Always and forever,
Though I endeavor,
I’ll never do better.
I’ll do whatever
To get us back together.
I miss your kiss,
A ghost on my lips,
Light as a feather
Against my skin.
This love is a battle I know I can win,
So I’ll fight to the end
And never surrender.
Hey, everyone,
Sorry for the lack of updates. I bought a new car and to help with payments I got a job, which doesn’t leave me as much time to write, let alone blog.
So, I’m going to experiment with writing shorter posts, say a few hundred words, post more poems, post book reviews, and try splitting longer post into smaller ones.
I’ll also be posting updates about Palingenesis, my dark fantasy/ sci-fi WIP.
Knees bent,
But cheeks spread,
Look out prostate,
Here I come.
Afternoon delight.
Physics is the poetry of motion.
Apply a force (F) to a mass (M), and you’ll produce an acceleration (A) every day, per Newton’s Second Law.
Once in motion, that mass will have kinetic energy, per K.E.= 1/2 M V^2, where V is velocity.
See, physics is the conductor of the cosmos, per Einstein’s Field Equations, which I won’t list here for the sake of those of a less science persuasion.
It’s the pied piper of particles, master of the ocean’s motion via Newton’s Law of Universal Gravity (F= G [M1*M2/ r^2], where G is the gravitation constant and r is the radial distance between the masses.
Physics is the destroyer of worlds, the cracker of the atom per Einstein’s Theory of Special Relativity (his famous equation E=MC^2).
Physics lays bare the heart of the universe.
I don’t mean to geek, but we are all children of star dust.
And once we shuffle off this mortal coil, we will return from whence we came to continue the great comic dance.
For the First Law of Thermodynamics states: energy can neither be created nor destroyed, merely transferred or converted from one form to another.
From one star brother to the another, the beauty and elegance of reducing the universe to a series of equations has no parallel in heaven or hell.
It’s the music of creation and makes my heart swell, the ringing of the universal bell and knowing exactly for whom it tolls.
Word to your mother, there’s no limit to the wonders physics can produce with a few formulas and numbers.
Hey, sorry I haven’t updated in a while. I’ve been dealing with some mental health issues, but I’ve talked with my psychiatrist and am doing better now.
To make up for not posting, I’ll post a new poem every day as part of National Poem Writing Month.
So here’s the first one called “An Ode to Summer.”
I can hardly breathe or believe you’re lying next to me.
You are summer personified, your legs entwined with mine.
I’ll never forget your meteor-shower hair, your sunflower-scent
Your eyes aglow, fireflies dancing to a song only we know.
Your skin, caramel ice cream; your face, a vision from a dream.
Your watermelon lips, kisses so sweet they ought-ta be a felon.
Your smile, radiant as the sun shining on us as we strolled, hand in hand, sand beneath our feet.
While I could praise your booty–I mean beauty from here to eternity, this poem has come to an end.
But summer will come again.
Introduction
For those who haven’t been following the Jussie Smollett case, several weeks ago, the Empire star claimed two hooded men wearing “Make America Great Again” hats assaulted him late one night, while he was on this way back from a Subway shop in Chicago.
He claimed the men called him racial and gay slurs, made reference to this being “MAGA country,” fought him, and then poured bleach on him and put a noose around his neck.
However, in the weeks since he first made this claim, police have arrested two men in connection with this crime, whom it turns out were Nigerian extras on the show Empire and knew Mr. Smollett.
Furthermore, these men allege Mr. Smollett paid them $3500 to fake the attack because he wasn’t happy with what he was being paid.
Now, I’ll reserve judgement until more facts come out about this case, but it doesn’t look good for Mr. Smollett.
IF He Lied
If this incident does turns out to be a hoax, then Mr. Smollett should not only serve jail time for making a false police report, but he should pay restitution, plus interest t to the Chicago Police Department for all the resources they wasted on his case.
Moreover, by lying about this incident, it makes it less likely that investigators will believe the victims of actual hate crimes, and more likely that people will carry out hate crimes based on the belief they won’t get caught, and if they do, they can just say their victims are lying.
He owes an apology to the Black community and the LGBTQ+ community, two marginalized groups with overlap that continue to be victimized.
By playing upon both racial fears and homophobia in this attack, Mr. Smollett ratcheted up the already tense mental states of people from these and other marginalized groups who have been on edge ever since Mr. Trump’s election, which combined with his inflammatory rhetoric and support of white supremacists and neo-Nazis, has led to a sharp increase in hate crimes.
Now every marginalized person will have the worry at the back of their minds that if they are the victim of a hate crime, will they believed? And all because Jussie Smollett wasn’t happy with his paycheck and cried wolf.
Furthermore, if Mr. Smollett lied about this attack, he will have played right into the narratives some on the right have about liberals being unscrupulous liars who will say and do anything to denigrate Mr. Trump and his supporters, and then play the victim card when things don’t go their way.
Conclusion
I don’t claim to speak for either the black or LGBTQ+ communities. I’m simply stating my frustrations at Mr. Smollett’s alleged actions. As a queer black person, I could readily put myself in his shoes, and I know many others could as well, which is why the possibility of his lying is so infuriating.
If this was all about money, he could have taken many other routes that didn’t involve staging a hate crime.
He could have held out until the end of his contract with Fox, and then played hard with them, or he could have left Empire and joined a show that valued his talents.
Leveraging social media, he could have had his fans threaten to boycott Empire and Fox unless they paid him what he thought he was worth.
Crowd founding a project starring him for Hulu, Amazon Prime, or Netflix is another route he could have taken.
Mr. Smollett could have also started a patreon account and shared exclusive demos and songs with his followers if he was so strapped for cash.
He didn’t have to pull this hoax, if that’s what this turns out to be. And he didn’t have to play on people’s fears in such a visceral and heinous way.
So if this is a hoax, then I say to him, “Fuck you!”
Call to Action
Why do you think? Let me know in the comments, and share this if you liked it.
T
You throw on your favorite hoodie, gather your things, and go to the corner store to get a few days’ worth of groceries.
Even though the store owner jacks the price up on everything, you still shop there because the closest grocery story is twenty minutes away and you don’t have a car.
And even if you did, you couldn’t afford the car payment, insurance, and gas because even though you work two jobs and a side hustle, you’re broke two days after payday.
On the way to the store, you pass a white woman; she glares at you, pulls her purse tight, and then crosses the street. It’s not the first time this has happened to you, nor will it be the last.
You shrug and carry on, but then a cop car passes and you slow your step, holding your breath until it drives by.
You pick up the pace until you get to the store, where you remove your hoodie, but the person behind the register still eyes you cautiously.
You ignore him, get your stuff, and add a bag of skittles and an ice tea to your order.
After paying, you’re down to twenty dollars until next Friday.
You go home to find a message from your mother saying your uncle Jules has died and the funeral will be in three days. It’s too late to request a day off from your jobs, and you couldn’t afford the greyhound ride there and back, so you ask your mother to take plenty of pictures and send them to you.
After eating a meal of over-processed food, you shower and change for work, then walk to the bus stop; you’ll spend the next two hours transferring from bus to bus before getting to your first job, working minimum wage at a big box store.
Your coworkers are mostly lower middle-class white people, and when they don’t think you’re in earshot, they let loose nigger jokes, only to be all smiles to your face.
You’ve been at this job the longest but have only received a twenty-five- cent raise. Meanwhile, Joe, who has only been there two months, was promoted to assistant store manager.
You shake your head but continue stocking the shelves until your boss tells you to go work the register because Leanne is out sick with another of her “family emergencies.” Given that it’s Monday, you surmise that said family emergency had something to do with her friends Jack Daniels and Natty Light.
She’s come to work hungover several times, yet when you came in a only few minutes late, your boss ripped you a new one and docked your pay for the day.
You force a smile as you ring up customers, ignoring their rude behavior and condescending attitudes because you’re not moving fast enough for them.
You get through your shift without killing someone, and thank God for small miracles.
You clock out, walk to the fast food joint across the street, and get two items off their dollar menu.
You finish eating, catch the bus home, shower, and then head out to your next job working sanitation engineering for a hospital. It’s just a fancy way of saying you’re a janitor.
You do your job without complaint, only to come home and find a past-due notice for your student loans.
Life wasn’t always like this.
You did well in school and had dreams of becoming a mogul Like Russel Simmons, Diddy, Or Jay-Z. However, you quickly found that if you weren’t willing to suck up to the old-moneyed white establishment and play the roles they deemed you were worthy of, you got nowhere.
So, you told your boss to shove it up his ass and quit.
But all those years of business classes didn’t go to waste; you’ve used your marketing skills to build a brand as the go-to weed dealer in the tri-county area, and you’ve been saving up to start your own medical marijuana dispensary, and selling weed on the side until then.
You know that if the police catch you, there won’t be any community service, probation, or house arrest. You’ll just be another statistic of the Prison-Industrial Complex.
But what choice do you have?
Even when you were hobnobbing with the upper crust in your $5,000-suits and custom-made Italian Leather loafers, people looked down on you and assumed you were a server.
You have ramen noodles and a candy bar for dinner. Afterwards, you turn on the news to learn white police officers have killed yet another unarmed black person.
Sure, people will protest, but yet again, the cops will get off. Assuming they’re even charged in the first place.
Not for the first time you wonder how a country that was founded upon the words, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,” could treat you and others less than dirt.
Then you remember when Thomas Jefferson wrote those words he was rapping Sally Hemmings, one of his slaves, and that blacks were only three-fifths a person for the purpose of the census.
Like many, you thought the election of Obama would have eased racial tensions and marked an end to America racist past. However, all it did was give racists a convenient target to project their hate upon.
And now when you or other black people bring up things like institutional racism or the school to prison pipe line, you’re told you’re stirring the pot because if America was so racist why did they elect and then re-elect a black man president?
You shake your head.
One black president doesn’t make up for the centuries of slavery, Jim Crow, red lining, and the continued discrimination and bigotry against black people.
You turn the TV off and go to bed, hoping tomorrow will be better.
Conclusion
What did you think?
Let me know in the comments, and if you liked this post, please share it on social media.
Hey there, you’re probably just as shocked as I am that I updated this blog (assuming you’re not a spammer, in which case welcome to the new improved blog. But more on that in a minute).
When I started this blog, I had no idea what I wanted to write about or even what type of writer I wanted to be, and consequently posted any old thing on here. To disastrous effect, I might add.
However, the thing is, I’m not a professional blogger, nor do I want to be. My interests lie in fiction and creative nonfiction, and that’s what I’ve been busy writing over the past few years.
However, I need to build an author platform, a part of which is this blog. So rather than half-ass things by posting a bunch of shit I’m not interested in writing and you’re not interested in reading, I want to post quality stuff that I’m passionate about and which I hope you’re passionate about, too.
Here’s my game plan going forwards. Fiction and creative nonfiction will still be my jam, but I’ll post at least once a week on Wednesdays.
I’m passionate about geeky queer stuff and diversity in the media, so you can expect reviews of books, movies, video games, comics, animated films, manga, and anime.
You’ll also find posts about writing and writing related stuff such as snippets from my works-in-progress; characters sketches, aesthetics, and play lists; short stories, poems, and essays.
If this sounds like a blog you’re interested in following, click here to sign up for my mailing list, or you can follow me on Twitter
Thanks for reading this and have a Happy New Year!
Introduction
I don’t know about you, but when I write I need some background noise to keep me going. And when thi
ngs aren’t flowing right, or a scene isn’t coming together like I want it to I listen to some music and usually that does the trick.
One track mind
But it has to be the right track for the scene. For angsty scenes my go to is Linkin Park and I’m transported back to my teenage years. For fight scenes I like to listen to hard rock and metal tracks to amp the energy up.
Often I’ll listen to a song on repeat until I’m done, the music painting a mental picture in my head that I try to translate onto the page. I’ve found that certain songs evoke specific emotions like sadness, anger, joy, etc and that helps to get into my characters’ head.
Change It Up
When I get sick of a song or when it isn’t working its magic I hit shuffled on my Iphone and just write. Often I find this helps to break up the monotony and get me to focus on the scene in question as the music fades into the background.
When the Music Stops
For me the best writing is done after getting in the groove. Usually this is after I’ve been writing for awhile and the whole world fades away, and it’s just me and my laptop. Then I don’t need the music anymore. The words just flow from my fingers and all is right with the world. Those are the days you live for but sometimes they are few and far between.
On the days you struggle to write try listening to music and coming up with stories to go along with the song. I find this gets the creative juices flowing and helps you to ease into your writing session.
Conclusion
The right type of music to make you soar, or bring you to our knees. It can help you make out a scene or give you that creative spark that you’re lacking. So next time you’re in a rut pop on some music and get to writing. For more tips on writing click here.
Why do I write? Good question. I write because first and foremost I love words and the English language owing to my father reading to me at a young age and growing up seeing him always with his face in a book.
As a child I’d read the dictionary for fun and had thoughts of becoming a linguist. During middle school I fell in love with Greek, Norse, and Egyptian mythology and practically lived at the library.
I also write because I want to be heard. When I was six my vocal cords were accidental severed while I was in a coma and since then I’ve had difficulty speaking. Once shy, since discovering writing the world has opened up to me and given me the confidence to speak out on what I see wrong with the world and work to change it.
If I had to pick the main reason I write is because I want to let other people out there know they are not alone, and not to give up on life no matter how difficult it becomes.
So why do you write? Leave your answer in the comments section and be sure to check out my about page.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Invictus by William Ernest Henley
It has been several months since I last posted to this blog. I’ve been putting off this post for some time. I’ve started this blog for the wrong reasons and now realize in order to resonate with others I have to first write for the love of writing and then for myself.
In order to grow I must change the them of this blog. I’ll try to post at least once a week from now and go from there. The focus of this blog will center on science and geek culture with and a QUILBAG point of view. I’ll still write the occasional political rant but that is not the overall theme going forward.
If you have any thoughts on how you’d like to see this blog change feel free to post your ideas in the comments section.
Once again Halloween is upon us, but have you ever stopped to wonder why we celebrate this holiday?
The answer is community. The days have grown colder and shorter, so what better way to stay connected then by dressing in costumes and going door-to-door for treats.
Second only to Christmas as my favorite holiday, it was the one night of the year you got to stay out late and came home with pillow cases full of candy.
The procedure was always the same: fruits got tossed and then you shorted through your bag, treating the ones you didn’t like, and then it was off to bed. One years we got so much candy we were still eating it come Christmas.
Halloween also allows us to be someone else for one night and have fun. Horror movies are a big part of this experience because we all like a good scare to make our hearts beat faster and remind us we’re still alive.
That spine-tingling shock as the monster gets back up or the killer crashes through the door, axe in hand. And laughing at others as they fall for the old jump scare scene.
I remember one year we were Watching A Nightmare on Elm St and my younger brother got so scared he refused to sleep in his room down in the basement until he turned on all the lights and checked for monsters.
Freddie, Jason, Michael Myers, Pin Head I can never get enough of the bloody goodness and love this time of year as many channels show all my favorites.
Out of the hundreds I’ve seen of the years Monster Squad, Killer Klowns From Outer Space, and The Lost Boys still rank up there. Granted they’re tame by today’s standards but still fun to watch.
I was the quintessential black nerd: glasses, asthma and would rather read the dictionary than play sports. Like many of my ilk I got teased for acting white e.g. speaking with proper diction, using correct grammar and doing well at school.
At first I ignored it but as the years wore on I couldn’t take it. I stopped caring about learning, and thought about suicide more and more each day. On particularly bad days I’d lock myself into the bathroom at home and cry my eyes out.
It was during these dark times I retreated to a fantasy world where I was strong, never got sick and didn’t take crap from anyone. As time wore on i build walls to keep everyone out. If nobody got in they couldn’t hurt. People come and go, it’s pointless to become attached became my motto.
I prided myself on being above petty emotions and using logic to solve my problems. But the truth was I hadn’t vanquished my emotions but merely suppressed them.
As the years rolled by I learned you can’t stay behind the walls you’ve built if you want live a full life. The first step came when I met my first boyfriend. He was shyer than I and that required me to drop my defenses and become more active. While we broke up we’re it not for me I’d probably still be living in my head.
Since then I’ve learned to let others in and although you will get hurt you will also stumble upon great friends like those in my critique group. I never would have met them if I didn’t take the plunge and come to the first meeting.
I was petrified and didn’t come back for a few months but once I started attending regular meeting I learned so much form them, chief among them that I could write and the main obstacle holding me back was my fear of rejection and not being good enough.
Thanks to them and Jeff Goins Tribe Writer program I’ve gained the confidence to complete two novels, and will begin work on a third shortly, all in less than a year. There have been some bumps along the road.
I went through a four moth depression spell beginning in January of this year. It was thanks to my critique group that I was able to claw my way out that pit and begin getting my life in order.
Writing has not only given me a voice and platform to share my message but has also become a form of therapy for me. I’m still in the habit of bottling everything up but I find writing out my thoughts and emotions before they become overwhelm me is like a soul colonic.
Over the past four years I’ve struggled with mental health issues but last week I took the fist steps to managing it by seeing a psychiatrist and scheduling weekly visits with a councilor. My appointment is tomorrow and I can’t wait.
Every artist was first an amateur. –Ralph Waldo Emerson
In this age where everyone claims to be an expert or gurus of something or other it can be daunting for the new kid on the block. However fret not. Everyone has to start somewhere and once you know where your faults and forts like then you can begin improving your skills.
Practice
I for one used to write crappy poems and stories that would make your eyes bleed. However by taking the time to learn the craft and practice everyday I’ve gotten better. The same applies to you. There is much room for you to grow no matter your current skill level.
Perform
The same is true of you. If you want to become an expert in your niche that means putting in the time and effort to become component, not only writing wise but also in connecting with your audience.
Engage The Audience
Find out their hopes, dreams fears and aspirations, and then produce content that addresses them. For instance my niche is nerd/geek culture with a focus on LGBTQ folks within them. In this way I can address the problems of my niche while having crossover appeal to the larger LGBTQ and geek/nerd cultures.
While you’ll hear the occasional over night success story the truth is the majority of artists must go through the everyday grind, churning mediocre, working crappy job they hate. Until one day they find they touch greatness. Then things fall in place and they get recognized for all the hard work they put in.
Define success
If you fantasize about being the next King or Rowling but don’t put in the effort you’re deluding yourself. Even if you write all day everyday you still might not reach those heights. The publishing has changed drastically and continues to be in flux.
Does success mean getting agent and having a contract with a traditional publisher, or publishing your work online through programs like Amazon’s KDP, Smash word, or wattpad? Or going it alone with ebooks?
Shipping
No matter the route you take once you send your work out into the world there’s no going back to the drawing board, so it’s incumbent upon you to produce the best product you can so you have a base of life time consumers ready in the wings for your next product.