Where are our Assata Shakurs? They have been replaced by T&A dolls, obsessed with conspicuous consumption and machinations of bubble headed popular culture and fashion. These are our wives! Hell no, is what I say! Rebel against the agents the white man has made us think we must breed with and cater to. The Black man of Africa is the head of his home (literally). The American black man cannot speak the same of himself. Why? The answer is that his woman is a mercenary looking out for herself (most) often times. She is sexually disloyal, morally inept, as far as virginity is concerned, naturally inapplicable. She is often a harlot that pretends to be a wife, often to the detriment of a loyal man. In her self interest you can see the areas that she helps the 'other' man demasculate US. She is his partner! But not the true African woman, No! She is the stalwart of her community and the advocate of her man. The 'Negress' wears clothes to entice the sinful nature of a man so that she can engage in her duplicitous prostitution with impunity, because several blank minds in charge of penis' have ratified her. It is time to stop! We must now as Africans embrace women of communal, moral character. My friends, I have a solution. From my extroverted point of view, it's too late for the army of prostitutes of our kind. The values of community are more often than not determined by its women. So 'if a man could f*** a woman in a cardboard box, he wouldn't buy a house!' is true in this paradigm. Negresses love find fabrics, jewelry, luxury and spacious estates. That's how they assess and value a man. An African woman wants good tangibles too, however her first priority is to find a man that is pious, loyal, integral (familial), truthful, and philosophical for she knows that the tangibles will flow from there. She does not believe 'he is' those things is the fundamental difference. So this is the declaration; Any man seeking a good woman should acquire himself a passport and seek the bevy of beauty in Beirut, Dakar, or darker in the Lagosian metropolis of Lagos, the many maidens of mainland or coastal Morocco, or even in Maranhao, Brazil. There are so many more sisters of our lovely race on this planet than the degenerates the white man has produced for us as monopolistic xx chromosomes. 'Seek and you will find', unless you're a male negro in which in that case I encourage you to seek negresses as brides so that your destruction can at least bring about the process of elimination. The African American women of old have long faded from the scene and now all I can try to do is uplift my brothers and (true African) sisters. Any woman who is a true African in her soul, "please treat her right" is my word to my brothers. To the haranguing harlots of Howard, I especially wish that you get what you deserve.

Gratsi Dr. Zero"

Comments and questions are welcome. Let's have some discourse about this matter.

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 25

Self-awareness is a bitch

The little man looked into the ocean's reflective guise

He sighed and tossed a rock

disrupting the gaze he held with himself

Yes,

Self-awareness is a bitch

If he looked closely the little man could still see traces of the little boy

He loved that little boy

The little boy knew love

The little boy looked fear in the face

pulled up it's shirt

and gave it the most awesome

raspberry ever..

That little boy was someone to look up to

Now all the little man sees

is ....

a little man,

a little man that made all heads

take a sharp decline

as they sought to make quick eye contact

then turn away with disgust

The little man knew why they looked away

His existence told a story

It told the story of the little boy

And everyone knew of the little boy

They knew him personally

Sometimes he let them call him

Me

See

The little man remembered vividly the day

the little boy died

It was the day he realized

when he imagined

when he perceived

that he was not in the least bit

special

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 24

There is a whirlpool of reality

picking up speed at the

top left corner of my vision

it's slowing sucking the light from

my universe

As darkness begins to swirl

I grab the two nearest objects

and lean back

hoping to slingshot my way

into and through the abyss

I let go realizing that this

would be a sisyphean effort

and rather than let my strength

be overcome by some futile hope against hope

I should merely

grab my knees

holding on to my individual self

for preservation

And let my thoughts circle round

and travel into

the darkness of my ego

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 23

Black man knows

Black man knows white man owns

everything

everything is everything

and everything excludes nothing

Black man knows that white man owns

Black women

He sees it in their weaves

in their perms

in their straighteners

in their make-up

in their inability to wake up and see

black man

as a man

to talk to him

as a man

to love him

as a man

to treat him

as a man

so he beats them

cause he can

Black man knows that white man owns

his own will

to keep the oppressed oppressed

make them worship everything about the oppressor

so

black man lusts after white man's money

black man lusts after all that money

we lust after all that money

you lust after all that money

I lust after all that money

(Goddamnit!I just got an erection)

Black man knows that white man owns

all his brothers

the word brother is like the word revolution

it means nothing now

because everything excludes nothing

Black man sees black man

and steals

and takes and kills and even rapes

Black man knows taht white man owns

his law

Black man has no law

Black man knows that it is criminal to be a black man

Don't let them catch you nigger

Cause then they're putting you behind some physical bars

Black man knows that white man owns

his escape

White man is God.

So we drive around in these God-given

automobiles made up of narcotics

but be careful nigger

if God catches you using his stick shift

he'll send you to places where other black men

stick dicks

up your whole entire asshole

and while the floor is covered with your blood, tears, and shit

black man sees your pain

and it gives him the satisfaction that his wounded huberis

demands

(Goddamnit I just lost my erection)

And you wonder why niggers fuck with automatics instead

It's cause

Black man knows white man owns his music

He hip hops to the tip top

in tune with

sex money drugs

with ballads screamed from 40 caliber lungs

in perfect rhyme in perfect repitition

"please make me like you

please make me like you

make me like you

and maybe you'll like me

the way I fuckin' love you"

Black man knows that white man owns

his youth

His offspring are living contradictions

Literally figurative

So he hides in the front of buses

scared of them

as they reflect his own ignorance

Black man knows white man owns

his hopes

his dreams

his whispers

his screams

Black man knows white man owns everything

and everything excludes nothing

The only escape from everything is death

Black man knows

and it hurts his soul

Black man knows and it hurts his soul

Black man knows and ..

it hurts his soul

30 Days 30 Poemas:: Day 22

I walked into a strip club

and a good idea

sat in my lap

lips smeared with epiphanies

she danced

the music made me close my eyes

and feel