Fake News Matters
The news is no longer news worthy to me. Constantly torn by subjective images on TV. Black lives matter while black on black crime staggers and the state of the economy and inflation continues to lose swagger. School campuses cleared when students go on killing sprees and unstable couples hunted through multiple states of havoc reeked.
A moment of silence for the victims of these feats. Black churches are burning, but correction please – you are not black, but brown and still fast asleep. Not sure anymore who to trust or what to believe. Kenya, Paris, the American ghetto, the middle class; violence doesn’t discriminate, it’s anti-peace and neutral classed. The programming of religious nations leads most of its followers to slaughter, like wolves in sheep’s clothing cause Father’s figure heads have faltered.
Making love one minute and the next is filled with grief. How can I think clearly with what’s going on from week to week. Like my relationship status before she broke up with me; it’s complicated, said she. Took me for a turn like I’m some channel on TV. She pre-screened me but apparently my static was too consuming.
Divide and conquer is the root of the game. You better be good at math and calculate the path away from fame. Did you catch what I said? How lips quiver at the truth when knowledge is abreast; not spoon fed. I can sense it. Sliding off the top of my nappy head. How deep truth can hurt and is especially painful when it’s rushed in. I have had a lifetime of lifetimes and I am no longer being hushed when I have given way too much of myself cause my wealth of knowledge is fairly plush. But still, I can no longer contend with the bullshit surrounding us.
So I love hard instead to keep my mind away from the negativity. I dislike routine and think social “norms” are made for breaking. I am extremely conscientious so I’m always evaluating. There is this incredibly, intellectually stimulating woman that I have been craving. She goes by two diferent names and sometimes our conversation is strained, but it’s only because I have the biggest crush and I want to rub her the right way.
Most of it is due to the fact that I see myself as somewhat complex. Perhaps I’m not really all that as my biggest hater so often says. The range of topics I’m able to discuss at any given time is cause for occasion. I speak in rhyme language. I’m an open book with many blank pages. Awaiting some form of pensively spaced, imperfectly placed dictation. I read voraciously but never vicariously so as to avoid the sticky situations. Such as when it comes to open debating and wondering why people are so damn complacent. How can a nation be so intelligent yet brain dead in outer space.
I need undisturbed thinking time about what I want from me sometimes. I seek a full understanding of what it is that makes me lose my mind. You see, I do the work but is the job done right. Does my research leave me fulfilled at the end of the night. When I’m emotional, it is me that has to keep my boat afloat. And drown out my silence with some feminine audibles. She doesn’t have to say a word, cause all I need to hear are her murmurs. And that mind of hers is all it takes to cure my ready Freddy fervor. Having spread the quilt of my contentment by my bay side window seat. She gets a front row view into my mind and all that troubles me. Which is not much when I look at myself and see what’s staring back so plainly.
This Passionate Soul
The remains of my day are spent philosophizing about the not so brightly lit but slowly darkening sky I once spoke of in a previous sense. How life seems so full of surprises since the day we broke up and made up sense. Of heart ache and heart break, oh how it feels so much lighter than a feather ever since I became wide awake.
I started worrying more about me loving me because that’s my new focus. And less about the day to day concerns of a reality filled with hocus pocus.