Saturday, January 24, 2009

I Refugee From Guantanamo Bay...Dance Around the Border Like I'm.....

It must've been tenth grade....I'm at this bitch's house for a big ass pawty, excuse me....I have to pull my shawts lowuh past my crack to get into character. For brief shits, this'll be delivered in the upper-to-middle class white ebonics we spoke in 96'. This pawty was awff the chawts, I mean, shit had a fuckin full-size puttin green in the back yawd, shaved to the smoothest little surface it looked like a crop circle bic'ed onto a nice freshman's bald beautiful..........anyway. Back to the yea, we're inside pumpin the ghetto shit in Alison's Muttontown mansion. Haha das funny, da bitch's name was Alison....could be a fantastic broad now, but back then...well, like I said... So anyway, the hip-hop's bangin, the bass is shaking a few B-Cups hea and thea and we're all excited ya know, because we're white and wantin to be black but happy because we know we'll always be white. On comes the hottest new song by The Fugees called 'Ready or Not.' Our hands are up in the air and shit, singin da lyrics of a woman who said she'd rather die than have a white man's baby....but we're psyched cause she's Lauryn Hill, and who are we....fuckin white asshole losers who have it easee fo sheezee. Lauryn said it, so it's gotta be! Word... so we're sophomores in high school, we know nothin. All I gotta know is what door to take when grazing my girl's pasture.....ohhhhh, high-fives from all of my boys...uppp, quiet down, here comes that dog Wyclef's part, I lud dis shit. He starts cacklin his jive, makin us all irie and cravin some Red Problem Mahn! Mmmmm antishipatin dat line we lud to recite like da pledge a' leeeshuns........"I refugee from Guantanamo Bay...." finishin it awff wit da rest of my slices, all JNCO Jeaned and White Structure Sweatered-Out....we don't give a fuck!! Shout-out, Sowth SHaw Strong Isle baby!

Present time:
(Speaking more like Dave Chapelle's impersonation of Tiger Woods during the nationality draft....)

Like most kids do, they memorize the lyrics of songs and sing them because they're catchy. I remember singing a Dead Kennedy's song about Pol Pot and knowing less than an excreted nugget of what the man did, but I skateboarded down my suburban block with a sandwich in my hand and headphones tucked into my ears, singing like mass killings were common and you could catch one down at the local sump whenever you felt like it.

“Gitmo”, as the savvy news reporters like to call it, became a topic of conversation amongst bigwigs the day after Obama’s inauguration. Barack said the place would be shut down within a year as offered explanations for its existence are cloudy and equivalent to a Cliffs Notes book report. Now, hating my ignorance of such topics and the flitting disregard of those lyrics I sung like I'd sat next to Wyclef helping him write was about time to research what was being said to soon close down.

Originally the place housed Haitian and Cuban refugees and acted as an asylum before sending them back to their governments as dissidents. Far worse than the Principal’s office, these were not welcoming home parties; your balls on a platter and whenever you got hungry your food was available. Why in my gracious lord’s name we keep this steel labyrinth off in the country we despise second most, I’ll never know. We can’t buy cigars from them, but we can house our world’s most random with confidence in the hands of a dictator we haven’t agreed with since the day he jumped out of the woods. Because it's illegal for us to visit the country, it's smartest to keep it there? Then why even have maximum security prisons here where psycho killers sleep in the same state I do. Send those assholes to Cuba if you think it's safer.

This modern day Alcatraz our government keeps healthy by paying Halliburton (Dick Cheney’s company) 1 Billion dollars to build state of the art facilities. Talk about dipping the pen in company ink; a literal and architectural hell on earth, this thing was like rigging the lottery on Cheney's behalf. After 41 reported unsuccessful suicide attempts by prisoners, the Pentagon re-named the term “self inflicted injurious behaviors”. Way to make up for it guys....did you hold an elementary school competition on who could come up with the best synonym for suicide, and the winner got a shiny new computer lab for their fellow students? Could you imagine if they’re actually reporting 41 attempts, how many there's truly been? Everyday at lunch time...."shit, it's noon, there goes Benny smashing his doggy bowl over his head until he's unconscious...I betcha 20 push-ups he wakes in less than 5."

The problem with this place is that no one wants to be there but no country wants them back. Most of the criminals there now are those involved in terrorist groups, and since that's the case, no country wants to admit they harbor terrorists. Some men await trial and others are just waiting......waiting for the day they can pick up the Kur'an again and read some religious nonsense that got them there in the first place. And by the way, they don't let them have any holy books while in prison and this causes animosity. Personally, I think it's a catch-22. If these guys get out, they hate you and our country for denying them their opportunity to educate themselves in their faith and therefore they blow themselves up to kill Americans because that somehow is holy. On the other hand, you can give them their holy books, they become obsessed fundamentalists and take snipits of dialogue from the text, misconstrue it into something totally absurd like, 'kill kill da white man"(howard stern in "Private Parts").....and they go ahead and draft up a plan to fly airplanes through our tallest buildings. It's a Bush family choice that Obama's working to make obsolete.

What it all comes down to really is whether or not the release of these prisoners is in the best interest of our country and whether or not they are given a trial for whatever it is they're being detained for. If it's prison because the guy is religious and suspected of enjoying terrorism, I still don't believe you could hold someone prisoner on a hunch. If the guy willfully committed a crime then like any other jailbird, keep em locked up. If he was trying to escape his country illegally then ask him which he would rather do, go back to his country and hope not to get killed or stay in the jail. But seriously, you've gotta let those people go that you have no evidence on...unless somehow you prove they're insane and need constant medical this case, every chicken is labeled in the pen as inflicting self-injurious behaviors...therefore, they're all a bit crazy...we just have to find which pharmaceutical company Cheney owns so he can profit while drugging them up.

.........i've always wanted to say this...."fo shizzle'......

Sunday, January 18, 2009

The Selectivity of Attention Deficit

I've bumped into an assload of these posers who pull a card everytime they're rude. Every one of them are liars, I don't care what you say. We're to blame because we gave them that card. Satisfying their wish to be deemed half-retarded yet their IQ equates mine. Sweeping their blatant mid-sentence interruptions or departures off our shoulders because we make like they didn't know. If you call them on it, they know they did it, "yea, my bad I've got A.D.D." Nope, sorry, not okay...maybe if you plead insanity and didn't accept fault because you never knew you did it; then we'd be cucumbers.

These people are just prioritizing their interests every second like everyone else in the world, except they choose to not sacrifice their time to the task that just fell a rung on the pyramid. That choice is what pisses me off, because it's a controllable's not insanity.

How many times in your life had you actually had to concentrate?....I mean really fucking focus because your life means something so important in that moment...

You're there on your mother's death bed and she's trying to say her last words but she's coughing and it takes her almost twenty minutes to catch her breath before she gets another word's the thanks she feels..... and although it's the wrong name of her son that she's loved your whole life, you know what she meant and you got to hear all you could've ever regretted.

Taking the controls of the plane you've manned for 22 straight years, this day is no different than the rest. 150 passengers trust that yours are the best hands to put their lives in. On your millionth mile, your engine celebrates. Spewing fireworks mid-flight, you're left with nothing but a descent to ground and several minutes to react. In those minutes you decide to save everyone's lives.

The ballet has been a dream of your wife's and she's finally bought the tickets. Dead center, they couldn't be any better. She wraps her arm in yours and leans into you; the only person she'd ever want to share the experience. You slide your winter jacket on the armrest to make it more comfortable because you know the next 2 and a half hours are for her.

A gorgeous brunette catches your eye tonight so you decide to talk. You make it back home and somehow you know she's the one. It might've been the way she smiled, or those eyes that revealed the depths of those lives you'll create in the years ahead. You laugh for hours, until she finally falls asleep holding your pillow. You begin imagining what it'll be like waking up next to this girl every single day if she chooses you, and just in case she doesn't, you promise yourself you won't take your eyes off her until the sun rises.

In these situations and the million others that are similar to our everyday lives, I know someone who's deemed themselves retarded, chooses not to be. They know better than to ever pull that card in that moment.

Every single one of us has A.D.D. We're aware of our surroundings, our options, what we enjoy the most, where we'd rather be, how we should act and what deserves our time. When making decisions in those silent seconds that only you know the competing options you're contemplating, you have the right to remain silent. The ability to choose your direction and who you want to be. What you want to sacrifice for others. If you want to be the guy who saves everyone's lives, you're going to pay fucking attention and land that damn plane. If your mother never gets to speak another word, it won't matter how long she takes to say it, your attention will never waiver. And whether savoring one moment with a new love takes all night, or investing time in your marriage means being clasped tight at the ballet like a statue for, the retarded one, will do whatever you have too, no matter if it takes every ounce of your energy, to hold back from doing something else that's more appealing.

You truly don't have A.D.D., you just choose that stupid ass card whenever the shoe fits.

Friday, January 9, 2009

A Red Velvet Car Crash

The sun's bright, your wife's beautiful and you can still taste her lipstick from the moment you turn on some Bruce and you start reminiscing about the vacation you took to Hawaii, the jacuzzi, the sunset, how it just reflected your whole life in colors you've never seen off each rolling wave.

If only you were there again. You thank some brief second you lose breath in your lungs, realizing what you've got in life. Singing some lyrics, you scream them in your mind but whisper them to your windshield because you've never been a man to express your emotions. You're too strong for that, for them. New Years is over, Christmas is gone and what's left to look forward to but another day at work, another year of inevitable existence. Maybe you'll lose a friend, maybe you'll gain didn't shave and a hair just gripped your collar, so you gash at it with four nails because you deserve the pain, it lets you know your alive. The thought of anything out of your control getting the best of you is sickening yet you want something to happen because you know you'll learn from it. To become that thinker that you know you are. You punish yourself for not trying harder, for a conversation you never had that haunts you everyday since that day....the fog settles in.

You don't care that you can't see because nothing ever happens. The flowers on the tree you pass are just some dumb kid....some idiot that drove drunk. The broken divider on the bridge where wood and steel brace together what was miles of poured concrete you chalk up to a design flaw. Your headlights reflect off the gray sheet that engulfs your car like fondant....a projector lighting up a curtain you use to watch your life reel by. If there's something you've never understood it's real loss, so you can't imagine the risk in your actions....

You have control, you're confident, they weren't.

Red and yellow lights come up fast like a hard twitch that jolts your dreaming body from the chair you'd spent years making warm. The steel in front of you've seen this were trying to fit the cake box from your son's birthday into the recycle bin. Red velvet, there was some squishing out the side when you applied pressure. You ask yourself how cake could've gotten into your eyes as you stare at your shaking hands. Coming to, you sense what happened and feel like laughing because there's nothing you could've done, you couldn't foresee this, but you've asked for it so many times. Wondering if you'll die you wait until the mat is fully soaked beneath the shoes you've shined so many times. You begin to cry just thinking of the light that creeps in the one blind that's missing from your window, and how that light used to look like a scar down the belly of your you wish her skin was at your fingertips, at your lips forever. To feel its warmth and the goosebumps it'd get having been wanted it now more than ever because you'll never have it again. Your crooked rear view mirror shifted to you, the bloody mess that you've become....far different than those men not deserving the fate you've received.... the person who worked two jobs everyday but fell asleep at the wheel and hit that tree, or the man who hydroplaned in a downpour over the bridge when trying to pick up his daughter at her friend's. You'd written off these men, as the world has now done the same to you, except the world's right about you. You realize this is your life, no one else's, and you had control. You had as much to do with it as anyone else driving that night. Who were you to judge. People had died before you because they too had momentum....they too were men making decisions. Yours though were based on radical invincibility. On logic misconstrued by arrogance your father had on phone conversations you'd overheard and took as legitimate ways to conduct ones self.

You hadn't bit your lip but you now taste your own blood. The logic of cause and response no longer means anything. You apologize for being so immature, for that time you fought with her because you were jealous and insecure but wouldn't admit it...for that time you passed by the homeless woman on the street and spit between your teeth blaming her for her position. You apologize for ever asking for this, for ever wishing you were gone so you could see how much people actually loved you. The selfish reasons one wishes for death are what you thought would finally make you full and happy, except now it's the tucking in of your family that you wish you could do until the day you die...seeing their shadow and smelling their hair....sitting and watching the sheets go up and down....imagining what their dreams would be that night and what they had to look forward to in life....the hardships, the struggle, the lessons.

Sitting in the car smelling the burnt rubber and flesh of your arm, the passenger airbag explodes. You don't flinch, smile or laugh, just stare and say out loud to hear your own words.... "now that's a design flaw."

As the brakes screech loudly once again you're replaying the accident in your mind except this time the back windshield disintegrates like mist from the hairspray bottle you used before the prom. You think how great of a time you had dancing as your head lunges forward, resting your chin on her shoulder you start counting your steps from that day out loud....the cold sensation coming down your neck though is new to this memory. It reminds you of your mother washing the back of your hair the time you had she'd do anything for you. You wish you could call her and tell her thanks, tell her how much you love her. Your breathing is so short that maybe it's the wind getting knocked out of you like that time the waves crashed so hard on you and your dad holding hands trying to ride the white wash into shore. The only thing that made it to sand that day were those smiles and screams of joy for your life was exactly what it should be. You remember seeing those glimpses, those reflections held in time and played back over that ocean's sunset in Hawaii. You realize you had noticed it after all, you'd appreciated it more than you ever thought......the meaning of your life. You hadn't missed its true purpose at all, you had it all along....and so you can now let go.... knowing, smiling....... for the lesson you always knew would come....finally had.