9

“’As I cross these busy streets beside me…’ that’s some good stuff, turn it up,” said An'twan, in his drunken voice, singing along.  “Shotgun” Terry was riding shotgun, drunk as hell, bobbing his head up and down.        

“Yeah I’ve heard that story too.  The one where a couple of years back he was playing with a shotgun and he accidentally killed his girlfriend.  He pulled a Billy Lee and escaped to Mexico.”

“True dat, that’s the cat,” Shotgun pulled on a Newport and let out smoke through his nose.

“Let me tell you what happened last time I went to the bookstore.  Now you know this nigga likes to read, so I went to buy a good novel written by a black.”

“Well, there is a genre known as black fiction, or if you wanna be white about it, its African American literature.  And there are a few superstars.”

“More like wrong, ‘Twan.  There are a few black authors who have written of the gritty side, let me see you got Iceberg Slim and Donald Goines, who in my opinion wrote the black experience of the poor negro ghetto star of the seventies. But other than them, we do have some authors who have surpassed all nations of what a black author can write and have created a language that is beautiful. Like we take over the sports, the English language is a sport that many of us have taken over.  Not only is there books written about how downtrodden some blacks have felt, but there is also books of hope.  ; novels where the characters, the main characters are black.  Sheeit, brother some of these books have more niggas than Harlem and they will never be made into movies, because Hollywood is afraid of the powerful negro.”

“’Twan, there’s tons of shit you don’t know about this nigga.  For instants, I was at the book store and I was looking for a Walter Mosely book.  That cats off the chain, brother. Well anyways, there I am at the cashier, wanting to ask a question. Me being a brother, starts noticing that the attendant is helping other people and keeps ignoring me.  Shit, there were niggas asking the stupidest questions and this fat white dude is skipping me and helping out these other mother fuckers.  Finally some Chicano kid comes and helps me.  This kid was knowledgeable about black authors.  That kid took me and showed me their product.  Now get this ‘Twan.  As I was looking at them shelves, that white fat fuck kept coming up and asking if I needed help.  That mother fucker wasn’t helping me when I needed it, but now that I was alone, and alone roaming the shelves, he had to ask me every thirty seconds.

Sos I went to the cashier and what do you know, that white fat fuck is there cashing me out.  I pay with a credit card and that mother fucker has the audacity of axe me if I’ve got my I.D.  Do I got me I.D.?  Sheeit, my picture was on the card already, ‘How much more I.D. you need’ I told him, ‘Let me see, I might have my freedom papers which my master gave me’ that mother fucker stood there and tole me ‘Hey, we don’t want trouble with your kind, just pay for the book and kindly leave’ that piece of shit told me that.

“So what you do Shotgun?”

They were going around a corner when they noticed that the night sky was ablaze.  Looking out over the hills, they noticed homes that were on fire.  They pulled over and got out of the car.  ‘Twan looked in the distance and wondered what it was.  Shotgun’s heart was beating like it never had before.  They both got in the car and were about to drive off when Danielle jumped out of the woods, running to the front of the car.

“What’s wrong baby, someone after you,” Shotgun spoke up wanting to know what the deal was.

“Yeah baby, don’t worry bout us, we just a couple a brothers trying to get home too,”  ‘Twan spoke up, while winking in the rear-view mirror at Danielle.

Darkness, it was not, but rather she saw lights, fires, floods, asteroids falling to earth, bridges breaking in half, aardvarks barking, the sun exploding, a red dwarf, the pyramids of Saturn, and she saw, on the dark side of the moon, a fleet of spaceships heading towards earth.

‘Twan pulled the Christler over near a bridge.  The police cruiser, kept its lights on and the first officer, the driver, Officer Kaposi got out, checked for his gun and slammed the door.  The other officer, a new recruit, Officer J. Joyce, came out and followed Kaposi.

            “License and registration.”

            Danielle put her bloody hand in front of her dirty face, trying to block out the bright light.  Joyce saw the cuts on her hand, her clothes in tatters and her face bruised and scratched.

            “No Mr. Thompson, those homes were a product of arson and we are tying to find out who is setting those fires,” Kaposi replied, looking 'Twan Thompson in his eyes, trying to stare him down.  He looked up and caught Joyce’s eyes.  Joyce, with his eyes, indicated to look downward at the girl in the backseat.  Kaposi looked at Danielle and reached for his gun.

            “Oh I know exactly what this is boys.  Looks like we fumbled the plans of gang-bang.  And of all the victims, a little white girl, oh you boys are going to pay dearly.”

            “No boys, look like you both be in a lot of trouble.  Beating up a white girl like this.  Don’t you boys know white women don’t like to be treated like black women?”  Joyce spoke out as he hit Shotgun with his gun.

            “We go by what we see and what we think,” Officer Kaposi roared into the silent night, as he was handcuffing ‘Twan like a cowboy does a hog, “for all we know, these two boys probly convinced you to say these things, because if you say else, they will get their cousins to rape your mother, am I right, or am I right?”

            “Did she just bark out orders to us; Little Missy, looks like this is definitely not your night!”

            ‘Twan squirmed on the asphalt.  He was looking at Joyce kick Shotgun and at Kaposi kick at the door of his Chrysler.  ‘Twan looked out into the highway and began to nod off.  His drunken state was taking hold of him.  Before he passed out, he saw a circle of red lights coming towards them.

            Kaposi stood in awe s the ship hovered in front of the Christler.  Shotgun put his head down and covered his head with his arms.  Joyce stood still and smiled strangely.  He knew what this was.  Joyce had been waiting years for this moment.

            But those words fell on deaf ears.  Kaposi opened fire at the ship.  What Kaposi didn’t know, was that the ship was covered in radioactive material that deteriorated any substance that came near it.

            Kaposi ran toward his squad car, when he froze abruptly.  The red light had got him.  Danielle looked out the window as Kaposi’s head expanded and popped.  Danielle looked out her other window to see if Joyce was getting the same treatment, but Joyce was seen kneeling as if he was begging for forgiveness.

            Joyce, meanwhile, stood on his knees, with his head bent down.  He felt shame.  He felt guilt.  He knew what the aliens were here for and he had failed them.  Joyce had acted so selfishly and inhumanly to his fellow humans that he had given up his right to peace.

            The lights turned off and Joyce fell to the ground.  He couldn’t stand; his hands were programmed as feet.  He couldn’t speak; his tongue thought it was his piece.  He couldn’t smell nothing but ass.  He couldn’t taste, unless his hands touched.  He couldn’t see, unless someone took off his shirt.  He couldn’t hear, for his drums had been blown out.  In short, Joyce was fucked.

eight

8

            When you are out there in the morning and the fog is thick, it only means one thing.  When at night, you have your fog lights on in your truck, it only means one thing.  When the fog is so thick you can’t see two feet in front of you, it only means one thing.  That fog is used for cover when spaceships come to earth and they need a place to hide.

            I went through San Antonio and it was pretty quiet.  I left that city and went on down to Corpus.  I had the radio on a dance station and I was dancing in my car.  When I got near Mathis, I started to notice the fog.  By the time I was crossing the Nueces River, the fog was extremely thick.  I couldn’t see the car that was right in front of me.  I drove with caution.

            By the time I got home, it was already 4:00 am. and Mom was asleep.  She woke up and told me that I took a long time in getting home.  What was only a three hour drive, turned out to be five for me.  I shrugged it off and got ready for bed.

            As I laid on my bed, I thought of the romps I had there, the television shows I watched, the counting of the sheep.  Remembering the last time I was there, I wanted a joint to go with my nerves.  I remembered the night before graduation and how drunk I got.  My boyfriend Bobby, passed out on me, so I drove his truck back to my place.  But somewhere along the way, I saw something in the road which made me swerve and I ended up in a deep ditch.  It seems like a dream now that I’m recalling it, but I don’t remember anything else of that night.  I did wake up in my bed and Bobby’s truck was parked in the driveway.  The only thing wrong with the truck, was that the axle was broken.  How I drove it back to my place, how I got it out of the ditch, I still don’t know.

            I woke up abruptly about 5:00 am and I felt real cold.  I got so cold, I got up to get something to drink.  I went to the kitchen, got a glass of water and drank it.  I was walking back to my room when I passed the front door.  I happened to look out the corner of my eye and saw some movement.

            Outside in my front yard, was a space ship with its landing doors ramps down.  There were four aliens, the gray ones with big eyes and all the neighborhood children were sliding down the ramp like a big slide.  It looked like those kids were having so much fun.

            Perplexed, I closed the curtain while my heart was beating fast and I walked back to my room.  I closed and locked my door.  What scared me the most was when one of the aliens saw me looking out the window.  He caught me looking.  He stared at me, and his look was burned into my dreams, haunting me when I least expect it. 

            Have you ever thought of fog?  What it represents.  For a second, disregard everything you know that science has taught us what fog is and where it comes from.

cant remember the last time i wrote on this thing but i have to say something before this day is over, be it anything as long as i get to say something, well let me talk of my friend that lives in michigan, she is really really getting on my nerves sometimes i think she calls me just to put me down, it seems like her life is down and out and she must call me up and put me down just to make herself feel better i don't understand poeple like her they really really make me feel weird well she called me last night and told me how this guy took her for a ride literally some cab driver who told her to if she would like a drink and shared it with him in the cab he was driving, oh come on, a cab driver, oh well i guess i was dating a crack head so its not much of a difference but she was talking about how this cab driver wanted a kiss and wanted more and she did not tell me any more but she has before and she has gone crazy sometimes but im not here to judge im just here to listen right, i listen to all people and i listen to what everybody has to say, but sometimes i don't know im just writing sometimes because it is my favorite word here at my house they are drinking margaritas but i don't like them they are weak and i think about my friend and how she asked me what i was doing and i hadnt even spoken twenty seconds and she was already putting me down and in the past people have told me that i am too sensitive but i don't care if you are being insensitve to me then why am i your friend, im not insensitive to you, never ever am i mean to other people unless they are mean to me first, but i don't understand any of this im just a poet a writer, i am not a drug addict i am more than that i am more than what i am showing people

midnight waiting

and to have these goosebumps all the time, is not a very good thing to have, so let me speak more of my overqualifications when it comes to jobs i have too much knowledge and poeple where i live do not to like me be around, i can write that is true, i just want a job that i can make some money, not just be here and there okay i have to go, so until tomorrow lets see what i can write, hopefully i make it to the poetry reading and if i do ill tell you all about it

so i get busy

and its not even busy doing good things, but yesterday i went to my probation officer to see how i was doing and it went pretty well, better than i thought i thought i was going to get in trouble, but happily i did not, i could have let my guilt get me and that could have done me in, but instead i just went and stayed happy, but later on i went to hang out with this friend of mine and then we were going to drop him off at his girls house, which i did, but he suggested i hand around for thirty min or so, and i agreed, but then i ended up hanging out there for more than 30 min, i stayed there for about five hours and it was a good five hours, i met his on again off again girlfriend and i met her roommate which i thought was really cool, then i found out later that she does not hang out with other people the way she was hanging around me last night, and yeah i liked her right off the bat, but you know how i do it, i act nonchalant to get women comfortable around me, becuase most women just have men hitting on them and im not like that, i know that makes me really unmale, but that is the way i think, that is the way i go around in this world, but we played darts and we did alright, but i was able to let myself grow in this situation, i was able to be me and nobody cared, well i mean nobody really minded becuase they were all smart, and this was something that i liked, there were four smart people, five when the german showed up and i was able to speak of dosteyevsky and kharms and bulgakov and nobody told me to shut up which was really great, i was invited to further hang out with them so i came home early aroung twelve midnight, but it got me thinking about the people i had been hanging out with, they did not have their own place, not like these women who had their own place and made me feel comfortable, then i thought of women or people how there are lots of people who dont like crowds and when she was speaking of crowds and not being able to hang around them made me sympathize with her because i had felt like that my entire life and no one understands, but when you meet someone that can understand your phobia or when i meet someone that has the same phobias as myself it gets me wondering about lots of things, of how i really am not that unique, i just have problems that countless others have as well

girls and their feet

i had just got out of the shower and i was sitting on my bed to put on my socks, i don't know where you put on your socks, but i do it in my room usually and in my room is my bed which is twice as big as my room so i have to crawl over my bed and step on my bed just to get to my closet.  anyways, i was looking at my feet and drying them when i saw how clean my feet were.  this got me thinking on how i like women to have clean feet, and when i mean women, i mean the women that i am hanging around with.  it is important to have clean feet dont you think, i mean there are lots of men who have fetishes with feet and i guess i am one of these men, i am a sexual freak i wont doubt that, but i have to blame society and pornography on that one, and i think most people today are like this, becuase we see weird things on the internet, some freaky ass shit, but back to feet, i really like feet, which get me wondering about this one girl i knew who had some pretty ugly feet.  i cant name her name, that would be mean of me, but most other girls already know that she has some ugly feet, this girl does not care about herself nor anyone, so she doesn't care about her feet.  her feet are ugly, they have these growths and they are always always dirty, even when she takes a shower, they still come out dirty, she walks barefoot around places and i know people who walk barefoot they still wash their feet, but this girl, she does not and her feet stay horrible, how i loved this girl, i am still trying to figure that one out, but the only thing i can come up with is that i am a freak and i liked her becuase she was straight dirty, i had never been with a girl so dirty before, and i have been with homeless women and these homeless women they still were pretty clean, but this girl, she had a home but she was a dirty one, i think that had to be it, her dirtiness turned me on, yeah i know other people who get turned on with less, but i dreamt this girl last night, and it was a dirty dream, there was crack involved and they were telling me this crack was so good, take one hit and you get turned on, so i took a hit and damn, my head was swishing and wishing, i wish crack made you feel like that, it must be a new drug, maybe i can write a story where there is a new drug that you smoke like crack, gets your head moving in all different way, and it is not white, it looked like gold and it broke in pieces and you put a piece in to the the pipe and boom the hit hit you, well back to her feet, yeah they were quite ugly, i remember other women telling me how did i like her, did you look at her feet, have you seen her feet, they are ugly, bear in mind this is what other women have told me and now that i think about it it is pretty funny, well women, clean your feet, clean all parts of yourselves, take care of yourself, becuase i doubt you want somebody writing about your ugly feet one day.

overqualified for employment

todays my sisters birthday and here i am at home, yesterday i went to an interview, it was a shitty interview, but i had to go to the interview to start working.  it was at whataburger, a burger joint from this great city that i live in.  earlier today i cut the grass and it felt good to sweat a little, but i need a job, not just any job, okay i need any job can anybody help me?  I want to write for a living, but i need to get a following before i could that, there fore i write everyday a column like this to get me in the mood, so i can find a place where i can be published daily or weekly with something to say about anything, so today it is about looking for a job,  now anybody can work anywhere, but me, i have one of those special cases, becuase i have a record, you that question when you are filling out an application for employment, the question which asks if you have been convicted of a felony in the past, well i have to say yes.  i mean i could put down no, but then id be lying and somewhere down the line, someone will tell my manager that i am a convict, and i am a proud convict at that my friends, but i always have that type of luck where there are haters in every job i am at,  or i would get a parole officer that feels that i have not served enough time in prison, there fore, they will take it upon themselves to call my employer and proceed to pester them and tell them if they know i am a convict and if they know why i am a convict for, i can tell you right now people i am a convict for two charges and they are this, possession of an illegal firearm and tampering with physical evidence, what you may say?  i thought you would have a charge of drugs or something, but guns and physical evidence, what the hell is that, believe me brother and sisters, i know what you mean and i know what you are thinking about me, but its okay, i did it to myself and i dont blame anyone else for what i have done in my life, but i tell you this my typing is getting better again, i can just sit down and start typing and start making things up, my typing speed is getting way better, i just needed this time again to write about how people tell me things like this and how i can make myself a better person.  therefore my conviction makes me overqualified for any position i take.  well more on my overqualifications in my near future.