To Be 18 in '99

is like an interplanetary blackout

that causes every knee to bow

and every eye to close

a semi-quasi-metaphysical day of reckoning

taking inventory of the last two thousand years

so i’m placing my order

at the drive thru window of the universe

and the lady,

the lady,

the lady behind the counter keeps tapping her fingers

and glaring at me

as if i’m already supposed to know

exactly what it is i want

when i just now realized that i am a poet

an artist

a man

human

i’ve been trying to live up to

who the world wants me to be for so long

that i’ve forgotten to examine the person i’ve become

like i just found a favorite hat i thought was stolen

only to find that it fits the head of the person i used to be

and they keep telling me things like

love means never having to say you’re sorry

but that sounds more like war to me

and i keep reading in class that

no man is an island

then why do i feel so alone

so i’m poppin’ wheelies down the sidewalks of time

and i can’t figure out whether my bike

is too outdated a vehicle to get me down my path

or if its not innovative enough

i keep pedaling thru more and more gears

but i will never pedal fast enough

to run away from myself

its like watching a black and white re-run of history

i almost fooled myself into believing

that it might not really be doomed to repeat

so i’ve been trying to alter the denoument

instead of just filling in the colors

so i’m counting the patterns in the landscape of my dreams

and its like i’m stuck in the eye of a tornado

a living breathing testament to contradiction

if death and life are polar opposites

then how can i feel so dead inside

yet for the first time feel truly alive

and if chaos and calmness share no similar qualities

then why do i feel so peaceful

when i’m slowly going insane

its like i’m trying to balance

my aspirations on the edge of a cliff

i need to know there’s something solid beneath my feet

but i have to throw caution to the wind

and now it feels like i’m chained to two trains

running in different directions

and each steam engine is pumping

red hot ashes into the air

until my lungs are filled

with the pungent smoke of confusion and rage

but this chip on my shoulder keeps

giving me flack about taking it like a man

so i take a deep breath and hold in my hit

i should’ve stayed invisible

i could’ve easily given

the world a cold shoulder

and just said

forget about it

i yam what i yam

but back then i couldn’t

but back then i couldn’t

or rather wouldn’t understand

so i’m still holding in my hit

as i await the end of this childhood hangover

and its like watching my spirit regurgitate my soul

as my body rejects the bitter truth

but i suck in more smoke and i hold in that hit

and i hold on to that rage and that confusion

and that confusion and that rage

that rage and that confusion

and that confusion and that rage

so i’m still holding in my hit

as i helplessly sink to the bottom

of the wave pool of reality

and i’m calling out to anyone

or anything that might be listening

to please toss me a life vest

oh God

allah, mohommed, buddha, jesus, moses, confuscious

osiris, isis, zeus and hades, vishnum brahma, jah, jehova

oh God

help this child of yours escape to freedom

The Wildside Lounge

if you’re here for an english 101 lesson

on the literary profession

or a starbucks cafe luncheon

with scholarly discussion

then you’re in the wrong place

if you’re here for a 3 keg drinkin’

brain cell count sinkin’

one half night standin’

underhanded romancin’

rum and coke spicin’

freaknik enticin’

night on the town

then you’re in definitely in the wrong place

this here’s the wildside lounge

where hungry poets scrounge and scrap for

artistic meals to feed their overwhelming hunger

and seek out open mic sessions

that let us teach lyric lessons

rhyme and reason force artwork into university treason

droppin’ verbal shells that keep our clientele bleedin’

and its always huntin’ season

students be actin’ fowl

so we maintain our midnight prowl

in search of a campus home

that we can truly call our own

written words come to life when spoken aloud

calling all poets

calling all poets

calling out to all you writers

dreamers

believers

teachers and preachers

professors of wisdom

protectors of expressions

guardians of creativity

craftsmen of vision

all you muses

lyracists

catchers of dreams

verbal musicians

composers of passion

keepers of the faith

calling out to all you poets worldwide

hope you’re ready to get wild

as we put our verbal smack down

cause for one night only

the circus is in town

hey y’all

look around

the circus in town

the circus is the town

and you never get out of town

Meditations on Meditation (fragments)

a single moon, clear and bright
                            in an unclouded sky
yet still we stumble in this world's darkness

how simple and chaste were the words of the ancients
calligraphic star charts of mystery and sage wisdom
mapping out the middle passage
                                         from the square to the circle
                                         the chaff to the grain

inspiration poems are the best
not to take anything away from those complex ideas
that curve along like a twisted valley carved
from years of weathered toil and erosion
setting the boundaries on our mental tributaries

its the impulsive trips downstream that bring us closer to home
             the next step is always right before the eyes

obscurity
             passion
                         brutal honesty
                                           that's a good start

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ikkyu said it best:
writing something to leave behind is another kind of dream
            when i awaken i know that there will be no one to read it

the true master lowers himself into illusion every time he speaks
what is there to be said for the natural born teacher

your genius must remain as hidden as your pending insanity
a cerebral solar flare that eclipses the icy caverns of neptune
runs circles round mantras

shimmering mellow tones of grey luminosity
reach up to the stratosphere and cry freedom
sometimes in silence,
sometimes aloud

the true master lowers himself into illusion every time he speaks
what's the there to be said for the natural born teacher

sisyphean griot destined to translate the circumference of pi
into astronomical units that the people can consume

bring the people together and watch what comes forth

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its june again,
          the sweltering humidity of southern california
clings to you like red and blue lights to a rear view mirror

the lengthening days provide ample time for idleness
the devil's underground thought chop shop

welded scraps of inert musings high jacked before the test run
patched and plated notions
scratched free of the grade school serial digits
the carefree ponderings of the silly old bear

unharnessed cogitations like newly pubescent wild-beast
untamable and massively self-destructive

prisoner of war to my own negative energy
the spiraling gyre caught in retrograde motion

when did my thoughts get so damn complicated
i wish i were pooh

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another hazy 78-degree afternoon
life goes on, as it always does

body surfers catch their foamy waves
round eyed kids build beachside castles

just near the water later day sun sparkles in the salt stiffened sand

me, i need only one grain to set my mind back to the task
of contemplating the expanses of the universe

the mental state of my joyful solitude blows freely like the wind
            deeply like the earth
                                           and passionately
            like the rays of the sun

from the whisperings of the grass to the heartbeat of the trees
i am one with time

lonely only when i have no one with which to share
the beauties of the cosmos

like the ocean's symphony of sound
crashing in, fading out, and crashing in again
rainbow tinted eyelids that shield from amber brilliance

reflected vibrations from the giver of life
sending their praises skyward
along with everything that has breath

The War Poem

aftermath of destruction sparks newfound discernment
hear the wind blow thru the treetops, and the north star is burning

in the streets, the paper chase has lowered a veil
and each nation is keeping its greatest leaders in jail

what a time to return, resurrected in the sand
tarnish the name if freedom to exercise my plan

the ballot is a shackle, a leader without a fan
a legal lynching is swung by the executive branch

see, i was born from out the valley of the sweat from the field
brotherhood was the bond that his jealousy killed

the sword kept my hunger supreme, gun powder snuck from the east
destruct the present in the air that you breathe

i wrote the topic when they chopped the map of Africa's shores
slayed the natives with the syphilis of European whores

camouflaged in the likeness of truth, a guillotine is my tooth
nuked Japan, and almost wiped out the jews

took up the tactics of gorillas when the jungle was lost
i brought the thunder to the desert bombing churches and mosques

innocent lives were taken, the banner is stepping clear
they'll never understand my greatest weapon is fear

some say the seventh seal will open the flash of a gun
they tell me love can not be stolen, but i'll blast it and run

re-mastered the plunge, free falling lie addicts for fun
i'll make a ruthless paratrooper out your first born son

fresh outta graduation aiming at that first million
a twisted capsule shot the shrapnel thru his grill and was done

took his eyes from the hairs of the cross in hesitation
the moment was lost and now his lungs are suffocating

grasping the finger of a friend from class, he collapsed to the grass
and i just sat back and laughed

squadrons are armed with a vengeful force
see the comrades, carving out a lions war

thought he had the game won, caught him with a flame gun
my name up out your mouth, and we'll keep this hit the same, son

label me a psycho, travel as the night blows
tattoo on my chest is an auto-matic rifle

veterans will die slow, money is my cycle
took my overhead just to fund the spread of white blow

governments been using me, genocide ain't new to me
young people stay high, then go be all that you could be

unemployed recruitment, thats how i get you sent
from the liquor store, now you scrubbing floors at boot camp

mind control is dominant, allegiance i want all of it
took religion's hand, now we forming a conglomerate

terror brought me prominence, tragic like the towers that fall
you keep your greatest enemy the closest of all

i set the court for black crime, that's how I attack minds
send them overseas, now that's fifty brothas flat line

realize, victory or death, the world is mine
its like a jungle sometimes

If I Could Find The Spot Where Truth Echoes...

if i could find the spot where truth echoes
i would stand there
and scream

i would let the disjointed shrieks of my nightmares
drown out the apathetic whispers of my day

today i vow to cast off comfort
like a ragged cloak desperately clung to
yet no more fit to protect from the wind

a trojan blankey
enshrouding my potential
in the form of a cold drink
and a warm couch

i always knew the answers would only bring more questions
but i never felt the cold futility that comes along with it
                                                                                  until now

i ask myself why the person i want to be
does not shape and mold my inner most desires
i ask myself why the skyscraping dreams of my tomorrows
do not pour their concrete mold into the muddied out footsteps of my now

Covering Your Bases

So we've recently moved into a new phase with my start-up company, Black August Entertainment.
I'm currently pitching a couple of sitcom pilots I wrote, and I've just been commissioned to produce
a documentary feature for an up and coming New York actor.

The tricky part of all this comes into play with the paper work. A non disclosure agreement is the
industry standard in protecting two sides of a creative project in the early stages. Yet for some reason
it seems to be a taboo thing to bring up in a meeting. Let it be known, if anyone has a problem with
signing a non disclosure form they are not worthy of partnering up on anything so small as a youtube
channel idea, more or less a real scripted project. I'll say it again, if they have an issue with a non
disclosure form, let them go, its not worth it in the long run. I know people who are life long friends in LA that already made a million dollar project, and they lost it all suing each other over legal matters.

Its not worth it, do the paper work before you begin.

Another growing trend that seems to be plaguing actors these days is the whole issue of being forced to sign on to a project without being allowed to read the script. In my opinion, this is a deal breaker.
Far too often what happens is you the actor gets thrown into a film or a tv concept, only to have to
quit the project half way through. This makes you look bad and can damage a budding reputation.
It is far better to politely show interest, but request to see the full script before you hop on board.
If they want you bad enough, they'll allow it. And if you aren't being allowed to view the full script, there's probably a red flag reason for that. Better for them to look bad now, than for you to look bad later.

Thinking of Jasmine While Reading Bukowski

Thinking of Jasmine While Reading Bukowski

What happened to the young poets,

those wild eyed freshly glazed double walled pottery vessels

of unmitigated passion and radical thought,

The last vestiges of ardor to a porcelain culture

that has grown ‘comfortably numb’.

Have they all turned to “slam”?

Have they grown so desperate for fortune and fame

that they have forgotten the pre requisite heat,

or the patience of the granulated press,

the shoulders upon which they stand.

Such things have no place in pop culture.

What happened to the young poets?

The ones that sit to the back of the cafe, brooding over

Neruda, or Baraka, yearning to transcribe a classical tone

into a modern litany of vigor and zeal.

What happened to the young poets?

Have they traded their lotus blossoms and Kerouac outings

for a shot at an idol celeb? Cashed in their Langston

and Bronte for a platinum mixtape and an itunes jingle?

Are they gone from us forever,

Or are they just

Deferred