my analyst told me

Well, I know I'm not crazy, but it never hurts to be sure. I had my first session in five years with a clinician at the University Counseling Services to see if he could help sort out the problems I was having prioritizing and focusing on the tasks at hand. I didn't really have any expectation, and I almost didn't make the appointment. Life was so hectic a couple weeks ago, I thought I had better seek out some kind of support. My normal "analysts" (a/k/a my pastors) are currently distracted and, for my intents, out of commission what with them being pregnant and overloaded trying to run a whole church and all. So I decided to give secular assistance a try once again.

"My analyst told me
That I was right out of my head
But I said dear doctor
I think that it's you instead
Because I have got a thing
That's unique and new
To prove it I'll have
The last laugh on you
'Cause instead of one head
I got two
And you know two heads are better than one."
- Joni Mitchell, "Twisted"

Kidding. My analyst told me nothing of the sort. It's the first song that popped into my head though. My analyst did however tell me, in so many words that I was a lazy, arrogant, spoiled brat with an attitude problem. Well... at least, that's what I took from it. I laid out the convergence of assignments that I had due in my classes last week and explained how I waited until nearly the last minute to buckle down and actually execute what I needed to do. His suggestion was that my problem was not with the assignments themselves, but with my attitude toward them.

After one hour of mostly me talking, the calmly yet succinctly delivered damning verdict left my mouth slightly agape. I wanted to refute the claim and do "damage control", but he was just right. He summarized back to me that I didn't really feel it was my job to take care of these assignments. Therefore it feels like I'm taking my time to do them as if it is for the professor's benefit and not my own. Hence my angsty unwillingness. Hence my strong aversion. Hence my presence inside the office of a psychoanalyst. Because I'm lazy. (I drew the additional arrogant spoiled brat conclusion myself.)

I neglected to admit that I think the guy's right. I don't like accepting any put-upon responsibility. I like to opt-in, so that I feel like I have the option to opt right back out if it gets rough. I don't like to commit to things and be shackled to the site until it's properly seen through. I don't want to be on the hook for something's success or failure. Sometimes I'm not even my brother's keeper. "It's not my job" might as well be my mantra. I'd rather flit back and forth to whatever takes my fancy, nibble on it as if it were a buffet item and toss back whatever displeases me. (I'm starting to feel mighty proud of my spoiled brat assessment now.)

Perhaps I have quietly become a slave to my own whim. This is such that in order to gain freedom from this, I would have to surrender to self-discipline and self-control. I'll bet you there's a paradox somewhere in there wrapped up in an enigma. So in an attempt to make the best of what I've been apprised of, I've got to face up to and really ask God to help me wrap my head around this. It's frightening, this concept of embracing responsibility. What if it really is my job?

to envy the miserable

Sorry if I've neglected my blog this week. I figured after a weekend of quadruple posting, people needed a breather. I've found an erstwhile hobby in maintaining a page on MySpace and seeing how many of my friends are online. It's actually quite a nice number. I felt loved. (lol) And then I felt something else.

I was reading profiles of friends and their lives and quirky things that make them interesting. For a few moments in particular, I just had this longing begin to rise up my calves like the cold waters of a high tide. I wanted to be that person for a moment. This astounded me because as pleased as I am with myself, I'm no longer given to fits of wishing I could take my life back to God with the receipt and trade it for something else.

"I just wanna do / half of what you do / and I know it seems so strange for me to say it / if there is a hundred ways to say it / all in one it means / don't go away." - Janet, "One More Chance"

This uncomfortable feeling had to go, so I quickly stepped out of said chilly rising waters. Thank God I was lucid enough to make the decision. I was tempted to wallow in that feeling though and explore what it felt like washing over my back, up my spine, and through my hair. Need I remind anyone that I am most averse to cold temperatures? That's probably why God designed me to be born in California.

This is the thinking. The life I was seeing looked good and my pupils dilated and stars began to twinkle all around and what not. Yet the fact of the matter is, I am so certain that even more often people have taken a glance at the waxed and buffed outer chassis of my life and thought the same. Maybe envying me as attractive, witty, peaceful, happy, and maybe even powerful. Seems a little far reaching, but it's possible. Because I sure have felt that way about people who probably would think I'm crazy for even opting to switch. Everybody has their share of trouble and no one encased in flesh really has it together so much that would warrant us all clamboring to get what they've got.

"It's a sad state of affairs when so many Americans obsess over wealth and fame [and] the people who are wealthy and famous are actually kind of miserable." — Moby

I could have been caught up, but by the grace of God, I'm back to my senses. I'm quite alright being stuck with being myself. I still have issues, but at least I know my way around them by name. I may even give a few of them cute little names so that they don't seem so vicious when they "greet" me at the door. What I am is what I am, and what I am is satisfied.

4th avenue & wilshire blvd.

i was surfing 4th avenue jones' website thursday when i found they would be playing a show the next night at the temple bar in santa monica on wilshire blvd. they're supporting their "debut" album stereo: the evolution of hiprocksoul releasing march 29th. it's not really a debut since they've had several indie releases and one shelved album through a failed deal with interscope records. they're signed to gotee/emi now and after years on the grind, this will be the first album of theirs to actually hit stores nationwide. i heard several tracks off of the album already and they're all on fire. so i decided, that i would not miss the opportunity to see them live for $10, up close, and only 30 minutes from my house.

i wanted to make a date of it, but had no eligible, available, likely-to-say-yes prospects. a friend suggested i take a guy with me instead. those of my boys i could reach were either too far away to make it or tied up workin' or studying. i ended up going by myself anyway, which was fine. if i had brought anyone at all it still would have been too packed to sit down and too loud to hold a conversation.

i don't go clubbing. it's not my thing. i'm completely a homebody and for all intents and purposes, i'm a church boy, so i just straight don't fit in the scene. i kinda have my own more daylight oriented social circles to run in anyway, so it always seems like a brand new and novel experience whenever i walk into the nocturnal atmosphere of a place like the temple bar. apparently, its patrons were having a good time swaying back and forth with drinks in hand. a throwback funk band called greasy beats was on stage finishing their set. the players were all 30-something average-joe type white guys. no slight to the "average white band". they were actually funky.

the ambience seemed simultaneously active and inert. there was a lot of movement going on with streams of waitresses trickling throughout the crowd and what not. each one of them held high a tray with a lit candle atop while taking drink orders. yet, nothing felt alive or engaging about the place. it was alright though. i was there to see them jones, and that's all.

i did enjoy a quicksilver set of favorites mostly from the 80's and 90's that the DJ spun to amp up the crowd before 4th ave came out. rarely lingering on a song for longer than a verse and a chorus, he blasted in and out of ODB "got your money", musiq "just friends (sunny)", busta rhymes "put your hands where my eyes could see", prince "erotic city", chaka khan "i feel for you", lisa lisa & cult jam "i wonder if i take you home", michael jackson "p.y.t.", tone loc's "wild thing", young m.c. "bust a move", and an extended medley of new edition-related joints like "if it isn't love", "don't be cruel", and "poison". i didn't really come dressed to dance, which is just as well. it would just look wrong with me gettin' my groove on in a sweaty dark club and then bein' up front on sunday leadin' praise and worship. still, i did have to rapscreamsing along with ODB and do the double claps on "got your money".

the band came out next and twerked their one hour set well. i had my locks pulled back when they opened with "fabulous dramatics", but i had to take 'em right on out when they went into my favorite song "unhappy birthday". i was jumpin' around too much for them to keep together anyway. they flew through "take me away", "overloaded", "sorry", and "who's watching me" after that. to close, they played two times through their two-minute lead single "stereo" and then let the band jam and solo for a minute and left out on a parody of nirvana's "smells like teen spirit". at this point, i was glad i didn't bring anybody, because i had to act a straight fool. headbangin' with a suit on like i ain't had no sense. they were filming for somethin', so if you see me wildin' out so much that you're not sure it's me. yeah. it is. which is ok. it's different from the janet jackson concert, because now, i would act up just as much for Jesus. have done it before, would most gladly do it again.

"i'm precise wit mine and diced a few fools... / from the life where if you ain't nice, we boo you / boo hoo / go 'head cry if you wanna / what you got's not hot / they rock mine every corner / homey cain't see me / if he try, he a goner / plus he must me smokin' that thai marijuana / it's over now" - 4th avenue jones, "it's over now"

that was a great though. the members of their band are most impressive as musicians and performers. particularly watching their sweet-faced violinist named gailybird battle with their raw as rusty nails guitarist timmy "shakes" stewart. afterwards, i got to meet tena jones. i could have had a photo op from it, but somehow the batteries had fallen out of my digital camera. so i'll probably go see them again next weekend when they have their album release party in hollywood. perhaps we'll call this my clubbin' phase, 'cause but for the musical attraction, you ain't gettin' me that far out the house on the regular.

breathe in

...and hold. {funeral's over. donnie mcclurkin screensaver turned in. visual analysis written. research paper proposition turned in. reprieve received for late graphic design assignment due tuesday. logo presentation for production class complete. day job paycheck received. set up appointment for counseling. laughed and talked with an old friend. payment for donnie screensaver received.} ok. now.

breathe out.

after what seemed way too long of a time ducking and laying low as a storm passed over, i can finally breathe for a minute and let my spine curve into this chair a little. i don't have to be catlike and tense. i returned long deferred calls and e-mails. watched episodes of taxi. installed windows xp service pack 2. cleared away the strewn papers that seem to enclose my floor like kudzu up a wall. even took some time to retwist my locs in the front.

and now i can relax. now i can smile and laugh for the heck of it and not just to keep from crying. now i can help somebody else out. now i can even pray. and now... let the weak say i am strong, let the poor say i am rich, because of what the Lord has done for us, give thanks. everyday.

on the death of a young man

i know 4-5 posts stacked tightly together in one day is just garrulous and excessive, but this is america. excess is what we do. besides... there is a lot going on right now and there is something important and lingering that i have yet to address. on the death of jerome jakie coston, my nagging question was why did it bother me so. it didn't reconcile that i had only seen the man 2 or 3 times over a space of 5 or 6 years, yet i was so distraught about the whole ordeal. it seemed like logically, i should be able to shrug and say "that's too bad" and feel sorry for those closer to him. this hit close to home and i was determined to find out why, because i didn't even know i lived anywhere close to the site of impact.

last time i felt this way was over the death of aaliyah. to me, she symbolized youth, vitality, potential, seeds, and signs of things to come. i was with my mother when i found out and i went into fit of disbelief and panicking. my mother didn't understand what the problem was. she asked me, "did you know her personally?" i didn't. and then i felt ashamed making such a show for someone who was neither a relative, close personal friend, or even an acquaintance. was i being dramatic? possibly. but there was some tangible impetus for the grief. even now, the discomfort has subsided, but by no means has it gone away.

in 2001, i wasn't bowled over by her new music, but i recall having a hopeful sense about where it was going. it was becoming intelligent and mature, being sung by a gentle, yet increasingly confident voice. no longer hiding under baggy clothes and hip-hop sunshades de rigueur, she was nascent and inspiring and vibrant in her freshly liberated loose curls. i was proud of her and intrigued by her as some archetypal figure of sister/mother/lover hybrid everywoman. i was looking forward to seeing what she might be like as a 40-year-old woman retaining supple curves from her youth, but finally being honored with lines of wisdom and esteem in her face. all of this i felt though unspoken. in someway somewhere along the lines, i took ownership of her. she was mine and we walked together. when she died, something that belonged to me was taken away. i felt it go and it still feels missing. it was part of the scenery that i was used to seeing while walking through my daily routines. i couldn't find a piece to replace what was taken because it was a one of a kind unique creation. so i had to adapt my routine so that i didn't have to pass by that place with the vacant spot and feel every day like injustice had only freshly been done that morning.

when biggie, tupac, and left eye died, it was sad, but they weren't part of my scenery. they weren't in my house. even when 9/11 happened, the tragedy was in my neighborhood, but it wasn't in my house. apparently, jerome lived in my house. ever so quietly, i didn't know he was there. he must have been like a table or something in the corner with a lamp on it where you walk by it everyday for years upon years without noticing it. yet as soon as you remove it, everything that once sat comfortably upon the table is upset.

like aaliyah, jerome and i were the same age, born 18 days apart. and we walked together in a way. from strong-willed children who played and fought and learned to forgive because there was no one else to play with, to grown men with completely different lives and aspirations and personalities worlds away from each other, we were still connected. if you look at life as a battlefield, we were marching in step not far from one another. enemy fire that could have grazed me easily met him spot on and took him out of step forever. he was mine and he was taken away from me and his absence is not unnoticed.

if i had known he was dying or had some premonition that it was to come, i think i would have tried to warn him or save him or, if that was beyond my control, at least touch him and let him know he was loved. maybe i did have a premonition. maybe that weird sense about the train coming that i had a few weeks ago was about him. but if so, how unfair that i wasn't fully informed so that i could try and reform God's plan with my own hands. alas, better that i not try an operate in that capacity, lest i damage more than i can repair. still, it would have been nice to look forward to seeing him at family reunions decades later and with him share stories about our crazy childhood to delight our own children. that won't be now. not the way i had expected. fortunately, i don't think anything necessary was left unsaid. i believe he is with Christ now, and i have no regrets.

however.

it stands to reason that anyone who narrowly misses being in a car accident will be obviously shaken for at least a moment of time, possibly gunshy and very careful for his life. as of late, that gunshy and thereafter circumspect man has been myself. jerome's life was truncated in a way that seems arbitrary, unexpected, and unforeseen. which means that apart from it being a portion of omniscient God's perfect plan, there was no apparent reason it couldn't have been me elected to leave at an early age.

normally, i prefer to drive late at night because it's easier on the eyes, and i find the night environment to be relaxing. yet tuesday night, even though i was clamboring anxious to escape the perimeters of bakersfield and the premises of my mother's home, i forsook my haste. i was tired and concerned that even i couldn't make the full 90 minute trip without wanting to take a nap. so i curled up on the floor by my mother's king-size bed. she insisted that i get some warm covering and a pillow or better yet, just stretch across the foot of her bed, so i did. then she adjusted some more and told me, there would be more room if you lay diagonally, so i did. then she said to go ahead and take that side of the bed and be comfortable. so i did. it was much warmer than the floor would have been. i awoke 2 hours later with my forehead against her shoulder and my hand clasped about hers. though still anxious to get back to my own world, i hesitated a little longer remembering how my mother said she begged my father not to rush out on the morning he was killed. i just thought that if there was something tragic awaiting me on the road or elsewhere, that holding my hand for just a few moments longer might have meant the world to her.

"A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee." - Psalm 91:7a.

i wonder if my father had any foreboding of his own death. i've heard that he was planning to move to santa barbara, and was going around town saying goodbye to all of his friends before he died. that comforts me, that God would give him a chance to personally deliver his own closure in a way. to write his own epitaph before dying. it comforts me because i would want at least that much control over my own life for myself. there are significant things, even powerful things within me, that i haven't yet had the opportunity or ability to say yet. i was slightly afraid last week because i thought that if i did die unexpectedly that the greatness gestating in me would never be known or acknowledged. as if it were never there in the first place.

recently in california, some subway restaurants have ceased accepting their frequent buyer "sub club" cards. i didn't know this and i was left holding two cards worth one free sandwich each that i was told could no longer be redeemed. i called my mother and found that restaurants in bakersfield were still accepting them and i was overjoyed. even though i wasn't going to taste the sandwich for myself, i was inordinately excited that somebody close to me would still get the benefit of it and the roughly 70-80 dollars spent acquiring that value was not in vain.

i have invested time in this life and learned from my experiences which continually adds value to me as a person. even if i am not a currency-wealthy man when i leave this earth, what i know i have is much wisdom that the bible says is more precious than gold, and i have fought hard to earn it. that is my treasure. and even if i were to receive untimely discharge from service in this world, i would want someone to be able to redeem my value so that my life will not have been in vain.

snap out of it

i think i'll either see my pastor or use the university counseling services, because odds are, it's been months since i excised the anxiety that seems to accumulate from living. i don't feel distanced from God, but he sure seems lately to be something of an inactive volcano...

"now if things feel different, i'm the one trippin' / if we seem distant, i'm the one slippin' / you're the same as you've always been and will be" - the cross movement, "closer to you"

what i said to a friend recently was that i don't "feel saved". it's not like i'm over here whoopin' it up with the hey hey get-ur-sin-on, but i just feel like i'm getting by and not really getting a reciprocal rush when i try to engage in worship and what not. i feel cold towards God and i don't like that. it's not comfortable.

"it's somethin' still wrong wit the picture / i'm workin' for you daily / but barely i'm gettin' wit'cha / somethin's keepin' me from gettin' with you / diggin' in your scripture for food with its infinite truth / you get pushed to the side like when i'm cockin' a brim / it's like we're on the couch but we're on opposite ends / Lord come and put a stop to this trend" - the cross movement, "closer to you"

i'm wont to blame the 15 unit classload because it is stretching my life all out of shape like it was a shirt two-sizes too small. i like it though. i'm getting to indulge in the area of education that was held just beyond arms-length from me for years now. i should be diving into this and loving every minute of it because it's gonna be over in no time, but i'm having trouble focusing though.

"every now and then i can see that i am getting somewhere / where i have to go is so deep / i was angry back then / and you know i still am / but / i have lost too much sleep / and i'm gonna find it" - jennifer knapp, "diamond in the rough"

currently, i'm not sure if i'm getting anywhere. i'm doing quite a bit. too much even. but i'm not even entertaining the idea of stopping. i tend to lean towards having too much going on as opposed to having not enough. i just don't feel like i'm accomplishing much.

if i had my way right now, i might just drop every responsibility and go and do something absolutely pointless like picking daisies in a field and making wreaths out of them for little kids to play with. i just don't want to deal. don't wanna think hard. don't wanna return calls and e-mails. don't want my nose placed against any grind stone. and i've been at this junction of apathy and obstinance so many times before.

and i have a theory. one time my old pastor was detailing the story of a woman swimming from the channel islands to the shore of california for some feat. and from a helicopter, observers could see that she stalled out half way to her destination even though she was going at a pretty good clip for most of the race. well, when she did pick up, get going again, and finish her watery trek, people were curious. "why did you stop halfway in-between?" the woman responded "well, the fog had set in and when i couldn't see where i was going, i lost the energy to get there."

"what's the use / forget it / that's what you keep sayin' / tangled like spaghetti / why folks act so petty / i'm meltin'... / callouses and blisters / workin' hard but goin' nowhere / trouble don't last always / he'll make a way / just wait and see / God has the final say... / don't conversate with the enemy / don't say nothin', just pray / watch the Lord come through / and beat the devil down for you / when the devil try to talk to ya / check yo self / when ya boss got'cha trippin' / better check yo self / snap out of it / snap out of it" - kierra kiki sheard, "s.n.a.p."

bingo! that's me. i'm pretty certain. 'cause right now, i'm just expending energy and lots of it. going back and forth, doing things, calling people, reading pages, understanding little, retaining less, and hoping that somewhere out of this chaos will arise some good grades and accolades. i'm thankful that nothing is bearing down on me so heavy that i can't move, but i can't deny... i am rather tired. i gotta snap out of it though because i'm always encouraging people and trying to motivate them to get where they need to be. it would be a daggone shame if i ended up among the also-rans and didn't make it to the promised land along with the other children of israel.

salty surreal, pt. 2

no, wait. now i got it. i think i really got it this time. and you can thank lady kaleo for it because "she scratched it outta my head when i was ailin".

"my eyes are green 'cause i eats a lotta vegetables. it ain't got nothin' to do with your new friend." - erykah badu

thank you. thank you all so much. you really have been a wonderful audience. good night.

salty surreal

oops. i know who her new man is. i didn't really wanna know, but i stumbled upon it online. it was on her page a couple links away. i saw cute li'l love notes from december. he's a singer, songwriter, producer, vocalist, nice lookin' guy with dredlocks as long as my arm it seems like. she probably worked with him (like me), got to know him and has now come to love him. that's really ok. even though the drama factory within me is just grappling to blow this out of proportion. wants to go sift through the works of lauryn hill or d'angelo or someone of the like and see if i can find a song appropriate for the occasion of "being introduced" to your ex-girl's new man.

i haven't decide on an emotion to stick with yet. it's not a requirement though. it's perfectly within my rights to remain without affect at all. i would love that. not sure how feasible that option is at this point and let me tell you why. i'm single. happily so. still. but it's spring time and everywhere there's sunshine and the tv tells me that being in love is the thing to do right now. romance. "it's the new black." the tv is always right, you know. hey. by the by... can you hear me rolling my eyes at myself? 'cause i am.

again, i have to keep telling myself i'm ok. because in truth, i am. i was fine before, and i'm fine after. heck. look at me. i'm fine period. too sexy. no for real though. and ironic how my unabashed authentic braggadocio is heavily attributed to her. she praised me until i believed what she said. long after i was gone. i'm thankful for her. i don't regret the time spent.

so back to the main point of all my ramblings. i'm really, really hot. yay and good for me. and just because i wasn't superman enough to make this last relationship work doesn't mean ol' girl has to be doomed to eternal solitude just to make me happy. go on. go ye therefore and get your man. live your life. do your part to fulfill all the potential we said we had and didn't want to stunt within each other. i am obligated to continue undaunted trying to be amazing. i'm doing ok so far. i feel funky right now, but it's a feeling. feelings are inherently ephemeral. it will die within a day and a new feeling will replace it. can you blame me though? you can imagine this is a bit surreal. and it's obvious i'm salty about it. let that roll off your back though. if you ever find this. which i don't intend for you to. 'cause really though...

"what yo man got to do wit me?" :)

ooh! i got one! ok. burt bacharach's "walk on by". the one that says "if u see me walkin' down the street / and i start to cry each time we meet / walk on by... / make believe / that u don't see the tears / just let me grieve in private / 'cause each time i see you / i break down and cry / walk on by". bleh. that's overkill. more drama than adequately suits the situation. so i'll just walk on by that. heh.

but moving on. i wonder... (as i wander)... if... just as a friend to me... you would do me the honor of feeling a little bad yourself when i unexpectedly find and fall in love with a woman who fits me like a glove. i wouldn't do it just to make you upset. but if you were to humor me by turning introspective for a minute, i'd appreciate it. it would be so nice, and i would be eternally grateful. i'll even sweeten the deal. you don't have to ever tell me about it. as a matter of fact, nobody has to know. that's ok with me. i just don't want to be so insignificant to you that you could easily forget about me like i was never there. you know? pretend it was hard to get over me. heck. i didn't see you for months. for all i know, you may have absolutely agonized about it already. all that fuss over li'l ol' me? aww shucks. you shoudn't have...

i'll take it. give it to me.

ok wait. i think i got another one. um, mariah carey. "and you don't remember" from her first or second album. probably second. the first was too 90's adult contemporary. i can find the lyrics... hold on. nevermind. this is too much as well. "Helplessly / I fell so deep / I was so naive / To let you in / Why did I let you in / To my heart / And you don't remember / Anything you told me / You were mine forever / For eternity / I know you don't remember / How you used to hold me / How we'd melt together / Together / How you needed me / How we used to be / In love"

come on now. you're telling me that nobody in the history of R&B has ever written a mild enough heartache song that's bittersweet but not absolutely depressing? i'm lookin' for "oh well, too bad, & so sad". you're giving me "woe is me, i need a drink, & my world is empty without you." and it's so not! please, people? people! get with the program. i'll bet even hallmark marks cards for this. whatever man.

well. for those of you Godfearing blog-voyeurs who've endured these hard times with me, i suppose i should at least touch upon the question of "where is God in all of this?" in truth, there is no situation in life that is irrelevant to him. ok, how about that thing from the book of revelations that kirk franklin quotes at the beginning of "revolution". ok, it's revelation 21:4. "and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes: there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away." excellent. that will suffice. ok, i'm done here. and thank you for listening.

the scritti part

i'm going to put aside last week's grief fest for a moment. on a lark, i started listening to scritti politti's groundbreaking 80's pop album cupid & psyche '85. and while i was listening to this soundtrack, i was reading about green gartside on the lone scritti politti fan website online. its combination nostalgic and esoteric qualities make it a supreme draw for me. i think i like this guy he was one of those capricious types who caught a stroke of genius and coming from a punk rock foray in the late 70's make a kick-butt album fusing his europeanness with a love for black music and apparently. the bands name means "political writings" loosely translated from italian. the scritti part, however, i can get with.

this is one of those times man, where hearing this info sets my wheels turning and stokes my flames. tonight, i would love little more than to hole myself up in this teeny room with a MIDI keyboard, controller, sequencer, and a lot of wild ideas and just churn them out even if the lyrics are nonsensical and inaccessible. i might trip and fall into something brilliant. i just feel like i could create an absolute masterpiece right now, if i only had a chisel and some marble.

once day i'm gonna get some space move back and forth, and when i do, i'm going to use it to take a running start and leap over one of these plain white walls erected between myself and the beautiful music that looks like God and i. man, u just wait.

laugh

about the hardest day in dealing with all this grief was last thursday. and i felt better after i had the major cataclysmic "ugly oprah cry", but i wasn't fully rid of the hovering fog that kept me from seeing too clearly. so on friday, after my class, i went home, and watched della reese beat the living crap out of eddie murphy in harlem nights. i tell you. that did me so much good. u just don't know. the side effect is that i've got curse words floating around my head that really shouldn't be there, but at least it helped me come out of my funk. sometimes you need a really good laugh.

thanks again to everybody who prayed for me, listened to me whine, or just resisted the opportunity to go deal with somebody else who was less afflicted for... on tuesday, i did not shed a single tear all day. my friend called me late that night when i left and talked to me for the entire 90 minute trip keeping me occupied, encouraged with the Word of God, laughing, and singing too. my problem was that i was expecting the worst. i didn't know who was gonna wild out and take it out on me (it's happened subtlely before). i didn't want to be in bakersfield. and i most certainly didn't want to be in bakersfield for a funeral. yet, there i was.

"...but dare i go where i don't understand / do i dare remember where i am / i stand before the great eternal throne / the one that God himself is seated on / and i... / i've been invited as a son / oh i, i've been invited to come and / believe the unbelieveable / receive the inconceivable / and see beyond my wildest imaginations / Lord I come with great expectations" - steven curtis chapman, "great expectations"

all crying aside, i was tellin' my boy before i hit the road that i didn't feel emotionally like i could make it through the day without coming apart. he replies back to me "that's why we walk by faith, and not by sight." i said, "thank you. i needed somebody to say that." so i spent most of the time trying to convince myself it might not be as bad as i thought, but i was in bakersfield and i was uncomfortable, and it was late, and just couldn't wait to get back home.

so come 11am in the morning, i was pleasantly disappointed. the family was in good spirits and smiling and laughing even though it was hard times all around. since our family has made up the core of the choir in this church for years, most of the people closest to the grief were in the stand, myself included. the preacher was long-winded and tune-happy, given to gusty exhales between his sung-preached phrases. so after awhile, we all tuned out and started doing the swerve to the music and giggling quietly as if no one else could see our shoulders heaving and the faces of the many folks with light complexions turning pink and squinting with laughter.

"Believe the unbelievable / with great expectation / Lord help me believe / these great expectations / I say I believe / Lord help me believe / These great expectations"

it was at this time that my expectations were so pleasantly disappointed. i was expecting trouble and i got laughter. and then i realized that these are my people. i haven't seen them in a shamefully long time, but this is my herd of swans. the rest of the time, i'm with ducks who have adopted me and take me as i am. but when we got together under pressure, we laughed. we watched t.v. and we laughed. we speckled the funeral remarks with jokes and we laughed. we hugged each other and cried and prayed, but we still laughed. it's part of the way i deal, and it took seeing the rest of my swans doing the same to realize that i'm not that weird afterall. i'm just a little removed from my herd right now.

one thing most of jerome's friends and relatives had to say was that he loved to eat. at about 6' tall, we were all amazed that he wasn't a heavier individual. not unlike me, i'm 6' 1", 150 lbs., but still known to straight wreck a buffet at any family gathering, and yes, i'm takin' a plate home. the food at the repass was off the chains and we loaded up our plates. i sat down with mine and somebody made a comment that i had the plate stuffed pretty high. so i said "yeah. jerome would have wanted it that way."

and we laughed.

get the point? and of course, the contrast is a little sharper on my mom's side of the family. my humor doesn't buy me as much as it would elsewhere. there are so many sensitive personalities and insecure folks that you can't do any gentle ribbing or odds are, someone will be offended. at my uncles funeral in 2003, my aunt remarked that she had lost several pounds worrying about her brother towards the end there. i remarked in lighthearted nature that she should consider it something of a parting gift from uncle c.d. i heard later on that that didn't go over so well. so i suppose those people don't quite believe in curing grief with a salve of humor. that's ok. we all do what we have to do to keep from crying and i think my method is working fine for me.

smile

i spent most of yesterday playing in the traffic of a 4-lane highway made of begrudged pleasantry, quiet hostility, hope against despondence, and reluctant grief. i was unhappy that i was unhappy. upset that i was affected as much as i was. i didn't want to care. i don't like being tragic and dramatic. i don't want to make splashes in the water and attract attention to myself... not like this. i just want to be ok.

me and jerome were really cool as kids, but come to be grown men and we never saw each other, hung out, or had much in common but a last name. so i'm thinkin' to myself... "look. you got 15 upper division college units, a part time job, a home business, obligations at church, and dreams to chase. can you do this whole mourning thing later maybe? this is just-- this just isn't a good time." the upshot of this whole thing is that in crying so daggone much yesterday, my face got hella puffy and smoothed out those lines under my eyes that i always airbrush off of all my photos.

in the midst of it all, we opened up our music rehearsal in prayer with prayer being the focus. i didn't want to pray. i just wanted to sulk and glower at people. i'd been testy and sensitive all day. still, i just put my rank mood aside and prayed in the spirit, 'cause there was nothing else to do and at least this way i could be productive and at the same time be loud and aggressive (which pleased me heartily). at one point we were admonished to pray for one another, so my "big brother" kenny locked arms with me and we're both praying in the spirit. it would have been nice if i could have provided some reciprocal support, but i was tapped out and weak. he must have sensed that because he just hugged me and laid his head on my shoulder and continued praying while i just kinda came apart for a minute.

i have a varried array of confidants for each arena of concern in my life. kenny happened to be well versed on my workload since he refers me some of my highest profile clients as of late. so he probably assumed that with the pressure of school and work and whatever else was on top of me, i was beginning to crack under the pressure. while he was praying he was encouraging me to use the many gifts God has given me and press past myself to praise God anyway. all i could say was "ok" over and over again, but even that wasn't fitting well between my snivelling. i had to mute my sobs for dignity's sake 'cause when i cry, i cry loud. really loud. i would dare say it's the only time my otherwise lithe and soft voice carries and projects. i wish i could sing with that much power, but i digress.

i told the group there about the death in my family and they prayed for peace over everyone and that God be glorified even in tragedy. later on, pastor charles (better known to me as superchuck) playfully started singing the song to me that i sing to people whenever they look like they're really sad or just having a difficult time:

"smile though your heart is aching / smile even though it's breaking / when there are clouds in the sky / you'll get by / if you smile / through your fear and sorrow / smile and maybe tomorrow / you'll find / that life is still worthwhile / if you just... / light up your face with gladness / hide every trace of sadness / although a tear / may be ever so near / that's the time you must keep on trying / smile / what's the use of crying? / you'll find that life is still worthwhile / if you just smile" - charlie chaplin

it was funny and we all had a laugh, but it was timely. with kenny quoting pastor andrea's mantra to me "it's not about you" and my other friend goading me to sing some song when all i wanted to do was eat, crawl into bed, and sleep until "this too" passes, it was pretty apparent. those were the hands God was reaching out to me to keep me from sinking into some quicksand like depression. i didn't want to start crying, 'cause i was afraid i wouldn't stop like a fire started that gets out of control and starts engulfing things you don't want burned. holding it in was probably complicating my melancholy affect like when you have a cold and don't want to blow your nose. i feel like i'm ok though. to all of you who offered your condolences... thank you. i don't understand everything going on and that bothers me, but life is still worthwhile, so... <:)

untitled

There are so many varied thoughts and emotions rising to the top of my mind, breaking at the surface, and then dissipating away unceremoniously, that I can't quite sew together enough of a common thread to aptly title this entry, so I'll try to piece this together so as not to create a murky mishmash of odd thoughts.

STIMULANTS:
1. Reconnected with my great aunt Dr. Edna McKenzie who, surprisingly enough to me, is 82 years old, active, alive, and well, and glory to God, also a cancer survivor. But now that I have her phone number and can talk to her, I can redocument the genealogy on my grandmother's side that I once had and then lost and also connect with all of my Chappelle relatives back east and find out whether Dave is family or not.

2. Found out that my cousin Jerome was killed by a drunk driver last night while on his motorcycle around 12 or 1. Only 3 months older than I, he had just turned 26. The unsettling irony is that my own father was killed in a motorcycle accident at the age of about 26. Unsure of the ramifications of any generational curse, I besought that God have mercy on me should anything so tragic be written for me. Having this happen to him in a way I thought might have been in store for me makes me feel as if a fate intended for my life jumped its tracks and took my cousin away instead. I'm still not quite sure how to feel.

3. I tried to talk to my mother about how I felt about Jerome's death and the candid admission of my feelings of mortality didn't set well with her. She became alarmed (as any mother would), I became dismissive, she became offended, then became defensive, I became offput and wished I hadn't even said anything in the first place.

REACTIONS:
1. I'm so excited to hear from Aunt Edna. She's the nearest piece of my grandmother living and even though she's older, her vitality is impeccable. There's stuff all over the internet about the books and articles she's written. She's got her doctorate and is a professor emeritus at a community college as well as former trustee at a Pennsylvania University. I like old people. I need them around. I wish I could just buy a ticket, hop on a plane and go see her right now and have one of those family reunions like at the end of Antwone Fisher where the farther you walk into the house, the older the generation you meet and they let you sit at the table and everybody's glad to see you, et cetera, et cetera. That's idealized, but I would love to connect with these people. I haven't seen them since I was 4, and I really wish I at least had e-mail addresses for some of them.

2. It's kinda ironic how I heard about Jerome. Because in looking for Great Aunt Edna, I half thought that she would have passed on in the years since I've talked to her, but she is alive and sounds great even though she just had a major surgery to beat cancer. She reminded me I didn't have a current phone number for Uncle Tim, so I called Uncle David, and he told me about the accident with Jerome. So where I was expecting death I found life and only moments later I was expecting life and was shown death. Sorry. No punch line here. It's not the entertaining kind of irony like I prefer.

3. Whenever something like this happens, I start to examine my life. If I were to leave now, would I be ready? Physically? Spiritually? Have I done all I need to do? Am I satisfied with the legacy I've left? Et cetera again. I don't want to die. I'm not seeking an early exit to this life. But I have known for quite some time that I'm not much attached to this world. When my old pastor had an aneurysm and slipped into a coma before dying, it was recounted that he once said if he had a choice between Heaven and Earth, his kids would have to excuse him because he would choose Heaven hands down. I feel like that, and I'm only slightly uncomfortable talking about it, because I'm from a family that (before Christ) was raised to be extremely superstitious. I don't believe in superstition. I believe in Jesus, and I believe that He is in control of myself and my life and not some hapless writer with the title of "Higher Power", and a taste for cruel irony in his pen. If I were ever to die young, I would want my homegoing to actually be a celebration. Just like my wish at my birthday parties, I would want as many of my friends as I could get to be present wishing me well. I would want people to care about how I lived and what I wrote and moderately preserve the tracks I've left while here on Earth. Though I believe that after I die and go on to be with Jesus, nothing else much matters, I would want people who knew me and loved me to remember, but not stop progressing. I would want my mother to be about her life and maybe re-marry and go fulfill her dreams. I would want my sister to start the businesses she's always planned to and get out of Bakersfield and go somewhere where the majority of the men aren't married, triflin', white, jobless, or gay. I would want my nephew to know how much I liked us being alike even though I wouldn't verbalize it too much. There's not many things I don't verbalize. I make it a point to tell people I love that I love them. And I make it a point not to throw the phrase around carelessly if I don't mean it so that when I do say it, the recipient knows it's a valuable thing. I would want to be understood and researched the way I've researched to understand my father posthumously. I would want little artifacts like letters in my own handwriting and songs I've written but never recorded to be valuable to people who knew me. I would like for people to say that I was great and that their lives were better because of something I did or said.

4. Even six years after, I still miss my grandfather intermittently. Not all the time. I've learned how to get along and life is good. But right now is one of those times when things aren't going quite like I'd like them to, and I'm a little pouty and I just wanna be that little cossetted brat that I was for a while and go curl up and sit on his lap and lay my head on his chest and hear his heart beating. He told me I used to go to sleep that way when I was a baby. But I'm not talking about as a baby. I mean, I was a pretty big 12-13-somethin' year old and i would still need to come sit in Papa's lap with my lanky limbs half hangin' off of him and his favorite reclining chair that never moved and always stayed in the same space. The feeling occurs to me again because when I tried to talk to my mother, my mother was steady responding and exhorting me to do this and intimating how she prays about that and loquacious as I can be, it's still a challenge to get a word in edgewise with her. I love that lady, I do. I just wish sometimes I could vent to her about all the pointless crap I think about and feel. The ephemeral stuff that I may not even pursue. Alas, listening is just not my mother's strong suit. It seems to be the same most often that if I have some problem, I may begin explaining it, but before I can get to the period at the end of the sentence, she has already interrupted with what she thinks is the solution. A lot of times it's good advice, worth hearing. But I'm not an individual who is incapable of running my own show. I didn't call her for advice. What I really wanted was somebody to listen to me whine, pat me on the back, say "it's ok, you'll be alright", humor me, and then send me on my way and do the real work in prayer after i get off the phone. I don't have that. And you know who suffers because of it? Not me. It's you. Because you end up having to read these thick-sliced paragraphs with no breaks in-between. I feel sorry for you, but it's okay, and you'll be alright. See? That feels good don't it.

5. At my grandfather's funeral, I remember being pretty calm and settled having done the lionshare of my grieving upon finding out that he wasn't going to fight the cancer he was diagnosed with. Jerome however, was pretty sad and couldn't stop crying. I wasn't sure if he was feeling what I thought he was, but in case I was right, I told him "Jerome, Grandfather's body is in that coffin, but Grandfather is not." Me and Jerome were real close as kids, but when we got older we drifted apart pretty quick. I never saw him much, and so it doesn't rock my world in any direct manner, and I was hoping it would be one of those events that is tragic, but doesn't stir any of my emotions. And it didn't. Until I realized that at that very moment he might have been in Heaven standing before Jesus, with Grandfather... and Grandmother... and Uncle Ralph... and my dad... and everybody else who's passed out of this life into the eternal one... and for a moment, I just really envied him a lot.

SYNOPSIS:
As far as crises go, this isn't much unlike "Peach" moving on and getting a new man. It impacts big at the start, but quickly drops off in urgency. Had none of this happened, I wouldn't have made any big rush to ever find or hang out with Jerome. I would have probably only chanced to see him at a family function cohesive enough to attract all of the members of our family (like say, a funeral sadly and ironically enough). This is sad, disheartening, disappointing. But it doesn't stop my life or change my plans. I almost felt guilty that I wasn't more mournful at his death, but no. I think I have already given this more contemplation than I need to. I will not allow this to be a cheap excuse for me to milk a tragedy to get some attention and sympathy. It wouldn't taste the same anyway.