Cogito Ergo

You know what needs to come back in style?  Not the Afro, not the hightop fade and certainly not bell bottoms.  Well, bell bottoms are kinda funky but what we really need is good old fashioned ass whippings. I'm anti-violent but I'm not non-violent.  Sometimes people don't need three hots and a cot or even a couple of weekend anger management classes.  They just need to understand that they REALLY fucked up.  What better way to know you messed up than a lingering injury. Pain is nature's way of telling you not to do that again.  You grab a hot skillet and nature doesn't non-violently protest.  No, you get burned.  You jump off of rooftop and land awkwardly, your back doesn't write you a letter espousing its disapproval. When some meth head breaks into your car and falls asleep, why not take your cue from nature and whip that ass.  Be careful because drug addicts often have that super cracky strength so make sure you give them a surprise...

Paul's dead.  My mom could hardly spit it out.  I knew something was up because my little sister and my mom rarely call me on the same day. My response "Paul who?"  I know a couple of Pauls.  "Paul McCleary." she said. I couldn't believe it.  Paul was the best behaved of the McCleary brothers.  The youngest and probably the smartest. I hadn't heard from my man in a while but he seemed like he was doing well.  He had at least 2 kids and one on the way.  I hardly remember him as a young man though.  I remember him as the kid his mom referred to as "Pauly Paul."  He used to want to be like his dad so much that he had a pretty noticeable Jamaican accent.  His pops injured his foot and Paul would limp around, mimicking the steps of his idol.  Instead of calling video games by their names he would quote them.  He would say things like "Lets play some dribble drive." or "We was playing Last Lap."  It would always ...

If you get to know me, at some point you are going to see me behaving as a drunken maniac... and I don't care. I like being drunk and crazy.  That shit is just fun.  I know, I know its far from my usual intellectual rationality but that's probably why I like it. I tend to spend a lot of time in my head contemplating the universe but when I'm drinking, I apply those powers of analysis to whats in front of me.  It doesn't matter if I'm watching Purple Rain or watching drunk white girls get down on the dance floor.  My attention goes to whatever is presented to me.  I, being a braniac, tend to over analyze the new stimuli.  When you're drunk its like experiencing everything for the first time and just like a little kid, I like to talk about it. I don't talk very much on a day to day basis but after a few Cuervo shots (my favorite) I cant wait to discuss.  Race, politics, religion, there isn't anything sacred to a philosopher with a beer in his hand....

When I go to heaven, I hope I get some real estate on a beach.   Shit, I hope everyone does. There are two conflicting feelings when you sit on a beach; hearing the roar of the waves, feeling the spray of the ocean spray on your body. There’s that sense that the power of Earth and the power of its creator is so much bigger and better than you.   You understand your insignificance in an ever moving reality that is so uncompromisingly beautiful.   That’s not even considering the beautiful women that tend to populate the beaches.   There’s also a feeling of being one with that power.   It’s like you are a part of that strength and that awesome power is somewhere inside of you.   It makes you feel like you are adding something to the scene. There are three major players that you watch unfold perfection at the edge of the sea.   There is a beautiful sky that seems infinite.   Its beauty seems to reveal more colors that your eye can compre...

I have a real comfort with being myself that often borders on arrogance but it really isn't.  Its just that I don't feel the need to go fitting in or submitting to norms.  The real culprits behind that confidence is the men of Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity inc. My first day at the University of Kansas, one of the Sigmas helped me move in to the dorms.  It only took him about 5 minutes of his time but it was one of those little moments that changed the direction of my life.  I was all prepared to get myself indoctrinated by campus (read white) life.  All I wanted was to graduate and become a nice, mild mannered middle class nigga.  I'm from the hood and there's no bigger dream for an 18 year old nerd hitting campus for the first time. He told me about the Kappa party that night and the Sigma party that weekend.  I didn't know anybody accept the few black people that I met during orientation so I was down for some mingling.  The thing I noticed most...