The Exotic... Uhh, Erotic World of Buck Bedford

Buck Bedford's Bio/ Buck Bedford (aka Buck Bedford) was born in Brooklyn, New York to one proud parent, his mother. From an early age, Buck was a dreamer. In his mind, he saw himself doing things, different things, exciting things! However, he grew up unsure of himself. When asked, he always had a hard time explaining himself to people. He had a condition, that was later diagnosed as SEX DYSLEXIA. Often misunderstood, Buck learned to accept his condition and get on with his life, no matter what anybody thought of him. As a result, Buck has developed a strong confidence. He rarely speaks but the voice in his head is loud and resounding... It is almost like you can hear what he is thinking!

We at MTURDS have struck a deal with Buck to post his journal, which will be entered twice a week. Hopefully you, the reader, will find it interesting and insightful and learn how to deal with whatever disability you may have. ENJOY!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

November 2nd, Friday/ I just got finished reading an Internet article about the boy who is accused of starting the California fires. A neighbor who seemed to know the kid said that he was a "...good boy!" After reading that line I got to thinking, if the kid who set the fires that destroyed homes and people's lives is a "good boy" what the hell would a bad boy do? Last time I checked, a fire is a pretty horrendous thing! Okay, being shot is pretty bad (especially if you die!) and a car accident would rank real high... But I gotta tell you, fire ranks right up there with the best of them. When I was a kid, I played with some matches (ONCE!). When my mother found out, she convinced me that that was not the way I wanted to go if I was to be a good boy. Her words, combined with a sure 'nuff ass whipping, did the trick. Yeah, yeah... I know... You shouldn't whip your children. I didn't like it but I did not know the number I could call to turn my mother in! (I was never good at math!) But I got her message. I can only imagine what I could get away with if I was a kid now!/ CRAP!

CRAP!/ My Journal by Al Brathway

October 26, Friday/ I just read where Britney Spears' momma is going to write a parenting book. Are you f*#king kidding me!/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

October 24th, Wednesday/ I just read an article Barack Obama's campaign strategy. It said that he is campaigning like he is a "regular guy." Trust me... I have no objection to the strategy but he better be careful. The last guy who campaigned that way screwed up the whole world with his "regular guy" mentality and goofy looks. I'm thinking that we need a "presidential" guy with a presidential brain who can undo what the "regular guy" did. However, if his (Obama) strategy is to act like a "regular guy" and he gets in and screws everything up (that's right, it can get worse!), he should get a "regular guy" beat down. (That could happen too considering Obama is a Black guy! They might take his behind down to Jena and comense to...) Wait a minute... I must be trippin'! Obama is not going to be President!/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

Oct.19th, Friday Afternoon/ I was watching a show called Hollywood's 20 Sexiest Jobs and I have to say that I have new hope for finding a rewarding job with great pay! The #1 sexiest job in Hollywood is being a body parts model. Hey, I'm packing my bags and moving to Cali because there was one body part that they did not talk about that I have plenty of... I'm going to be the first body part model (who, by the way, is Black!) and model my beer gut!!! I will corner a market! I'm tall, dark, handsome, and I have the most photogenic gut you can imagine. And why not? When I was in elementary school and the teacher talked about what we should aspire to be, I knew then that I did not want to be a policeman or a fireman. Oh hell no! As I got older, reality set in and I found out that politics played a big role in a Black man getting any kind of job in America. I'm not good at playing politics but I sure am good at drinking beer! Tell the truth, you have not seen a beer gut body model anywhere. And, if I cannot get an agency to rep me, I will start my own agency and pimp myself. I wouldn't mind having me for a boss anyway...!/ What the hell am I saying?/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

October 8th, Monday/ Today is a holiday but it feels no different, to me, because I don't have a job... So what's the difference? Everyday is a holiday to me! However, this is the time of year, for me, where there are a series of holidays that effect me in the weirdest way. They are Holloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. These three holidays reming me of some real good times during my childhood. Man I enjoyed these three in particular. And, it wasn't just the holidays that did it for me... The anticipation of them was smokin'! As a matter of fact, the actual day was anticlimatic compared to the days prior to... But Father Time and adulthood has ruined everything for me. I don't even get pleasure watching kids go through the anticipation process. I'm like, "...let's just get them over with already!" And, to "add insult to injury," the new year comes in after Christmas and my birthday is in that month. Then I become a year older and fall deeper in the abyss of depression. (Hey, I'm in the last third of my life!) Soon it will be all over for me! Then what? Hell? (Are there holidays down there like the ones up here?)/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

October 7th, Sunday/ Ahhhh... Sunday! Today is the day where my dreams become my realities and my realities become my dreams. Sunday is the one day where my creative juices flow like Niagra Falls (on the canadian side!). I think like I've never thought before on Sunday. My possibilities become my realities. Sunday is the day when I really believe in GOD, not because it is HIS day, but because it is my day. It's the day HE gave me to rest in my brain. I don't worry on Sunday. I can't. My mind won't allow it. Sunday is the day I purge the poison out of my system./ I have a reason to enjoy this particular Sunday. This is the beginning of a week where I will receive something (someone) who has saved my life. No, not my physical life but my mental life. This particular Sunday is the day that my whole life has changed for the rest of my life. It may only last a day but this Sunday is the day I waited for my whole life./ Everybody should have a day like this. It is disappointing to think that many won't. With all the shit that is going on in the world, many won't be able to even grasp the concept of what I'm talking about. Under any other circumstance I would be right along with those people... But I cannot be that way anymore. I don't miss it. I used to be real comfortable in it, but not anymore. I just wish I could convince others to join me but the task is too great to believe in. For years I tried to get out but the crabs kept dragging me back in the barrel. Damn... That mental barrel is a bitch! Maybe I'll be able to lead my example? Maybe not.../ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

October 5th, Friday/ I lost my faith today! Things just don't seem to work for me like they do for others, if what the others say is the truth. I have signed on to believe that the process is the same for everybody but I don't get the results others have claimed to have gotten. What? I pay the bills, I'm on time. I follow the proceedure religiously! I've done all the right things when I go thru the process...Yet, I have nothing to show for it. It even worked for my sister and she just committed to it once. But you know what? I'm not gonna waste my time anymore. What's the point in believing if there are no results? Okay, maybe I'm looking for a miracle but isn't that what it's all about? Where is the payoff? I might have to start looking for a woman in church because the Internet thing is bullshit!/ CRAP!

CRAP/My Journal by Al Brathway

October 4th, Thursday/ Last night I went to bed very early, which ment I was going to wake up in the middle of the night and not be able to go back to sleep. So I turned on the radio and tuned on to a sports talk radio station. Hey, I'm into sports! Sometimes I listen to sports talk radio during the day to pass the time. Sometimes it's cool and other times the conversations get real stupid. Well last night the conversation went beyond stupid!/ I've noticed that the hosts of these types of shows seem to get real disturbed when their listening audience doen't agree with whatever they say. Most of the time, after a rant by the host, the listener gets hung up on! Last time I checked that is rude behavior. I guess no one can have a valid opinion, on the radio, but the host? Or, maybe they are supposed to be funny? I got annoyed! Then, the random bantering that goes on and on and on and on... Yeah, I can change the channel, which I eventually did, but... And the losers that call in...! What the hell is wrong w/ people? You know, I could never get past the weirdness of Andy Warhol but he was right about one thing: People DO want their 15 minutes of fame! The callers will hang on the line and wait and wait and wait to be heard on the radio! Last night, two guys fell asleep waiting. They broadcasted the two guys snoring while waiting! I guess that is compelling radio or something./ I know one thing... I will time my going to bed better from now on. I will also avoid listening to sports talk radio from now on. Hell, I might just stop watching sporting events altogether. If I cannot be entertained by sports, I might as well watch and listen to world news... That's where all the comedians seem to be these days!/ CRAP!

CRAP/My Journal by Al Brathway

October 3rd, Wennesday/ I have a confession to make... I have an addiction. No, it's not drugs or alcohal... It's not women or anything you might think of off the top of your head. I... I have an email addiction! Boom, there it is, I said it. I am addicted to my email! I check it constantly during the day... just minutes in between. I have 5 email addresses! That's right... 5! I check and check and check and check all day long. When I don't get fresh mail, I have anxiety attacks. When I do get fresh mail, I have anxiety attacks!/ I hate spam mail. I liken it to premature ejaculation. (I don't like that!) Sometimes my email is real juicy. Most of the time it is just some boring ass Bcc somebody else passed on. The dating service(s) stuff is real funny to me. Damn, what people expect from a (potential) mate is hilarious! It's like... "no wonder people can't get together!" However, there is one person (a woman) who sends me the juiciest emails...! I only hear from her once a week and I have never met her in person (yet) but I get such a charge out of her emails...MAN! (Hell, meeting her might be anticlimatci!)/ Maybe what I need to do is see a psychotherapist. I would if I could afford the treatment but I'm not working and all I have to look forward to is my emails... CRAP!

CRAP/My Journal by Al Brathway

September 27th, Thursday/ I was watching ("should not watch") tv today and I saw a program about rock star daughters and how their lives unfolded being the daughter(s)and son(s) of rock royality. The drugs, the groupies, the road trips, the shows, the sex...! Oh the agony! Then there are the problems that existed because of this lifestyle. The neglect, the tears, the conflicts...! They also talked about the REAL problems; the mansions, the parties, the language, the antics... AND THE DAMN MONEY!!! / Having lived most of my life in relative poverty and looking back on it, given the chance, I would have traded my pitiful life for the rock star life in a (hot) damn heartbeat! Poverty sucks! And, it brings on a set of problems that makes the other lifestyle look like paradise! Hell, my father wasn't around and I was poor... That's like double jeopardy. At least the money would have served as a surrogate. I could have, at least, bought a father! Plus, I would have had a segway into show business instead of this "go to an interview and get your ass rejected because you don't fit their criteria bullshit!" Why would I care if I get hired because of nepotism? Nepotism trumps "qualified" anyday from where I'm standing! AND THE PERKS...!/ Crap!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

September 26th, Wednesday/ Man, I was watching a show last night about what it cost to create a beat for a rap song and it hit me like a shot... Nas (the rapper) is right. Hip Hop is DEAD! I remember when hip hop got started. It was a movement. It was a mobilization of young people creating a subculture and being heard. It started a new language, a new dance, a new artform... It started a new dress code and new music and a whole new way of life for young cats! Even though it was out of my reach, I was feeling it bigtime! But now... Something got in there and f#@ked the whole thing up! Now you have the same elements that screwed up the principles of America screwing up the hip hop movement! Back in the day, rap music had a deep message for the community... It was about uplifting a race, a generation... Now all they talk about is assimilating the unethical rich. Hell, the forefathers of hip hop must be spinning in their studio chairs, seeing the kind of money they can't make because the movement has passed them by... the very movement they created! How sad is that? You create something with all the right intentions only to have it snatched from under you because you didn't get it patented!/ Sorry, I gotta go. I feel another movement coming on... It's my bowels./ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

October 25th, Tuesday/ DAMN! It has been too long since my last post. I have been in a world of psychological trouble since my... Well, you know, my last rant. No... I'm okay but, well... I'm not really okay. I have just run out of money and I still have no job. I have been interviewing but I've had no luck. I don't really know what to do at this point. I was thinking of becoming a writer but I'M ALREADY A WRITER! For several reasons, I have not sold anything. I think I'm suffering from the fear of failure and the fear of success simultaniously. That makes me sort of a schizophrenic only I don't believe that I am. So that lends itself to be being psychologically unstable, which means that I should be on some sort of medication(s)... However, I have no job so that means I cannot afford the meds I need to balance me out. So, of course, no woman will have anything to do with me because I have no job to remedy all of the other shit wrong with me, which helps to keep me be unbalanced. Being unbalanced, I worry. When I worry I get nervous. When I get nervous my head starts to hurt and I cannot maintain my balance, which makes me act like a "schizo", which lends itself to me being (psychologically) unstable and the saga continues...(HELP!) Crap!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

July 22nd, Sunday/ I was watching a program this morning called Meet the Faith and the subject of sports figures being role models and I got to thinking... Why is there such a ferver over athletes being role models? Why would someone want an athlete to be a shining example to their kid when it comes to morals? Maybe I have an advantage, having worked around professional basketball players, that others not privy to inside 411 don't have. Trust me, you do not want athletes to be role models! That's not to say that all athletes are bad. However, you just don't want to go there. If you want to have role models in your kid's life, step up your game as a parent. No one is going to be better at raising your kid than you. No athlete will install core values in(to) your kid like you can. What's sad about the athlete thing is that athletes are coached to dummy down. They are not required or asked or encouraged to display any type of intelligence about world views or debate issues. There are a select few (very few) who are sort sfter for their opinion... Unless there is some comedic value associated with their comments. So, get off your ass and get to parenting!/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

July 20th, Friday/ I was rushed to the tv set to watch two guys who have managed to scam their way into corporate America for some reason unbeknownst to me. My friends made a big deal out of it. They thought is was some great deed. I, personally, did not and do not give one rat's ass about something like that. Why? Because it has nothing to do w/ the price of tea in China! I mean, sometimes I just don't care about stupid people doing stupid things on tv! I have come to understand that whatever freedom I perceive I have will never outweigh the freedom a white man has anywhere in the world so I have a hard time getting excited about what someone is doing on a tv show! My line of thinking is this: If I scam my way into something and I get exposure for what I did, my black ass is going to jail!/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

July 17th, Tuesday/ I have to admit to being addicted to watching shows on Bravo. I have a weird way of getting addicted to something. It does not capture my attention, at first, but I circle around it like a buzzard until I go in for the kill. The show, TOP CHEF finally got to me and I started watching it. So I'm watching the episode where the contestants are trying to impress a chef judge w/ seafood dishes. The Asian dude makes some concoction w/ oversized croutons and the judge/chef rejected his dish because of the oversized croutons. What the hell is that? (And the Asian chef defended himself by saying, and I'm paraphrasing here, that the judge/chef did not "understand" the concept!) What happened to the days when food smelled good, looked good, and tasted good? Now what's on the plate has to be in proportion w/ everything else on the plate. Gormet, schmormet... Who comes up w/ this stuff anyway? How anal are you to be that nit-picky about food? It's just a tv show, sure, but people watch this kind of stuff and incorporate it w/ reality! (Hence the term, "reality" show!) I can see myself now... I go to a restaurant, hungry as hell and looking to eat a juicy steak, and end up judging the food as unacceptable because my baked potatoe is not the correct dimemsions w/ my steak! Then, I keep doing that everytime I go out to eat, I starve, and then I die!/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

July 15th, Sunday/ Man did I have a rough week! I worked a basketball camp, trying to teach kids of various ages how to play the game./ Kids are so much different from what I remember being a kid was like. They don't seem to be as focused about any one thing. It's like their minds are all over the place. Older people are not old because of age, although that has something to do w/ it. They're old because of the way they think. Older people can only focus on one thing at a time. If they attempted to "MM" (Mind Multitask) their head would explode! I know mine has. At first I had a headache. Then, my brain just went dead! Right now I have no activity going on up there. I appear to be fine but I have no thoughts about anything. God forbid someone should ask me a question right now... I would not be able to articulate an answer, even though I might know what to say somewhere in the bowels of my brain./ Like I was watching the program, Sunday Morning, and they did a segment on older people eating at a restaurant in the dark. It was so stupid, but I could not comment on it in the moment because my brain is malfunctioning! Maybe that's why they were eating in the dark and loving it... Their brains are blown like mine! Maybe the lack of light sooths them mentally? Maybe I should try it!/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

July 11th, Wednesday/ What happened to the work ethic? Why are people getting jobs and their only qualification is that they are in good w/ the person who hired them? Then, they want to ask you for advice on how to do THEIR job! Meanwhile, you have to work w/ that person as your supervisor... What?/ Also, what is all the excitement about driving non gasoline engine cars? The Earth is already poluted! The technology has been in place to change the gas engine for years. Now there is this big campaign to save the Earth. The damage has been done a long time ago. People are dying horrible deaths because they have been breathing bad air for years. Now "global warming" is in full effect and it is a hot ticket item for the up and coming presidential elections. The oil barrons are already rich and set for life, the Earth is dying and so are its people. What president is going to save us now?/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

July 6th, Friday/ I was watching the new Paula Abdul Show w/ a friend yesterday and we got to talking about what would make great reality TV? Paula's show seems to be staged because she acts so goofy (unless she really is on drugs, which I think she is!). However, we decided that Bobby Brown would post a GREAT reality show now that he is separated from Whitney. That other show he did was "aw'ight" but now is the time to let the cameras roll! Find him, sign him and let the shit begin! I like watching "train wrecks" man! It distracts me from the train wreck that is my life and I'm able to suspend my disbelief. I don't know why I find so much comfort in someone else's misery. Does that make me normal? Or, do I explore the sadistic dark side to my personality that way? Whatever the case, find Bobby Brown and get his ass back on the TV set. Bravo, you're fucking up w/ this Paula Abdul chick. (You know you are because she only got a half hour show!) Free Bobby Brown!/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 5th, Thursday/ Well, Independence Day, '07 is in the books and I have to admit that I'm feeling more independent than I've felt in a long time! I'm no closer to getting a job than I was yesterday, I still don't have a girlfriend, and I'm broke! Yet, w/out those things, I am free! Somehow what we crave, as human beings, enslaves us. I was watching some of the fireworks shows last night and it amazed me how many people were singing God Bless America w/ such joyful looks on their faces. We're in a war, gas prices are through the roof, and global warming is killing us, literally, and we THINK we're free! [I guess there is a difference between being free and being independent...(?)] Being black makes me sensitive to anything that I think enslaves me (I need to see a therapist about that!) and the shit that is going on now is really fucking w/ my head! But, what is cool about America is I can go through whatever drama that is in front of me, fact or fiction, and no one will give a fuck because w/out the things I mentioned I don't have means I don't count in America anyway! I guess God IS blessing America! We probably shouldn't waste what precious time we have left by worrying about things that would and should concern us in the distant future or anytime really. We're, already, the walking dead! So I should understand what it is when another American looks me in the face, in passing, and does not see me at all!/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

July 3rd, Tuesday/ I got up this morning and immediately turned on the TV. I caught a video of Green Day singing their song "Working Class Hero" and I thought of how I used to think about fixing America... Not changing it... Fixing it! What happened to those thoughts? I grew up in the '60's when America was going through a big social transition. Black folks were in a revolutionary frame of mind. White folks were turning into hippie types... It was about people becoming politically aware and feeling the pulse of a nation. Granted, it was not a perfect America but it was fixible! I grew up with that thought firmly planted in my brain./ The song ended and I changed the channel. I caught the beginning of the new Paula Abdul Show and saw her fawning over some diamond jewelry valued at $1,500,000.00 and she had some little dogs running around. She commented that she hoped the dogs did not try to eat the jewelry, with a little chuckle... (Mind you, she left the jewelry on her bed and allowed the dogs to jump all over that bed!) And, like on cue, one of her dogs tried to swallow a diamond ring!/ It was at that moment that I no longer felt like I wanted to fix America (over 30 years of thoughts down the fucking drain!). Americans seem to be too stupid to be fixed! With the activity going on in West Africa about the diamond trade... You know, children losing their lives for a nugget and all... It would have been a shame if that dog swallowed that ring. Would it have been worth it that the kid that got his ass killed, die only to have some untrained dog of the infamous Paula Abdul swallow it? What would have been the point to die for that? CRAP!

W W J D?

I'm waiting for the ressurrection and I'm waiting with baited breath! I want Jesus to come back right now so that he can get right on this IPhone thing! How cool would that be for him? He would get all of his emails from his boys (you know, his crew from the "last supper" when they went to a sports bar and had buffalo wings and beer!)He would get all of his calls from his Pops so that he does not miss his curfew and shit. (Earth gets dangerous after dark, even for Jesus!) He could get the news, the weather, stock tips... Not to mention his messages...! The only thing I'm worried about is how would he pay his bill? Not having a job is some big deal in America! They might view him as a terrorist with the robe and the sandals and no visible means of support... (9-11 fucked up everything!) His dad could be giving him an allowance but nobody really believes in God anymore. Don't believe me? Then why is the world so fucked up these days? If jesus gets a hold of that IPhone, he's gonna be on the hot line with his dad, talking about what going on with the global warming thing... You know, who's dumping shit in the water and who is farting and polluting the air we breathe... Stuff like that! C'mon Man, hurry up and get your IPhone!

COMMENTARY/ by A. Dacosta Brathway

New York/ It's been almost a week now since the NBA draft has been held and it is still at the top of the sports talk list. That being said, I started thinking about what went down that night at Madison Square Garden and there was one thing that struck me. Is the "hip hop nation" now reverting back to some clothing choice sensibility? I do not usually watch the draft from year to year so it struck me as odd how sensible the brothers looked that night. What happened to those long ass preacher's jackets and those big ass baggy pants with the Stacy Adams "square toe Gators?" I can still see Jalen Rose in that hideous red (pin stripe)suit... DAMN! It reminded me of the beginning of Spike Lee's film, Malcolm X, when Denzel and Spike took that bamma ass walk through town with those suits on in those weird ass colors. But who knows what can and will happen next year? The style may go right into something even weirder than I have ever seen! I probably should have video taped the draft this year to have something to compare next year's draft with. Upon further review, why do I even care?

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

July 2nd, Monday/ Man, what happened to June? Anyway, I went out of town to visit someone this past weekend. Why did I do that? Have you ever liked someone but could not figure them out? I admit, I am not good at reading signals from females but DAMN! I've known this chick for several years and... Well, I doubt if I'll hang out w/ her again. I don't like being confused by women. The world has already done a great job of fucking my head up! CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 26th, Tuesday/ Oh my god, Paris Hilton is out! That hardened criminal is back in the flow of society. Hide the cocaine and the booze... Lock the garage doors! Close the clubs! This menace to society is back on the scene. Man I'm glad I don't live in LA. It's the Son of Sam thing all over again./ I have to say it is kind of funny this whole thing... I saw the pictures of a smiling Paris as she walked to her freedom. Her family hugged her and reassured her that she can now resume her lifestyle of foolishness and stupidity. Never mind the fact that she now has a record. I'm sure they will find a way to twist it to make it look like that's a good thing. My question is will she stand by the comments she made about changing her life before she entered her cubicle? Will she be as committed to making those adjustments as she said she would be before she did her bid? Hell, I'll bet she's gone "commando" and drunk in a club right now to christen her release. I'd be surprised if anything changes w/ this chick. Before you know it, she will be back to her old self and America will, again, be exposed to the shananigans of Paris Hilton!/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 23rd, Saturday/ What a week! I worked a basketball camp but it seemed like I did more child psychology stuff than basketball. I engaged some of the kids in conversation and I cannot believe some of the stories I heard! I gotta tell you that adults really screw up kid's heads! So now it's Saturday and I'm chillin'. I slept late, did not shave or take a shower... I'm funky and I don't care! I just happened to turn on the computer and saw a story about a middle school kid who was caught breaking a rule in a Vienna, Virginia middle school. He was caught hugging his girlfriend in the cafateria! Oh my god! The school has a no touching policy... Are you fucking kidding me? The principal said that touching leads to criminal activity. First there are hand shakes that lead to "high fives" that lead to flailing elbows... The next thing you know, the kids are flashing "gang signals" and having orgy sex in the halls!/ I don't ever want to work another job where kids are involved again. Don't get me wrong... I dig kids. It's the adults I can't get with. But adults rule kids so why do I want to listen to anymore horror stories from kids that are influenced by adults? CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 18th, Monday/ I started my day today w/ the expectation that it was not going to be that great. I worked a basketball camp and I HATE basketball camp! I've been doing it for quite a while and it's time for me to stop. So, being that this is my swan song foe summer basketball camp I figured that I would put myself on autopilot and get it done. So I'm cruising through the day until I hit a bump. .. I met an 8 year old kid named Ky. What an imagination! We connected for some reason and my life has changed forever!/ Ky started talking to me about his life and his thoughts and I was blown away! Come to find out, Ky is a writer and an inventor. He told me some stories and made me swear that I would not repeat them so that he would not have to sue me for copywright infringement! I was blown away!/ On my way home, I started to think about Ky and then I thought of my life at his age. I was not allowed to be a kid at 8 years old. I was told that I had to "grow up" and "be a man!" I got to thinking about what I would be like, today, if I had the freedom to be a kid back in the day? I vowed that I would live out the rest of my time on this planet like Ky, even though I don't have much time left! CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 17th, Sunday/ Sunday... Ahh... Sunday is my creative day! Why? I have no idea. It seems like nothing can get me down on Sunday. Sadly, that is not the case this Sunday! / My routine started today like it starts every Sunday. I got a good night's sleep. I got up early, came downstairs and turned on the TV to watch Sunday Morning. I like that show! They hardly ever feature a story on someone Black but I kind of understand that living in America. To the powers that be in America anything Black is not cool so why bother? Anyway, I saw this piece on a French singer named Edith Piaf, who was advertised as the French Judy Garland (No, Judy Garland was not Black either!) There was nothing special about the woman by any standard except that she grew up somewhat similar to the way I grew up (poor!). But there was a statement made about her that struck a cord w/ me. "She was in love with love!" (Damn, just like Judy Garland!) Imagine that, I thought... This woman was in love with love!/ I was in love with love, once. The very idea of it, during the day, would have me dreaming about it all night! Because of it, I had a reason to live... I felt alive when it crossed my mind. To love love.../ What is it about being in love with love? Why do people do it? Is the world really that screwed up that people would even consider the possibility? Any other type of love is 10 times more lethal! Yet, being in love with love will foster the same result. Piaf died with some illness but I believe it was the notion of being in love with love that killed her. Just like it is killing me! Sure, they will say that I had some sickness that went undiagnosed and that my heart quit. Damn right it is gonna quit. It's gonna quit because being in love with love was and is a stupid endeavor. But, when you think about it, if you don't love yourself or nobody loves you, being in love with love doesn't sound so stupid after all does it? CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 16th Saturday/ What price America? The other day I went to visit some friends at my old job. As I was leaving I was stopped by a guy soliciting for Greenpeace. He ran some smack on me about saving the planet... A noble cause. As I listened, the logic of it hit me like a shot. The planet is failing and I'm a part of the planet; therefore, I am failing! I'm not a joiner but I found myself going with the flow. As he handed me the clip board to sign up, I asked him what would it take for me to become a member. It was then that he said the magic words: "Where do you work?" When I told him that I did not have a job, he snatched the clip board from me and thanked me for my time (which I have because I don't have a job). Ain't that a bitch? In America, you can't do shit without a job! Here I am thinking that I will break my policy of not being a "joiner" and become a member of an organization dedicated to saving the world... And I can't get down because I don't work! Global warming is killing the Earth because of Man's insensitive abuses and I can't help save it because I don't work. I CAN help out because I have the time because I don't work but I can't help out because I have the time because I don't work! Catch 22 my ass! CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 15th, Friday/ Watched the NBA finals and final game. What is all the buzz about LeBron James? I mean even if he was as good as advertised, no one basketball player is better than five who stick together. I don't get it... LeBron's shoes, LeBron's ficticious family (The LeBrons) LeBron drinks Sprite (or Fresca or 7Up or whatever) Lebron is the king, LeBron, LeBron, LeBron... (Is this the NBA's version of the Brady Bunch?) The kid is good but he ain't that good... yet! And, fuck that wish to become a "global icon" shit! That's media bullshit that no player should even utter from his or her lips. The only "global" LeBron felt was that warming on his ass from the broom the Spurs used to sweep him and the Cavs out of the arena in four games! It's not luck; It's know-how. The Spurs "know-how." One day Lebron might feel the warmth a championship brings./ I'm sure lebron will get over the bad feelings he might be having right now. Hell, he's probably over it already. Somehow having a lot of money and being called the "KING" trumps any bad feelings one may have about losing a game... CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 14th, Thursday/ Since I'm working on a film script I decided to start watching movies again. I stopped going to the movies because it has just turned into one big expensive venture. However, I have a partner who can get DVD's of any film out there so I go by his crib when I want to see something. What's cool about it is that it's free and I can drink beer while I watch a flick./ So, I'm watching the flick, Blood Diamond, and I'm not into it because I'm not into Leonardo DeCaprio. He may be a good actor but when I want to see a young Jack Nicolson, I'll watch some of his earlier work! As expected, I thought the premis of the film was unbelieveable. (I know, I was suppose to suspend my disbelief at the door) No way some white mercenary in Africa is going to sacrifice a big ass diamond for a brotha trying to free his son from the rebels. After the film was over, I watched the documentary DVD about what the diamond trade was all about... SHIT! My head was blown! That was some depressing shit to watch. Kids in Africa being cut up w/ machetes like raw meat, or captured to work the mines, or worse, shot point blank to death for diamonds./ That night I had the weirdest dream. I was dreaming of doing a documentary on the diamond ("bling-bling") trade, American style. You know, how brothas are maimming and killing each other for chains and earrings... The background music was Beyounce singing a revised version of "Diamonds Are a Boys and Girls Best Friend" as only she can. (I see her as the Black Anna Nicole via Marilyn Monroe!) The sad part of my dream is, that idea could probably get made, in Hollywood, just like Blood Diamond did!/ CRAP!

When Irony Rares Its Ugly Head/ by Al Brathway

Oh how the mighty have fallen! Poor Paris (I mean rich Paris) is having her troubles with the law right now. However, as painful as it might be for her, she can't see the forest for the trees. Paris is sitting on a gold mine! Instead of her doing that contrived show she does with that other lunatic, she should have a "reality show" camera following her ass around right now. Apparently she thinks she is more important than she really is. With a camera on her, she could really be important!All she is doing right now is being an annoying pain in the ass in society. If she turned the cameras on her "spoiled ass" she could become the next Lucille Ball! She IS funny when she is just being herself. All of the stupid things she says, she should be saying now. Right now she is "hot!" The crying out for her mom in court is the funny Paris. I mean she walks around... excuse me, drives around like she's some Queen of Utopia. Now we are seeing that she is none of that... and it is funny! Sure, the people around her thinks that her situation is some serious matter. (It could be worse Paris... You could be in jail for mistaken identity!) It's not so serious that she is arrogant and self serving when she does her schtick in Paris World. Now she is in the real world and she is hilarious. Turn the cameras on yourself and package it like your sex tape. You could be the queen of your own "real" reality show!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 8th, Friday/ Last night I watched the first game of the NBA Finals. It was a good game... Both teams played hard! LeBron James did not fair too well against the Spurs defense but I imagine that he will figure it out during the course of the series. Having said that, I think the Spurs will win the series because they are my team. I just don't understand why they don't get the attention they deserve?/ So, I'm sitting there, watching, and I had this eerie feeling come over me. I was starting to identify with the Spurs in some zen like fashion. It felt like there was a ghost in the room with a Spurs jersey on or something. Everytime the Spurs had the ball on offense or they did something great on defense, I felt this... this something pass by me or go through me or hover around me. At first I thought it was just a draft in the room but as time went on the feeling was more pronounced. It wasn't cold or hot... It was just... There! And it felt soooo gooood too! I felt myself getting real happy... Giddy in fact!/ So I'm watching the game and, now, I'm starting to reflect on my high school days when I played basketball. I remembered being on a predominately white team, yet I was the best freethrow shooter. Here I am, 6'3, 185lbs., playing forward, averaging 15pts. and 10 rebounds a game, taking all kinds of punishment from the opposing team's power forward... Going to the foul line and sinking foul shot after foul shot after foul shot at an 85% clip... My memory is getting more and more vivid. I'm starting to remember all kinds of things I've done that helped the team win... Then, all of a sudden, things started to go BLACK! I wasn't feeling so "giddy" anymore. Tears started to stream down my face... The game ended and the Spurs won but I wasn't feeling all that great anymore. I was having the same feelings I had when I played high school basketball. I was instrumental in winning games for the team but... I didn't feel like "the man!" And then it hit me... It was my moment of truth. I started to understand why I identified with the Spurs so much! It wasn't because they won or Tim Duncan or the coach or any of that type of shit. I liked the Spurs because, like them, I was great and hardly received any recognition too, and now I'm sitting there, watching, and being reminded about how my sorry and painful adolescent life unfolded!/ CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 7th, Thursday/ I was listening to a sports talk radio station this morning and the topic of Gary Sheffield's comments about Black players vs Latin players came up again. The commentator said that Gary's comments were very vague and that he needed to be more "specific." Whatever happened to being able to say whatever you want to say, whether it be vague or specific? I used to get that criticism levied against me all the time but I learned from the critics; although I have to admit that it is a problem for me to have to always be specific when I speak to someone... I mean, there was a time when I loved to tell someone, who pissed me off, to "kiss my ass!" Now I have to be more specific and tell someone, who has pissed me off, what part of my ass I want that person to kiss! CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 6th, Wednesday/ Today is Hump Day, as it is known in the working world. I don't work but it has it's signifigance today... I'm watching the Kathy Griffin Show and she is having a conversation w/ Whoopie Goldberg about vaginas, in general, theirs in particular. I'm like, "...When did the world change to the point where it is cool to talk about vaginas (on TV!) to anyone who will listen?" (Where is my copy of the memo? Gotta check my email saved file!) Isn't that sort of taboo, or no? I mean, women can now talk about their vaginas and get away w/ it (on TV)? So I'm listening to the conversation and they are talking about their vaginas and I haven't had sex in a looooooong while and it's Hump Day! (You do the math!) I'm sorry... I can't type anymore right now. I'm a little frustrated. CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 5th, Tuesday/ I was watching the E True Hollywood Story on Christina Agualierra. I had never seen anything on her so I tuned in on what was being said. I did not know she was so talented at such an early age! For such a small kid she had (has) a BIG voice. So I'm watching and the part comes up about her starting to get some buzz and BANG...the player haters come out! They're like cock roaches lurking around the kitchen at night and Christina comes in to get a glass of water. She turns on the light,(successfully get the water) and they, the cocks... turn on her! What is it w/ people? No one wants anyone to have success. Then, when someone gets it and doesn't want to be bothered w/ people who screwed over them, the cocks... get mad! What is that all about? Why do people, who are unwilling to go after what they want, playa hate people who go after what they want? I'm no different. I playa hate every major college basketball coach who is successful because I was once an (unsuccessful) basketball coach. I mean, I was great as a coach but there is more to it than just coaching games. You have to know how to manipulate your athletic director to get more money for the team. You have to know how to lie to your team to get them to play better and you have to win all of your games so as not to give others the benefit of the doubt to be able to criticize you. They say, "If you ain't cheatin', you ain't tryin'!" I didn't chea..., I mean, try hard enough! Maybe I should answer my own questions. I KNOW the answers! Okay, it's jealousy but... but why be jealous? If you had the chance to do something and quit on it, why be jealous of those who get it? Yeah, my head is messed up! Thanks E True Hollywood Story... Thanks a lot! CRAP!

THEY BEAT DEAD HORSES DON’T THEY?/ by Al Brathway

Aren’t you tired of the way they hype things now a days? Jesus! The constant repetition is a pain in the ass. Whenever a new movie comes out, BAM… That’s all the entertainment news shows talk about for days. A priest molests a child, it's all over the news for weeks... A plane flies into a building... Still hearing about it! Some kid shoots up his school… All the "copy cats" come out! Couldn’t we just hear about something when it happens and let that be the end of it? Hell, we’re still hearing about Monica Lewinsky. Is she still "kneel(ing) before the seal? Maybe there should be a statute of limitations on events. One week and done! I mean, I’m still hearing about the crap I’ve done when I was a kid at family gatherings! After I turned 40 I stopped going.
\

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

June 3rd. Sunday/ Damn, it's June already? Where did the time go? That's been happening to me alot lately. I'm losing track of time. I mean, Friday, I was in Baltimore hanging w/ a fellow writer... We were kicking around ideas about future projects we have yet to tackle... Haven't even written down one note about anything, yet we plotted a course of ideas that will last for a long time... The creative process is genius unto itself! And now I am back at my desk, tinkering w/ my journal, recording the doings of the last couple of days. Friday I was hopeful. Today I feel hopeless. Why is that? If I had (real) money, I could afford a "shrink" but I wouldn't go. Hell, I'd take that money and invest in a liquor store. My therapy would be a lot cheaper and I would feel the results (effects) of my (drinking) therapy a whole lot quicker than talking to some loony toons doctor at $150.00/hr and coming out feeling more crazy than I felt going in! But, I cannot afford a doctor and, at the very least, frequent a liquor store... So where does that leave me? Slowly I spiral into the abyss of depression. I blurt out sentence fragments at inopportune times, only to have people look at me, thinking I'm talking to myself (which I am!) and silently label me crazy! And during this whole process, time is marching on and I cannot get that seemingly "crazy" moment back when I started mumbling to myself while standing in a line at (hopefully) a liquor store waiting for my liquid medication. (And judging by the stocked shelves, they have the goods for what ails me!) CRAP!

USELESS ASS INFO by Al Brathway

Everyday at 4:00pm, my brother had to stick his middle finger up his nose. You could set your watch by it!

“A Chance Discovery”/ Poetry by A. Dacosta Brathway

A world I used to be a part of, I now despise/
As I view it with x-ray eyes…
The big slave convention in March
The slave masters watching their charge,
Go through the motions of the order
That lends itself to the broader

Scheme,
Perpetuating the nightmarish dream.

The gods manage from the headmaster’s chair,
The orderlies toting their cross to bear
For their supper.
On scholarship without the academics lends itself to no abrupt fix to a world with any future,
Sends the wandering slave into a drunken stupor
While the master lives, rich, on the plantation,
Preparing the next crop’s orientation.
Increased marching lines with no degree
Unprepared to be
A pillar of strength
When functioning from a deficit disorder
Which makes the problem that much broader.

There is no solution to Vertigo
Unless heavy doses of the prescribed medication are in full effect
Creating the effect of a free fall slow…
Disgraced face
When set to the pace
Of the master’s agenda.
The mindset of March in the psychological castration of a slave mentality gender.


On Inspiration

Who would have thought that
Taking a shit
Would inspire such wit
From an insane brain
As it spiraled down the drain?

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

May 29th, Tuesday/ The holiday is over and things are back to normal. I'm back to doing my thing... sitting at the computer and thinking about what I would be doing if I had a boatload of money. The TV is on and some program about Orange County Housewives is on. Okay, I get TV. It's entertainment. It's staged stuff. I get it but do people, like what I'm watching, really exist? Are there really people this shallow living on Earth? Last time I checked there was a war going on under the guise of protecting American's freedom.(When translated means people are dying to allow shallow people, like the ones who live in Orange County, to stumble in stupidity.) I mean this show is hard to explain. You have to see it to believe it!/ So I'm thinking/dreaming about having a boatload of money but my fear (now) is if I had all that money, would I be shallow and stupid like those people in Orange County? I have a friend who told me, a few years ago, that American society was being divided between the "haves" and the "have nots!" I usually don't pay attention to that kind of conversation but I'll be damned if he wasn't right! (I mean gas is $3.00 a freakin' gallon now!) I need a car but if I had one, I wouldn't be able to afford the gas! But, w/out a car, I can't get to the places I need to get to when I need to get to them. So my social life suffers because of that and I sit at the computer writing about this stuff while I quietly go insane while this stupid program is on the TV. I'm not even watching it but I have it on to keep me company because the computer doesn't talk. Yeah, I could change the channel but there would only be another stupid TV show on. I used to think that it was only my life that is fucked up but I realize that I have a lot of company! I'm not as alone as I once thought! (And where is Orange County anyway? Pluto?) CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

May 27th, Sunday/ It's Sunday evening on Memorial Day weekend and I'm chillin'. Yesterday was a bust. I didn't do a damned thing so you would think I would have made an entry right? Anyway, I'm watching the Tom Joyner Show and Toni Braxton is on. I'm not a fan of hers but I got to thinking about her career. She was doing Tom Joyner's show, which is not a bad thing. But I got to thinking about how big she was coming out of the gate.You know, the whole Baby Face, LA Reid thing...Then I got to thinkin' about what it must be like when you have had the big buzz in your career and then you die out. It's like you have that dream about being some "big shot" in entertainment or sports or business and before you know it, your life has passed you by. And, if you ever had it, what is it like when you don't have it anymore? If you were lucky, you made some real money and had your name up in lights... People loved you and couldn't wait to see you! Your ass got real arrogant and you wouldn't sign an autograph for some tear filled child, standing there holding your picture that was torn out of a magazine... And, you just breeze on by like, "...How dare you ask me for my autograph!" You had a posse... An entourage if you will... Body guards! If anyone touched you they would have burst into flames! And now...now time goes by and your career is a pile of rubbish. There are no more fans. No more entourage, no posse... Body guards no longer want to guard your tired ass anymore. You're doing smaller venues and the sparse crowd is asking about who you are. The irony is that you STILL think you're hot! Your arrogance turns to anger... Rage even! You demand that people take your autograph! No one can find that "bobblehead" doll they used to have of you. When you come on TV, (after years of being absent from it), viewers are like..."Look, look who's on Carson Daly! It's what's his name?) Yeah! It's sad... but what if you are like me? What if you wanted all of those things to happen? What if you would have traded, including yo' momma, ANYTHING to have experienced that lifestyle and...What if you had those dreams to never materialize... CRAP!

COMPLAINT DEPT. by Al Brathway

I'm from Brooklyn, New York and I experienced something very disturbing the other day while visiting my family. I was over to my mother’s house and I had to go to the drugstore to get a prescription filled. The drugstore was approximately three blocks away. I left the house and had to turn onto a block called Montgomery Street. That particular block was the entry to a housing development and a college, which is directly across the street. It is dark so my sense of sight has to be a little sharper. (You never know what is lurking in a dark corner in Brooklyn, and that could be in broad daylight!) So, I’m paying attention to my surroundings as I walk. I walk a few steps and just happen to look down… and BAM! There it is! Pit bull doody! I swerve around it and walk a few more steps… and PLICKOW! Rotweiller doody!
I get it. This is the thing in the ‘hood. All the kids have these dogs now. I mean it bothered me that I had to weave my way through this crap all over the sidewalk. The law is that you are supposed to clean up after your dog but the kids never do. (Most adults don’t clean up after their dogs either!) So, I walk a little further and now I am strictly watching my step and, this time, I see what just sets me off! KICK KACK KICKOW! French Poodle doody! Now, I am pissed off! What is French Poodle doody doing in the ‘hood?
I usually do not vote but I am registering and voting in the next assemblyman election. This has got to stop!

LET THEM EAT CAKE/ Reality Shows by Al Brathway

What is it with these “reality shows” and the food (or testicles or shit) they make people eat for the sake of winning some money that the government is going to take half?
Seems like all you have to do is put (whatever) on a plate in the middle of some lettuce, pour some sauce or salad dressing on it, with the promise of gold at the end of the plate, and “Voila’!”
And the people… What the hell are they thinking? The psych job people put on themselves… “It’s a delicacy!” Humph… Yeah, right! (Come to think about it, shit could pass for pâté when you shape it into a sculpture!)

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

May 25th, Friday/ I channel surf alot. For whatever reason, I like it better than looking at the TV Guide. Everytime I do it and hit a cooking show, I stop to watch. Now I'm not a fan of cooking shows but I always stop when I see one. There is this one guy that always captures my attention. Have you ever seen this brother named G. Garvin? I swear, he tickles all the hell out of me. I like how he does it, "na-mean?" He got this LL Cool J thing goin' on that cracks me up. A quaffed and manicured brotha who is keeping Black America fat... He's like a walking oxymoron. Whatever my opinion of the show, that brotha makes me hungry! When he gets finished w/ his thing, the food looks sooo good, it makes me want to go to a Black cookout and slap some ribs and potato salad down my throat./ I plan to watch his show this weekend because it is Memorial Day weekend. Since I'm not invited anywhere, I'll watch his show and imagine I'm eating myself silly. Maybe I'll put on some rap music and imagine that I have a bunch of "rump shakers" dancing by my imaginary pool! Maybe I'll videotape the party and market it for BET! I'll call it "Black Folk Gone Wild" and become a billionaire. Then I'll "Pimp My Ride" (a'95 Lincoln) and videotape myself standing next to a "rented" Lear Jet and act like it's mine. I'll hit the black clubs and strip joints and throw one dollar bills around. I'll get cardboard cutouts of Black celebs and act like their my friends. I'll videotape myself at a jewelry store and pretend that I'm buying some "bling!" I'll create this whole "mogul" persona and then I'll be invited to go on "Oprah" so that she can validate me! Yeah Dawg! I'm gonna be a star! CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

May 24th, Thursday/ I have always believed in GOD. There is no way the Universe can even exist w/out one. If for no other reason I cannot explain how I even came to be. Science, schmience... However, I started getting real confused when bussing came into play and I was bused way outside my 'hood to go to high school. It was the first time I ever went to school w/ white kids. It was also the first time I heard the argument about Jesus, GOD's rep, being Black or White! Personally, I didn't care what color He was and still don't but I wonder what it would be like if there were two Jesus' and they ever met, based on the difference of belief of what color Jesus was (is). Would there be a fight over turf? Would there be an argument over who they represented? Would each have a gang of diciples and stage "drive-bys" to eliminate the other? When each respective gang... uh... posse... uh...crew...uh... congragation (that's it!) hung out, would they get high to psych themselves up to ride their "low rider" carts into the territory of the other to make the hit? Would they wear bandanas or colorful robes?/ I didn't start thinking this way until I got married and my (new) bride insisted that I go to church. We church hopped looking for a "church home" so I saw how different races worshipped. I got real confused. I thought worship had no color... I grew up in the Episcopal Church. It was very structured. I had to go to class to get confirmed. I thought I was cool until my wife told me I had to be "born again!" I also noticed that my sex life was cool (freaky) until I got married and had to be born again. When I balked at the demand, I was ostrisized from her church (body)! I went Baptist but that was a disaster. The services looked like the church scene from the Blues Brothers' movie. I didn't even know the words to the hymes but, at least, I tried to lip sync anyway. (She caught me and said I wasn't trying hard enough to learn. Like lip syncing was easy!) And then there was another problem. I was into basketball so I wore sneakers all the time... (NIKE's preferably) My feet used to hurt so bad on Sundays it wasn't even funny. Eventually we got a divorce. I have mixed emotions about what happened but one good thing came out of that whole experience... My feet don't hurt anymore! CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

May 23rd, Wednesday/ I was on a city bus the other day and there were some kids in the back doing what they do. It was three of them but I wasn't sure that they were all the same gender. Two of them were definitely girls but I wasn't sure of what the third one was. Anyway, they got up to get off and the one I'm not sure of had the sagging pants thing going on. Personally I have no problem w/ the style. All generations go through their stages but I really don't get the sagging pants thing. At the very least it has to be very uncomfortable to walk w/ your pants strangling your thighs while you walk. But, you also have your FULL ass hanging out in the process! My mother used to tell me to make sure my underwear was clean in case I got into an accident. Now-a-days kids have eliminated the accident part. Kind of brings a new meaning to the term ..."showing your ass!" But, like I said, each generation has their thing. Guys are always motivated by what girls think... I'm sure that has something to do w/ it. Today the "bad boy" thing is tats (tattoos), street cred, and the look of having a load of shit in your pants!/ In a way I'm jealous. In my time, all I needed was some movie money, a car, and some interesting conversation. Now I would need plenty of money, drive on rims more expensive than the car, and the ability to call a woman a bitch and a 'ho in the same sentence. ("Yeah Dawg, I can see her getting hot off of that!") I remember being embarrassed to go into a drug store to buy one condom. Today, you have to buy the box set and in different colors!/ I have to admit to being facinated w/ the whole thing. I just don't understand how it works!/ In spite of it all, they look like they are having fun. CRAP!

SEXUAL HEALING by Al Brathway

My girlfriend suffered from “penis envy” but has since solved her problem. How? No, she did not go to some doctor who prescribed some fancy prescription medicine. No, she did not go to some psychiatrist who talked her into not having it… She simply went to a sex shop and ordered a custom-made strap on to her liking and now I have “penis envy!”

TRAPPED/ Poem by A. Dacosta Brathway

Mandingo, slave dick like no other,
Circumcised 9 inch, tripod brother
Ignored the sister for the other…
Danced on the grave of your dead mother.

Confirmed black skin does not think brown,
Spouting lyrics so as not to be clowned,
Wearing that constant, perpetual frown,
Standing straight but trying to get down.

Bullshit artist running a con,
White vagina w/ pubic hair blond,
“I’m going in!” with jimmy cap on,
No DNA trace, my word is bond.

I realize I’ve sealed my fate,
My lines rehearsed to clean my slate,
When I get to the “Pearly Gate”
I hope that I don’t burn in Hate!

I am trapped in my dead skin,
I’ve shunned my race, embarrassed my kin,
I "no" not what a mess I’m in,
I wish that I were born again.

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

May 22nd, Tuesday/ Right now I am looking for work. I have a degree in English Literature and I have experience in basketball. I have traveled and soaked in other cultures. Yet, none of this shit counts towards me getting a job right now. I am frustrated and humiliated, yet my friends think I should do my best to maintain my sense of humor! (They must be sniffing crack! Maybe I should too...) Here is the thing about living in America that the terrorists don't understand. They think that I'm having the time of my life! They are jealous of me having the freedom to be out of work and can't pay my bills. They think that I have (had) the freedom to hobnob w/ the big boys at the World Trade Center and yuck it up everyday. They think that me and the policy makers of America meet for lunch and make decisions they don't care for. They want me to die by their hand because the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner decision (Life in Death decision handed down to the sailors who killed the Albatross was that they had to live on their boat w/out the winds and could not move!) is not a good enough punishment for me! Wanna talk about hell? Paris Hilton can get a job before me and she has no secondary education, no experience, AND a record! How is that for torture? All I've ever done is grow up Black! (Are we having thunderstorms again today?) Here is where the fracture gets compounded. I have no job which means I can't afford a car. (Maybe I'll tell you about the experiences I've had w/ cars sometime.) So, w/out money and a car means I can't have a woman... So now I can't have sex. (I can't even buy it, which is what I would be doing even if I had a girlfriend anyway!) On top of all of this, I have to worry about terrorist plots and sleeper cells as well as the normal crime that takes place on the street because I don't have a car and have to wait for a bus or train or walk! AND, how can I even get a woman riding on a bus? (Have you seen the women who ride buses these days!)She's gonna know that I don't have any money riding on a bus at high noon. And what are the terrorists going to think while they are standing there, waiting for the bus, w/ me? (They'll think that I'm dispensible or course!) CRAP!

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

May 21st, Monday/ Got up this morning w/ nothing to look forward to but that's everyday."It's another beautiful day in Zamunda." I've already been out. Had to pay a bill. I hate paying bills! Now I have to learn to hate creating them./ In keeping w/ yesterday's theme, I'm picking up writing again. It's great therapy when you don't have a girlfriend to complain about. If I had one I'd be all wrapped up in drama, drama, and more drama... That's not necessarily a bad thing but I like comedy. My life is like a sitcom sometimes. Like the time when I left LA. (This was after "homegirl" threw me out because she said I couldn't write.) I thought that in order to put my life in some semblance of order, it was time for me to marry. "Whoa!" What the hell was going on in my brain to consider that? I thought that I needed a woman in my life... A constant presence of the female persuasion... I needed to "settle down." Settle down? Shit! My life only accelerated after that! There was ALWAYS something to do after I got married. Always somewhere to go. There was always something to buy... Some sale to catch. Shit... It didn't matter whether it was something we needed or not... We had to catch that sale. "Hey, there is a half off sale at the dollar store!" We were there, bright and early to be first in line in some small strip mall in some secluded neighborhood to be first in line. (She had a thing about getting in early to avoid the crowd... at a freakin' dollar store!) And the sex! What sex? There was a twisted irony in this marriage deal. I couldn't have a lot of sex w/ my wife because she didn't want to and there was more chicks interested in having sex w/ me because I was married but I couldn't have sex w/ them because I was married, yet I wanted more sex! Thanks GOD! I never accused you of NOT having a sense of humor! (Sometimes when I hear thunder I think that GOD just screwed over somebody and is having a belly laugh!) So I'm married, horny, miserable and I had moved back East where there is such a thing called Winter. If I were back in Cali going through this situation I might could dig it but... At least out there I could look at beautiful bronze chicks, walking around enjoying the weather and I could dream. However, I was back in Washington, DC, looking at pale women, dressed in business suits, taking on the weight of the world and hating the process and I'm smack dab in the middle of this nightmare! CRAP! (More tomorrow)

CRAP/ My Journal by Al Brathway

March 20th, Sunday/ Today is the first day of the rest of my life so I decided to blog my journal. Lately things have been going all wrong for me so I decided to do something about it. I haven't worked a regular job in 5 yrs because I don't seem to qualify for anything. Why I don't know. I altered my personality a bit. I used to just cuss people out. Now I fake like I like people. I'm thinking maybe that my aura is still transmitting my hatred. I noticed that the interviewers would have this look on their faces like I farted during the interview and decided that I was wrong for the job or something. So, I decided to write. Now, in my mind, I can write my ass off! I majored in English in college and I knew that I did not want to teach. Have you seen the American school system lately? I would be hired to do bouncer work in some school in the worst 'hood before they would let me teach. I'm 6'5, 235lbs and BLACK! No way they would hire me as a teacher! I'd get the class w/ all the "hip hop" types. Of course they would think I'm down w/ them because... well, I do dress hip hop style but I do that shit for survival purposes! I live in the 'hood! The way I look, you don't think a real estate agent is going to show me houses in the suburbs, do you? By the way, I gotta start contemplating my next move. This gentrification thing has reared its ugly head again. (I wish white folks weren't so wishy-washy!) Anyway, I started writing in college and have been (writing) ever since. The reason why I have not been successful selling anything is because the college I went to had no network thing in place. Anybody that graduated before me was so fed up w/ the school that they decided that if they made it they would not come back to help anyone out. However, they DO come back for Homecoming! Homecoming is the time when people come back to their respective alma matas to lie about how well they are doing in the outside world, knowing that they don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. Hey, I've done it! How would they check up on me? The Alumni Association at my school never sends me anything. They say they don't know where I am. (I blame that on the gentrification thing!)And, I never stop by their booth at the Homecoming football game because I don't want them poking around in my business! Besides, at the college I went to, my professors never thought I would amount to anything anyway. They would be supportive to my face but... I remember having a meeting w/ the chair of the English Department one day and she was very encouraging in the meeting. When I left I dropped my book. Her phone rang. When she answered it I overheard her say that "...that sorry ass Al Brathway just left. He won't be shit after he leaves this school!" I've been depressed ever since./ So, I write for therapy purposes. I write so much that my hands cramp up when I pick up a pen so now I have to type everything. It's a good thing I don't have a girlfriend anymore. Imagine typing a love letter? (I actually did that and my ex told me I was an asshole and broke up w/ me. I think it was because I typed the love letter!...Bitch!) I have plenty of paperwork around. Partial scripts, poetry, short stories... I even moved to Cali to live w/ some friends and become a pro. That shit didn't work out though. The chick threw me out of the house. She claimed that I couldn't write so I couldn't help them. (Funny, that bitch never wrote anything. How would she know I couldn't write? I guess you become a critic when you can't write and I never felt the need to be a critic!) I'm tired. I'll write some more shit about my life tomorrow.

NOSE HAIR UP MY ASS! by Al Brathway

I am a CEO of a company and I have a problem. The problem is nose hair. Not mine mind you. I’m talking about my employees nose hair. Let me explain. I went to the doctor to have my postrate checked. I’m okay but my doctor said that he found nose hair up my ass. He did a test and discovered that it was not my hair. What was going on?

I ordered the whole company to be checked and sure enough there was a substance found on the noses of my employees. That substance coupled with the nose hair found up my ass exposed the condition. It is called Brownosehairitis. It is when a massive glob of nose hair is found in the rectum of the CEO of a company. Fortune 500 company CEO’s is infected the worse. The hair clogs the drain so to speak. The symptom for the employee is a glob of a brown substance found on the nose of the employee. A checkup is paramount. Early detection is key to a healthy and happy life for both the CEO and the employee.

Hello Dali by A. Dacosta Brathway

“If you are going to paint, your imagination is your brush!” the voice said, echoing, then fading in thin air. Satch jumped up from his bed, looking around his bedroom for the other occupant. There was no one else in the room. “Who said that?” Satch yelled to no one. His bedroom window was open and a slight breeze was blowing through the room. “Man, I must have been having a weird dream. I’m hearing voices!” Satch sat up trying to make sense of the experience he just had. In the corner of his bedroom sat canvases waiting to feel the cool, oozing, brush strokes of paint. Some of the canvasses had the beginnings of a work the rest were blank. Satch was having the equivalent of writer’s block for a painter. Painting he loved but he could not think of anything to paint. He was stumped. Satch sat there staring at the corner that housed the unfinished works, wondering when he was gonna get his groove on. “What am I going to paint? I’m not feeling anything!” Satch mumbled to himself. This scenario took place most nights. His days were very filled. He did not have free time to over-think about his problem. First there was school. Satch was a very good student but it did not come easy. He worked at it! He loved art class the most. Satch loved the freedom of expression… well, that and the instructor. Brother Knocks was the coolest teacher in the school. His vibe blended with Satch’s mood. He did not press his students to do anything. He encouraged them. Most times he conned them without them realizing what transpired. Satch loved that. Given that, Satch was not producing the best work in the class. He was doing C work. All his other classes were A’s and B’s. Satch wanted to be an artist. His mother wanted him to be a doctor. His father wanted him to graduate. They were very pushy. His other teachers claimed him as his own. They poked and prodded his brain, forcing him to think. Art class was not like that. Satch could sleep in there for the hour if he dreamt about art and could justify it to Brother Knocks. Brother Knocks was a Dr. of Psychology and used to teach on the college level, but he decided to teach in high school because that’s where he felt he could make an impact on students. Art was his passion. He knew more about art then he knew about psychology. He could also paint! His work hung in galleries in Manhattan. He also had some high-powered friends in the art world. Periodically they would drop by his class and give mini lectures about the art world. Those days, Satch would take mental field trips and imagine he was living an artist’s lifestyle. He saw himself living in a loft with his work all around him. He saw himself as being very well off from the consistent sales of his work and he drove around the city on his crome-plateed Harley. He always dressed in loosely fitting clothes and they were always very colorful. Truth be told, Satch wanted the lifestyle of Mr. Knocks. There was one big problem: Satch was not focused in art. He did not understand that he needed the same dedication, in art, that he had in his other classes. And, if it were not for the constant badgering from his other teachers he probably would not do well in their classes either.
But what was most disturbing to Satch was the voice he heard. Oh he heard it loud and clear and what was said to him made all the sense in the world. Satch had plenty of imagination! Satch could dream in vivid colors. His dreams were like movies. They went from beginning to end. They had a plot, a protagonist, an antagonist, and an ending with a twist. Sometimes the main character had a love interest. Sometimes there was wild, buck-naked sex. The endings were always happy and the suspension of disbelief was in full effect. That’s why hearing the voice was so profound to Satch. He heard it as clear as he hears Mr. Knocks’ voice when he talks to him.
“Mr. Knocks, can I have a word with you?” Knocks was wrapping a painting to be shipped somewhere. “What’s happening my brother?” Satch loved talking to Mr. Knocks. He could tell him anything and it would not leave the room. That applied to anything. It was always confidential to Mr. Knocks. “I had a dream last night and the voice gave me a message. It said that my imagination was my brush, if I was going to paint. Does that make sense?” Knocks stopped what he was doing. “That was a real profound statement. Who said it?” It was time for a session. “That’s just it. I’m not really sure. I was dreaming and I envisioned a man with a weird mustache. He had a Spanish accent and he was an artist, only I don’t know who he is!” Satch explained. “You sound like you are affected by it.” Good Ole Mr. Knocks getting right to the heart of the matter.

“Yeah, I woke up sweating! Man, I was moved by the whole experience… It was like the guy was speaking to me like he knew me!” Knocks took the wrapped painting off of the counter and placed it on the floor. “Hey baby brother, if you hear the voice again, maybe it will give you a name.” Knocks had a big grin on his face.

That night Satch was extremely tired. He was ready for bed when the time came. He plopped down on the bed, still in his clothes and was snoring soon after. The colors were vivid and loud. Satch was standing on what appeared to be sand. There were these clocks that were very flexible and slithering around like snakes. Behind Satch were these flaming giraffes, running one behind the other. To his right was what appeared to be a woman with a chest of drawers for a leg. Satch just stood there and took it all in. “What the hell is this? Satch mumbled to himself. “It’s simple young man. You are a part of the Dali experience!” a thin man with a thin, wrinkled face and an up-twisted mustache answered. He extended his hand. “I am Salvador Dali!” Satch was in a state of shock. “You’re the dude I learned about in my Literature class. You’re from the Surrealist period!” Dali was impressed. “You’ve done your homework young man! What can I do for you?” “To be honest with you, I’m not sure. I’m having trouble in my art class. I’m trying to figure out what to paint and I keep coming up with nothing. I don’t know what to do.” Satch lamented. “The answer is simple young man. You simply paint your passion! Figure out what you like and paint it!” Satch was pleased with the answer and moved to shake Dali’s hand. Just at the moment of contact, Dali disappeared. “Where did you go?” Satch yelled out. “Where are you?”
“I’m right here. It’s time for you to get up. You’re gonna be late!” Satch’s mother stood over him. She stressed that Satch never be late for anything. She walked out of his room. “Where was I?”
The school library was not very crowded. Satch was able to get to a computer terminal. He booted it up and got on line. There was tons of information on Salvador Dali. Satch researched the man he saw in his dream.
When Satch got to Brother Knock’s art class, he was full of information about Dali. Mr. Knocks was not covering that period so Satch had to wait until after class to talk to Mr. Knocks about his vision.

The bell rang and Satch was the first one at Knock’s desk. “Mr. Knocks, I gotta rap to you. I had this vision last that I was in Salvador Dali painting and I met him! He told me to paint what I was passionate about, but I don’t know what that is yet?” he explained. “Don’t worry my brother, you will figure it out!” Knocks replied.
The days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Before Satch knew it, he was graduating and on his way to college. Satch had mixed emotions. He looked forward to college but hated to leave Mr. Knocks. They said they would keep in touch but never did. Satch’s workload was too much. Knocks stayed busy too. Not only did he teach, he painted religiously. In between those times, he traveled. Satch did well in college and became quite a painter. The thing for him to do, now, was to get into the working artist world of art.

Satch moved to New York City in the Park Slope community. There were other artists that lived there and Satch fit in nicely. He was doing work and was receiving allocates from his friends but that was not feeling it. He wanted professional opinions that could lead him to bigger and better things. He had a piece of his work in a gallery in Washington, DC, but it was in a small boutique like gallery in Georgetown. He wanted to show his work in New York!

Georgetown is a quaint little section of Washington, DC. Most of the shops are very small and classy but it’s not New York. Satch went to school down there and made a dent in the art community. The painting was a small one but it was quite profound. It had the elements of the Surrealist period. It was oil on canvas and was signed Satch.
Satch found a job as a framer. It was not what he wanted but it helped pay the bills. He worked hard during the day and painted at nights and on the weekends. When he was not painting, he hung out in a coffee shop in the Village or a Borders Bookstore in lower Manhattan. His friends were pseudo-intellectuals, always talking about how they could change the world with their artwork or writing. Satch was getting discouraged. His art was not moving. Not even out of his apartment. He could not get a break. He was starting to get cranky and surly. Then he started to become a recluse. His friends started seeing him less and less. His work suffered and he was constantly being threatened by his supervisor that he would be fired.

The uptown art scene was rolling. There was to be a big exhibit at the Javit’s Center and everybody who was anybody, in the art world, was showing. Satch knew about it but so what? It was just another event he would have nothing to do with. The dime bag of smoke he bought was guaranteed to take him to worlds unknown and he was ready for the trip! Satch was out before nightfall.
The room was had only one chair and it was being occupied. A woman sat in the chair and she was naked. She looked at him but did not utter a word. A voice echoed from the darkness. “What is the distraction?” a man’s voice beckoned. “We have a visitor,” the woman answered. The man exposed himself from the darkness. Satch was intruding in on a session that Salvador Dali was having with his wife Gala. “Well, well… Look my Gala; it’s the young artist I told you about. What brings you here again my son?” Satch pinched himself. The pain was intense. “ OUCH!” Satch gathered himself. “Mr. Dali, nice to see you again. Where am I?” he asked. Youare interfering with my work! I am painting my Gala. Why are you not working?” Dali asked as if genuinely concerned. “I am stuck again! I cannot think of a thing to paint and I cannot move my work!” Satch lamented. “Is that why you paint? You paint to move your work? If that is the reason why you paint then you are painting to please others; that way you will always be at a loss! You must paint to please yourself. That way, you will always have ideas and no stress!” Satch noticed that Gala did not budge from her chair. She was totally nude and was unconcerned with his presence. They were doing real art! They were serious about the work. “Go home and stop feeling sorry for yourself. Once you do that the ideas will come!”
Satch’s head was pounding. The banging on the door did not help either. “Who is it?” Satch called out realizing he was in his bed. “Yo man, open the door! There’s some weird looking dude with this chick downstairs looking for you. He said something about showing your work at the Javit’s Center? Get your ass up!” the friend ran back downstairs. Satch got up slowly. He was still tired but he didn’t know if it was from the smoke or the trip? He heard multiple footsteps coming up the stairs. “Damn,
I need the sleep! He moaned. Satch moved toward the door and opened it. The man and his companion came in. “Please excuse the place.” Satch begged. “Your place is not our concerned. We are here on other matters. We received a call from a friend who said that you had a piece of your work in Washington, DC. We would like to show it at the Javit’s exhibit! Would you be interested in showing it?” the man asked. “Who called you?” Satch asked. “We are not at liberty to say. We just need your confirmation. We will take care of the details.” It was the offer Satch could not refuse.

The Javit’s Center was crowded. Satch was dressed in all black. His work was being shown in a corner of the big room where there was a nice crowd staring at it… Admiring it! Behind the crowd was a bald, bearded brother, eyeing the work with the others. The man that came to Satch’s place walked up behind him and greeted him. “I’m glad you finally got here. I have someone I want you to meet.” He escorted Satch over to his work. When the man turned around, Satch almost lost his lunch. There stood Mr. Knocks! “My brother, it’s so good to see you again!” Brother Knocks hugged him. Satch was overwhelmed, In the course of the conversation; it was revealed that Knocks was the one who recommended him to the committee. They went to DC to witness the painting and they liked what they saw. Satch and Knocks reminisced about old times and Knocks told him about how proud he was of Satch. While they talked, there was a couple in front of then critiquing the work. They seemed to know a lot about art and had everyone’s attention that stood around them. “You see, people are talking about you!” Knocks mentioned. Satch was interested to see whom the couple was that knew so much. He took it upon himself to strike up a conversation with them. “Excuse me,” Satch interrupted. The couple turned around and Satch almost choked. “Here is our young artist now. Hello Mr. Satch, I see you have captured your passion in your work!”

Business Idea/ Observation by Al Brathway

BUSINESS IDEA

I got to thinking… I moved to New York City prior to (9/11) and was looking for a job. Things were looking good until those damn planes hit. My luck hit a snag on that fateful day. Then I got to thinking… I need to start my own business. But, what would I sell? A friend called me to tell me that she was in a car accident and her car was totaled. She went on to say that it was drivable but totaled. Well, it hit me like a bolt of lightening! “That’s it!” I yelled.
Oh… You want to know what I yelled? Well, I am the CEO of “TOTALED.” It’s a company I started that rents totaled but drivable cars to people who live in high crime areas! What do you think?

Poetry Corner/ Trapped by A. Dacosta Brathway

Mandingo, slave dick like no other,
Circumcised 9 inch, tripod brother
Ignored the sister for the other…
Danced on the grave of your dead mother.

Confirmed black skin does not think brown,
Spouting lyrics so as not to be clowned,
Wearing that constant, perpetual frown,
Standing straight but trying to get down.

Bullshit artist running a con,
White vagina w/ pubic hair blond,
“I’m going in!” with jimmy cap on,
No DNA trace, my word is bond.

I realize I’ve sealed my fate,
My lines rehearsed to clean my slate,
When I get to the “Pearly Gate”
I hope that I don’t burn in Hate!

I am trapped in my dead skin,
I’ve shunned my race, embarrassed my kin,
I no not what a mess I’m in,
I wish that I were born again…

(c) A. Dacosta Brathway 2002

This Just In: by Al Brathway

The best way for a man to get into a woman’s panties is to go to Victoria’s Secret!

Poetry Dept: Real Rappers Grab Their Roscoes by A. Dacosta Brathway

Pumped up on pumped out lyrics,
Cause and effect hysterics…
Modern day mind control on
Strapped straphangers...

Hanging...

Vying for protection, and attention
Accessorizing baggy jeans w/ boots and pitbulls,

Platinum crucifixes anointed by false gods,
Preaching rhetoric to the empty domes…

Chickenheads cluck their displeasure about the negative stereotype(s) they perpetuate, while pulling that tight g-string out of their ass.

You need to be schooled so you won’t be ruled by the likeness of the Virginia Laws,
Set in place w/ all its flaws…


“Where ignorance is bliss,’tis folly to be wise,”
Behind the bravado, you can hear the cries!
Amid all the hurt, the ignorance and pain,
“The more things change, the more they remain the same!”

(c) A. Dacosta Brathway, 2005

Ghetto Etiquette/ Commentary

No matter where you live, there is a certain protocol. Same rule applies to living in the ‘Hood. If you find yourself in the neighborhood, take note of the customs and try to blend in.

1.Walk All Over the Sidewalk/ Forget about walking to the right of the sidewalk. Just walk anywhere you want. It does not matter if people are coming towards you head on. Just walk right into them and be prepared to fight.

2.Just Stand on Staircases/ It does not matter if it is the entrance to the subway or the staircase to an apartment building. Just stand there and hold your conversations. So what if old people with bags are trying to get by you.

3.Bike Ride in Front of Moving Cars/ When on your bike, always ride in the street and don’t worry about the traffic. Take your time when crossing a street, especially when a car is trying to turn. It does not matter that road rage exists and people are impatient. You have the right-of-way.

4.Bad Language from Very Young Kids/ Do not be taken aback when very young kids use bad language. You have to remember that home training is not a priority in the ‘hood. A 5 year old calling you a “mothaf#$ka is not uncommon.

5.Impromptu Dancing/ Remember, at any time a party can break out in the street. When you see a customized Honda roll up with music blasting to the likes of 100 decipals, be aware that dancing can break out at any moment.

6.Pitbull Restrooms/ Understand that the streets of the ‘hood is the public restroom for pitbulls. You have to respect their right to use their restroom. Their owners do not have to clean them up because they are grown (the pitbulls) and they should not be humiliated in public.

YADA, YADA, YADA...

A man goes to a psychiatrist’s office draped in clear wrap. The doctor looks at him and says, “Well, I can see you’re nuts!”

ENTERTAINMENT DEPT: Movie Pitches That Did Not Make It.

Movie Pitches That Did Not Make It
By Al Brathway
Entertainment Writer, MT

New York--- With the wave of movies that have recently come out one would think that there are not enough ideas to go around. But I have discovered, by going deep, deep, deep, deep, deep undercover that there have been some ideas that did not make the cut! Why did these pitches not make it? Read them and you be the judge:

“The Baller”
Story of a young boy who thought he would be good at basketball because his doctor said he was in the 90th percentile in growth in his age group.

“Blind Man’s Bluff”
Story of a blind man who was always bluffing people on the street.

“The Prostrate”
Tale of a prostrate that took on a life of its own.

“The Conflict”
Gripping story of a woman’s breasts and how they could not get along.

“Love Don’t Live Here Anymore”
Story about Gerald Love’s move from his girlfriend’s apartment because he would not pay any rent.

“I Loved That Bitch”
Gripping tale of a boy who loved his dog as if it were a woman.

New Wave of Rock Bands

If I ever get the chance to be self employed, I'm going to start my own new wave of rock bands. Here are my new groups:

BAND> Toothless
HIT> “Take the Watch Out Ya Mouth Momma, You’re Gummin” Up the Works.”

BAND> Arse
HIT> “Passing Gas”

BAND> Penis
HIT> “Biggest Head on the Block”

BAND> The Mounds
HIT> “Mountains of Love”

The Belly of the Beast by A. Dacosta Brathway

A substance takes significant control
As it seeks it’s own level,
The mindful work of the devil.

The dissemblance of the order,
The everyday doings become increasingly harder.

The loss of control,
Under control,
Taking on a significant role.

The creation of the abyss, that never-ending hole,
Altering the state of your disappearing soul.

The emergence of defiance,
The formation of negative alliances…
No guarantee of reliance.

The need for exorcism, to bring you back,
To bring back your soul in tact,
To unravel nerves that has been racked.
To rescue your mind that’s under attack.

All these things, to say the least…
Prey on the mind and hold a feast,
That hold must be broken, a new found release…
It’s Dante’s Inferno, the belly of the beast.
c A. Dacosta Brathway, 2002

The Hairstyle Lifestyle by Al Brathway/ Lifestyle Writer, MT

Chicago--- There is a new fashion statement sweeping the country! Actually it’s an old style from the sixties swinging back around. What goes around comes around! It’s the Afro! Have you seen the latest nappy styles lately? How about that getup Chicago Bulls' center Ben Wallace wears? What the hell is that? Having said that, I particularly like the style where he wears the headband like a beret and the back of his head looks like it is comb deprived. Of course there are other variations of the Afro. There are also wigs available if one’s hair cannot be of that magnitude.
What amazes me is that there seems to be no shame in the game. Men are walking around with their hair all over the place and it does not seem to bother the wearer. In the sixties, the brothers talked about going back to the bush. Now, in 2007, the bush has been brought back to the brothers! Who would have thought that Buckwheat would be at the forefront of fashion?

POETRY CORNER by A. Dacosta Brathway

[Fleetwood Jack is our featured poet. He is from Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn and he is very angry. (Why, we have no idea!) His poem, Scared Muthaf#$ka moved us to tears so without further ado...]

Scared muthaf#$ka…?

Afraid to turn that corner? Scared of what you might find,

Nestled behind
That rock?
A lint ball, a sock?

Or is it the other side of your personality begging you to be free?

Chicken shit, misguided fool…
Refuse to try something new,
Opposite your point-of-view?
What is it w/ you?

Is what you might hear
Not RAP to your ears?

Inundated w/ your own ethnic prejudice, basking in the glow of your own while critiquing others?
What are your druthers?

Phobic to a higher level? Another flow that might put you in the know?
Or, are you stuck in your own private hell?
Hooked on the smell of blow…
Did you know?

There is another world revolving around your own or is your head gasket blown?

Should I feel sorry for you?
Or, are you just sorry enough? Should I challenge you or will you call my bluff?

Basking in the glow of limitations,
Ignorant of the know of imitations makes your life a fraud, and a non-believer in the Lord.

Wandering thru w/ no fan base,
All hung up on your race…(ism)
Free flowing in the abyss of Vertigo, trapped in a time warp of the unknown.
Are you scared, muthaf&$ka?

Afraid of what could be, as you believe in your own reality?
Keeping it real is making you fake… sad ass mindset is taking you to the hole, for God’s sake.
Mental breakdown has you “self-checked!”
Yeah, right…this ain’t no game, and yet you still play…
Last time I checked your icons were fallin’ down,
Putting your pagan ass in Purgatory.

Better wake up my Brotha
The OG role models are rollin’ back in style.
Another decade gone by and you’re back to the future.

My manhood’s “back in the cradle” and “your boy looks just like me…” by association.

Another passing of responsibility?
SCARED MUTHAF#$KA…!

COMPLAINT DEPT> by Al Brathway

COMPLAINT DEPT.

I live in Brooklyn, New York and I experienced something very disturbing the other day. I was over to my mother’s house and I had to go to the drugstore to get a prescription filled. The drugstore was approximately three blocks away. I left the house and had to turn onto a block called Montgomery Street. That particular block was the entry to a housing development and a college, which is directly across the street. It is dark so my sense of sight has to be a little sharper. (You never know what is lurking in a dark corner in Brooklyn, and that could be in broad daylight!) So, I’m paying attention to my surroundings as I walk. I walk a few steps and just happen to look down… and BAM! There it is! Pit bull doody! I swerve around it and walk a few more steps… and PLICKOW! Rotweiller doody!
I get it. This is the thing in the ‘hood. All the kids have these dogs now. I mean it bothered me that I had to weave my way through this crap all over the sidewalk. The law is that you are supposed to clean up after your dog but the kids never do. (Most adults don’t clean up after their dogs either!) So, I walk a little further and now I am strictly watching my step and, this time, I see what just sets me off! KICK KACK KICKOW! French Poodle doody! Now, I am pissed off! What is French Poodle doody doing in the ‘hood?
I usually do not vote but I am registering and voting in the next assemblyman election. This has got to stop!

Let Them Eat Cake by Al Brathway

LET THEM EAT CAKE/ Reality Shows

What is it with these “reality shows” and the food (or testicles or shit) they make people eat for the sake of winning some money that the government is going to take half?
Seems like all you have to do is put (whatever) on a plate in the middle of some lettuce, pour some sauce or salad dressing on it, with the promise of gold at the end of the plate, and “Voila’!”
And the people… What the hell are they thinking? The psych job people put on themselves… “It’s a delicacy!” Humph… Yeah, right! (Come to think about it, shit could pass for pâté when you shape it into a sculpture!)

SHORT STORY DEPT: Johnny Had An Idea by Al Brathway

It was a classroom assignment. Mrs. Barber wanted the class to come up with an idea to start a business. She did not c2are what the business was. All she wanted was that it be a legitimate one that could be pursued. The class gave a collective moan. That is everyone except Johnny. Johnny was considered the “weird one” in the class. At least that is what everybody said. He did not do a lot of talking. He rarely hung with anybody but there was something about him that everybody liked. He would get offers to “hang out” but he would always decline the offer. Johnny was acutely shy.
Johnny had the best grades of everyone in Mrs. Barber’s class. He probably had the best grades in the whole school! He was always on the honor roll and his grade point average never slipped below 98%. He always turned his homework in on time and was never absent or late for class. When Mrs. Barber issued a test, she made Johnny sit up front, right beside her, because she did not anyone cheating. If they saw Johnny’s answers, they too would have passed the test!
Johnny passed every test he took in class.

When Mrs. Barber announced the assignment, everyone flocked to Johnny to find out what he was thinking about doing. Johnny never answered anyone’s questions. He would just smile and politely excuse himself. Everyone knew that Johnny had an idea!
On the day that the assignments had to be approved, everyone was nervous. Everyone except Johnny. One by one the kids got up to announce what their idea was about. Johnny was the last to get up and everyone waited with baited breath to see what he was going to do. Even Mrs. Barber was excited although she tried to hide her emotions.

Johnny stood up and proudly announced that he was going to start a magazine. “What is the name of your magazine going to be?” Mrs. Barber asked. “I’m going to call it Gorilla’s Penis!” The laughter shook the windows! Mrs. Barber tried to regain order. After the class calmed down, she encouraged Johnny to continue. “I’m sure the more the magazine grows, the harder it will get but I will be able to handle it… my idea that is. The class was in hysterics.
Johnny explained the ins and outs of the operation and how the profits would be made. Whatever the joke was, Mrs. Barber was not getting it and the class would not stop laughing. It got so bad, Mrs. Barber ordered Johnny to think of something else.

Several years passed and everyone in Mrs. Barber’s class could not be accounted for at the reunion. The party was nice. The room was festively decorated and those who attended were dressed smartly. Mrs. Barber was there. She was retired and lived with her son who took care of her. She remembered everyone that approached her and started telling stories about her fond memories of that class. Suddenly, the door swung open and her favorite student appeared. It was Johnny! He was impeccably dressed in a tailor made suit. He approached Mrs. Barber and greeted her warmly. “What are you doing with yourself Johnny?” she asked affectionately. “I am the editor of Gorilla’s Penis and it is coming along in spurts!” he said proudly. Mrs. Barber fainted on the spot. “Damn… I guess I would have killed her if I told her I netted six million in sales last year!”

Ambiguous By A. Dacosta Brathway

Ambiguous...

The mirror image
of what I see
is what I wished not to be...

Back in the day,

I laid there
knowing not to play there!

Yet I ventured
and now I stay there!

F'ed up line of thinking
has my whole life stinking
w/ the stench
of unsuccess.

Full of misdirection
and pessimistic counsel...
A few days at a time
I smoked an ounce full...

Brain damaged mindset
made me mindful
now I rage in a china shop
like a blind bull...

While talking to myself,
I get an answer,
I hear voices,
yet no one stands there...

...Before me,
But me,
Still wishing I could be
opposite of what I see.

(c) A. Dacosta Brathway

Things That Make You Say "What the...?" by Scoop Johnson, LDL News

I was just reading an Internet news report that Mike Tyson is going to Bollywood to shoot a promotional video for a movie. Three forths of the article explained why this was happening. It was light hearted and positive. Then, BAM, at the very end of the article the writer gave a brief synopsis of Tyson's criminal life! I mean, why even bother to report something about good about anybody if there is something bad to follow? How come it is never the other way around? "This Just In: Scoop Johnson, the deranged father of two was found at the scene of the murder of his estranged wife. Her blood was spilled all over her bedroom walls and her head was found underneath her bed."
"Just last month, Scoop raised 2 million dollars for the Austistic Children's Society and he organized the Middle School's bake sale for the athletic fund for Special Olympics."

(Disclaimer: This mock article in no way reflects any real life situations that may or may not have occurred. The character, "Scoop Johnson" is fictional. Anyone really named "Scoop Johnson" need not be alarmed.)