passion

i wonder. how does love evolve? i know about the burning embers signifying its beginning, when my fingers are siezed with an addiction to touch the skin of my new lover. it's right around the time when my mind is drunk from thoughts of him after imbibing his image with the thirst of an alcoholic in her first week of rehabilitation. it's when my blood boils to the point of leaving third degree burns on all of my internal organs. it's when each and every one of my senses are held hostage by the soothing invasion of his voice into my bones, while the look in his eyes encroach upon every last secret i've ever held in my life, including the ones i forgot i even had.

i know there can be passion without love. it's not like i've loved every last brotha i've slept with, unless by "love" you mean "my skin loved the feel of him under me, over me, and inside of me." if that's the case, then i still can't say i've loved every brotha i've slept with, cuz some of those instances were just plain bad.

what i want to know, though...can there be love without passion? i don't mean the kind of love one has for a relative. i'm talking about that love one has for the one he or she has chosen to spend the rest of his or her life with. is that how it's supposed to be once folks have been together for years? is passion so incendiary that it can't help but die out eventually? is that the natural progression of relationships? can a person be in love with someone and not feel passionate about that person? i don't see how that's possible.

the window gets smaller...

the death of peter jennings affected me more than i realized it would. around the time he took over as anchor of the national news on abc, i was a burgeoning being of pubescent teenhood, not yet a teen but no longer a child who was blissfully unaware of the drama playing out around me. his telecasts were among the first i viewed as a mind curling around the idea of things actually happening outside of my neighborhood. i can remember how his voice, deep and crystalline like a clear pond one could see to the bottom, beckoning to me from the television. it was inviting and mellow, yet urbane, like a summer stroll in central park. frankly, i thought he was british, but that's because his accent sounded just different enough for me to know he wasn't from the US. his face featured aspects i had never seen before, being a black girl growing up in the ghetto. he was very handsome to me, although i still had a heartstopping crush on marcus allen, the most beautiful man in the world to me at that time.

mind you, i didn't watch world news tonight every day. in fact, i spent most of that time reading. however, my parents watched it faithfully, so i could always hear his voice from my bedroom, every now and then interrupting my devouring of the tales of pippi longstocking with hiccups of the real world. his voice was the soothing tether that kept me connected to the people and events taking place outside of pippi's world of adventures.

as the years went on and i went from child to teenager to adult, jennings' voice was one of the few constants threaded throughout the events of all of these eras. jennings the newscaster was the guy i was watching when the challenger disaster occurred. i was on the phone call with two of my friends, my eyes sporadically shifting to the television as i watched the shuttle take off. i was lounging on the couch and listening to a joke one of my friends had just said when i glanced back at the television just in time to see the challenger explode. i wasn't even sure what i had just seen. i rewound my mind, trying to remind myself that i was indeed watching the challenger take off. then i heard jennings say "the challenger has just exploded". i remember dropping the phone and putting both hands to my mouth to cradle the startled gasp that feel from my lips. the world was suddenly a scary place because i had just witnessed seven people die. by the time i grabbed the phone and put a rushed ending to the adolescent and innocent conversation, my adolescence and innocence were draining from me in the wake of what i had just experienced.

i was at home by myself, which made it worse because i had nobody to tell me everything would be alright. nobody except for jennings. his voice was calm and his demeanor was in control as he explained what i had just saw. i hung to his voice and image like the sight of a boat's crew clinging to the beam of light from a lighthouse during a violent storm. he was my beacon right then, his voice the brandy calming my nerves as i tried to wrap my mind around the moment. i sat in front of the television for hours, not watching but listening. i couldn't focus my eyes, but my ears grabbed onto everything fiercely. by the time my mom got home later in the day, i had calmed and was able to function again. i thank jennings for that.

he did the same for me on september 11. he made sense of an act that was senseless on a day that left me without sensation, only a numbness that lingered for weeks afterwards. however, his presence on my television on that day brought me the remembered calm of the challenger disaster. watching him that day, i felt as though i was cloaked in a treasured blanket of protection, one i pulled out of the closet every time i was feeling vulnerable. he was that treasured blanket for me.

the door to the era of my childhood has been closed for some time now, but it seems the window in the door becomes smaller with the passing of more of the people who lived today as my links to it. i know it is selfish of me to wish for them all to live eternaly, if only for the purpose of ensuring me the ability to conjure up feelings and images from my childhood with but a flick of a channel, but i can't help it. i can't help but feel that the death of jennings has forever robbed me of one more thread connecting me to the experiences to my past.

one more pane in the window on the door to my past that has been forever blackened, robbing me of sight into those times i experienced with his canadian flavored voice drumming in the background.

so long peter. i will miss you.

god, this is hard...

and i'm not talking about a penis. i'm talking about life. i read this morning that our governor cried because we lost a number of georgia soldiers in the war this week. i want to feel his pain but all i feel is pissed. his tears don't wash away the bullshit surrounding our involvement in iraq. his remorse (if it really exists) won't bring those soldiers back alive. why cry now? why the show of emotion now when there have been soldiers dying since the beginning of this fucking war? what does he hope to accomplish by shedding his bullshit tears?

taking american history this semester at school has reminded me of how eager america has been to go to war in other countries. during the cold war, we acted like we were so much better than the soviets, claiming they were so aggressive with their desire to spread communism that they would go to war with anybody. meanwhile, it has been america that has covertly sent military all around the world to preserve "democracy". what makes our desires any less threatening than that of the old soviet union? what makes our intentions any better than that of saddam hussien? no really, someone tell me why it's so necessary for america to go into countries that aren't "democratic" and basically force them to be like us. now before you decide to berate me for not being patriotic enough, remember that i come from a group of people who have NEVER had the unconditional support of the american government. we have NEVER operated in an american society where our skin color didn't matter. so forgive me (or don't, cuz i really don't give a shit if you do or not) if i'm not unconditionally supporting the government or for that matter, blindly accepting the notion that the american government is above nefarious dealings.

so back to the original reason for my cynicism. georgia's governor shed a few drops of salty water to express his grief over the senseless loss of life taking place in iraq. big fucking deal. why not try shedding some of that ignorance and demand bush end this war. otherwise, you can keep your tears, perdue.

oh blog, how i've neglected thee...

this past week was hectic indeed. did the family reunion thing from thursday to today and they wore me out.

then dex called me on friday night to tell me our apartment was flooded. most of my book collection was ruined, as was much of my yarn, including the piece i baby blanket i had just started for my brother's baby. dex's comic book collection took a SERIOUS hit, as most of the boxes were on the floor. i think 95% of his books got wet, and he's got over a thousand of them. i felt really bad for him.

so now we're moving to another apartment in the same building, only a flight down. i've got finals on wednesday and tomorrow is my birthday. this is never.gonna.end.

i'm tired as shit right now, so i won't say much more. i just figured i should say something before the clit withers from neglect.

is there something in the water in hollywood?

it seems like all of these celebrities are getting married all of a sudden, and they're doing it after knowing folks for just a couple of months. what da hell is going on here?

best depiction of me EVAR.

if i were on south park, i'd kick cartman's ass and then make him lick my toes.

i decided to take a leave of absence from the poverty pimps

initially i was gonna quit, but decided to instead take a leave of absence so that i can use their resources to set up my own non-profit organization. it's a rather sneaky plan because i plan on leaving them permanently when the leave of absence is up at the end of september.

i just can't stay any longer. they're so fucking corrupt. they get grants and then take the money and it disappears and the programs that were supposed to benefit from the money have nothing to show for it. i'm beginning to believe there are more corrupt non-profits out there than those that are non-corrupt. it's the cynic in me. non-profits were established to serve the community. think about it though...what if the very problem that required the existence of a non-profit was suddenly eliminated? if adult literacy was no longer a problem, what would happen to those organizations that were established to battle against it?

unfortunately, too many non-profit folks are fearful of idea that they will no longer be needed and therefore, have made a concerted effort to make sure they're ALWAYS needed. they make sure they're only effective enough to ensure they receive additional funding, as if the promised land of empowerment for all is always just beyond their grasps, just a few dollars away from being attained. i see them make the community members dependent upon them instead of making the members independent and empowered enough to feel as though they can succeed despite the obstacles.

that's the kind of organization i work for. the kind where the people running it don't actually like to engage on a personal level with the people who are benefitting from their programs. they're the kind of people who lament about the problems but don't see the humanity in the people they're supposed to serve. they don't witness the pride, intelligence, and beauty within these people. they don't see the importance of treating the people they serve as though their thoughts mattered, as though THEY mattered. the people i work for instead only see the service and how it can promote their prominence in the community. they go on and on about the awards they received (the last one being damn near five years ago from some obscure entity) and care nothing of the impact upon the community unless it has something to do with promoting their image in a positive light.

and i'm fucking tired of being surrounded by people like that. i want to know that with every minute of effort i put into the community, i'm doing it representing an organization that actually gives a shit about the community instead of just taking a shit upon its head. if this means i've gotta set up my own organization than so be it. it would be worse for me not to do anything at all. i hope the success of those i serve will make the existence of my organization unnecessary. hell, i fucking PRAY that day comes. i pray for a day when there is no longer a need to assist those who suffer from the results of socioeconomic inequality because those folks will no longer exist.

dex thinks i'm a cynic, and i know that's part of me. however, the beat of my heart drums to the rhythm of an optimist. i told him "don't look to my mouth for proof of what i am, look to my hands to see what they're doing. if afterwards, you still see only a cynic, then at least recognize that the cynic in me is motivated to change things so that i won't have to be a cynic the rest of my life."

what to do?

my body is no longer familiar to me. i stare at my hands and wonder when they suddenly started looking older. when did my fingers first start twitching uncontrollably? when did the skin on them become dry and unappealing? when did the bones within them become arthritic? i look at my hands and wonder what story they're silently trying to impart to me. are they whispering to me that my health needs to be addressed? is there something going on within my body that i'm overlooking?

i've been going in circles for years trying to figure out why my body appears to be disintergrating before my eyes. i wish i knew where to start trying to find answers.

john the neighbor

the evicted neighbor john still hasn't stopped by to pick up the remainder of his stuff. i've got two big televisions and a bunch of knick knacks on my front porch. i'm not complaining, though. i just wonder what has happened to him. i want to call him, but i don't want him to think i'm pestering him. frankly, i just want to make sure the guy isn't homeless or something. btw, the other neighbor who took some of john's stuff in, told me a week ago that evidently john is addicted to porn. i ask how he would know. he tells me john's bureau (which is currently on his porch) has almost three hundred porn tapes stuffed throughout it. i have to wonder if all of his maturbating distracted him from paying his rent. i know from time to time masturbating is the only thing on my mind, but eventually bills have to get paid. there are priorities, you know?

the neighbor (whose name is also john), is another older white gentleman. however, his daughter is a precocious ten year old who is part black. they have a wonderful relationship and she's smart as hell. john has been extremely friendly with me since he and his daughter moved in. one day i'm standing out in the hallway talking to him about the porn tapes and he tells me he can't do anything with the tapes because none of them had interracial sex scenes. i just looked at him and grinned. he said milk didn't taste good unless it had some chocolate in it. he winked and laughed. wtf?

hell, i didn't know what to do with that there. i normally flirt, but i wasn't sure if he was gonna take my flirting seriously, so i just coughed and ended the conversation with another laugh about the porno tapes before i headed back inside my apartment.

evidently being married means i've got a "fuck me i'm available in a married sort of way" sign on my forehead. then again, talking about porn makes everyone want to fuck, so it probably meant nothing.

damn, here i go talking about sex again. let me call dex. he's got some things to handle...

interracial relationships

while the fact that my brother's recent revelations have definitely been on my mind, the issue of interracial relationships is one i've put alot of thought into for a while. why? because as a black woman i can't help but see the pattern of how rich black guys end up marrying white women. however, as dex has pointed out to me, this phenomenon isn't nearly as prevalent as i led myself to believe. in fact, there are many affluent black men who marry black women.

that is, unless of course that guy is a hollywood actor.

and that's what had me thinking about it today.

have you ever noticed that when interracial romance of black/white is taking place in a movie, the two people aren't depicted to be as affectionate as when both people are white? i notice it all of the time. what's worse, if there is an interracial relationship, nine times out of ten the guy is black and the female is white. why is that worse? well, have you noticed how many relationships between two loving black people are depicted on television or the movies? for that matter, do you see many black women in fulfilling relationships being depicted on television or the movies? if not for the show soul food, i'd almost believe black folk didn't know how to get along with each other. the problem i have isn't with the interracial relationships, but the implication that black men and women can't sustain loving and fulfilling relationships with each other, thereby making it a necessity for black men to seek other women out as lifemates. there simply isn't enough black on black love shown on tv or in the movies to disprove this, unfortunately.

and so if black women can't get along with black men, where does that leave us? well, according to hollywood, it basically leaves us alone and bitter, bitching out every black man who steps into our paths. wait...that also leaves us as scantily clad freaks who don't mind shaking our tits and asses just so we can be pawed in a music video by some rap artist who sticks a credit card up our cracks.

i was watching a movie last night where robert deniro was romantically involved with angela bassett. at the end, where i would normally see a kiss between the couple who were reunited after being apart, i instead saw a meek hug and then them walk off arm in arm.

i guess i should be grateful a black woman got any love at all. there has been a more recent trend of black women with white men in movies, but even then, i think there's a conscious effort to stick with the "safe" black women. thandie newton is one of those black women who you have to place in a certain light just to see the melanin in her skin. she could pass for white with a really nice tan if she tried. she's the black woman most likely paired with white men if a romance is involved. halle berry is another. angela bassett was in two movies with interracial relationships with white men, the most recent one being the score from 2001. frankly i was shocked because there is no way you can look at angela and see anything but her african features and coffee brown skin. that's not "safe" at all. however, that kind of situation is very rare. in these instances, it seems like the black woman is appealing only if her african features are subdued to the point of being eliminated.

meanwhile, the trend of black men with white women has been going on for way longer than that. also, the black guy doesn't have to be so fair-skinned that he won't be a threat to the people watching. in fact, most of the guys tend to be dark-skinned, as if to say that their african features is part of the appeal for the white women who choose them. on e.r., both of the brothas from the show had distinctive african features. both were successful doctors. both ended up dating women who weren't black.

the black guy on scrubs falls in love and marries a hispanic woman. the black male doctor on grey's anatomy is involved with an asian woman while the black female doctor is depicted as yet another bitter and emotionally distant black woman who can't seem to get a man, let alone keep one. kevin hill had a black lawyer who was basically dating everything under the sun. i can't count him because it was obvious the producers had no intention of him ever settling down.

if there was more black on black love being shown on tv and in the movies (but especially television), i wouldn't be concerned with interracial relationships on television and beyond at all because then the message was that love really IS color-blind.

as it is, the message right now is that black women and men aren't compatible and because the media has influence, i wonder if that has contributed to interracial relationships established under the assumption that black on black love is impossible unless it's just fucking. i wonder if this is why black women aren't seen as appealing by men as women of other ethnicities are.

we interrupt this regularly scheduled family drama for a word from our sponsors...

what.a.week.

last friday a friend of mine died at the age of 35 of bone cancer. he lived almost exactly a year after his diagnosis. he leaves behind a wife and daughter and a bunch of family and friends who will miss him dearly.

dex went out of town to charlotte last weekend for a convention, and i stayed home and hung out with friends. i'll be talking about that in a future post, believe me.

i finally decided to quit the second gig i have as a program coordinator for a girls technology program. it was a tough decision to make, but i'm tired of working for poverty pimps. i'll be meeting with them next week to put in my notice, and hopefully i'll be able to volunteer my services elsewhere until i can get my own non-profit organization off of the ground.

wednesday i had a midterm in my american history class. NINE essay questions. NINE. and i had three hours to answer them. by the end, i felt as though my hand had been run over by a train and every cell of my brain had been sucked dry by a vampire with an insatiable thirst for knowledge. i think i lost ten pounds in just brain matter alone.

last night i hit my tiniest foot toe against the ottoman in the living room and now it has swelled to the size of a horse's nutsack. i can't walk on it without pain shooting through my foot, but i can move it so i know it's not broken. this guarantees i'll be limping around for the july 4th weekend. DAMN.

today i'm at home resting the toe after calling in to work. i'm sure they're not happy about me not being there, but they can kiss my ass. i've got my foot elevated and iced up.

family drama...

it's 9 p.m. eastern standard time and i'm thoroughly engrossed in one of the books i had just picked up from the used book store earlier in the day. $1.35 had brought me a one way ticket to 19th century texas where i was now sitting quietly in the corner of a smoky saloon, watching a dashing dark-haired saloon owner nurse a glass of whiskey as he tried to convince himself he wasn't in love with the pretty and prim hat-maker next door. right when he was about to experience the epiphanic moment all heroes experience in romance novels, his thoughts and my observation are interrupted by a 21st century phone ring.

i glance up from the book, reluctant to answer it. damnit. it always happens right before the good parts. i'm either interrupted right as the heroine is about to become ravaged by her arduous lover, or when the hero realizes with a start that he's in love with the heroine. sighing, i glance to see what page i'm on before dropping the book to the floor.

the phone rings one more time before i get to it. caller id tells me it's my brother aswad. i glance at the clock again to make sure it's actually a decent time of the evening for him to be calling me, as the three hour time difference means i'm usually getting a phone call from him a little after midnight. him calling me this early means a new mobile phone billing cycle or something's up and he's willing to pay .50 cents a minute.

i pick up the phone and answer it.

"hello?" i rarely acknowledge i know the person who's calling me in the initial greeting, as i've never been comfortable with the idea of letting someone know i know who's calling me. whenever i've done it in the past, i always end up feeling like i've just revealed the identity of batman to all of gotham city.

"wassup big sis," he says. now that he's in san diego, his voice always sounds like there's a sigh waiting to burst at the end of his sentences, like an exploding period. it's so obvious he doesn't want to be there and a part of me wishes i could be there with him.

"yo, wassup 'swad," i say, gladness in my voice at the sound of his in my ear. "what's goin' on witchu?"

"nothin'. what's goin' on witchu?"

"nothin'."

the conversation always starts out with the same inquiry said in the same way. it's like a ritual. if it doesn't go down just like that, that's the cue that something's not right. knowing that the ritual is complete leaves me feeling relieved and i make a quick silent prayer thanking god my brother isn't calling me with bad news.

with the receiver up to my ear, i walk over to the couch and plop down on it. i can hear the wood beneath the fabric and cushion creak a little. almost time for some new furniture. "so you must have new minutes or else you wouldn't be calling me during prime time on your coast," i said.

"and you know this, man." he's still using this line despite the fact that even chris tucker abandoned it years ago.

"so how's san diego?" i ask as if i don't already know what he's gonna tell me.

"san diego has beautiful weather, beautiful scenery, and no black folk."

i roll my eyes.

"dude, did you really think you'd see black folk out in san diego?" atlanta and new york are rarities in that you can find not just one black community, but many. living in both cities had spoiled both of us as kids. we didn't think we could ever go to a place and not see a bunch of folks who looked just like us. then aswad moved to san diego and experienced a culture shock that still left him dazed and confused.

"it's not like i expected san diego to be a black mecca or anything, but i thought it at least had a 'black folk section' of town." even after being there for months, aswad was still frustrated by this bit of reality.

"go to oakland. i'm sure you'll find plenty of black folk there."

"i'm not traveling all the way to oakland just to find a black person," he replied sardonically.

"well then, either get over it or move back new york," i replied just as sardonically.

"damn, nik! cut a brotha some slack, will you?" he usually caught me in a more sympathetic mood, but i was still a little perturbed at being pulled away from my reading. i stretched out further on the sofa, my feet on top of some cushions i had pushed down with my left heel. now that i knew aswad didn't call for anything specific, i figured we were in for at least an hour of conversation about everything and nothing.

"so, how's dex?"

"dex is fine. working as usual. his quills see him more than i do. if he could fuck his quills, he'd probably never have married me."

"heh."

aswad is a confirmed bachelor, so he gets a special kick out of hearing my complaints regarding my marriage. i think he's trying to justify his reasoning for remaining a bachelor.

"so what else is going on?"

"um..." he hesitated. he NEVER hesitates. what da hell is going on here?

"what's up, 'swad? you need some money or something?" i was hoping it was as simple as that. aswad never asks for money cuz i usually just send him any extra i've got.

"um..." he started again. "i'm gonna be a father."

"WHAT??"

"yeah."

i waited for him to continue cuz i could tell he had something else to say. aswad sighed deeply before continuing.

"and she's white."

to be continued...

this day has started off pretty damn awfully...

it started with me oversleeping. this after i actually got to bed last night before 11 p.m. i heard the alarm go off this morning, but i shut it up knowing that i always wake up about ten minutes later. well, that didn't happen today. i woke up fifteen minutes before i was supposed to be at work. so i get to work about ten minutes late.

i get in to the office and my boss tells me he wants to talk to me after i get settled. by the time we meet up, i'm tense because i know he's gonna address the late issue. well, the meeting sucked. not only does he get on my ass about being late today (when the last time i was late was over a month ago. OVER A MONTH AGO), he proceeds to talk about the fact that i didn't have some documents ready for a seminar that took place yesterday. meanwhile, i was forced to take yesterday off because i had worked on a saturday a couple of weeks ago, so i couldn't be there. the documents were still ready, nobody even bothered to look in my office next to my desk. i told him this. then he says i was supposed to be at the seminar to help out. i reminded him i COULDN'T be at the fucking seminar because HE TOLD ME i had to take off yesterday.

do you see where this is going? it was like no matter what i told him to explain the situation, he found something else to bitch about. it was like he HAD to find some way to justify the meeting and him getting in my ass. i told him he needed to sit back and rationally think about what he's mad about regarding my performance because it appeared he was pissed off more than he should have been, given what i've brought to the fucking group. he didn't say anything to that.

it's times like this when i hate my job. REALLY hate it. i have routinely gone above and beyond what's expected of me and nobody ever says shit about that. meanwhile, as soon as one miscommunication occurs, i've got to meet with my boss.

i have to keep reminding myself that they're paying for my education and that in the end, this will all be worth it. they're gonna pay for my education until i get my fucking ph.d. then i'm gonna cuss every last one of those bastards out.

*sigh*

damn. i can't drop the class after all...

turns out if i drop the class, i'm ineligible for tuition assistance next semester. DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN.

i'm gonna have to suffer through the class for the next seven weeks. someone kill me now. PLEASE.

i've thought long and hard like a penis about this...

and i've decided to drop the american lit class. i'd rather add another class in the fall than to suffer through that woman's lecture for one more minute. hell, i'd rather gnaw on my own toe after it's been stuck up a hippo's ass than to sit in her class for another second.

although i've no doubt she would have been great material for the blog.

summer school = torture.

i'm taking both american history and american literature for the summer semester. i figure it made sense because then i could basically use the knowledge attained from american history to better understand the social aspects of the stuff in american literature.

the first day in the american history class, i'm pleasantly taken aback by the instructor. she's a petite blond, young and enthusiastic. and she told us immediately that if we were in her class to learn about the history of only dead white men, we should drop her class. i couldn't stop grinning! she hasn't disappointed, either. while school only started this week, she has already put a decidedly world view to the way in which she teaches her course. she's basically teaching it with an emphasis on how history unfolded and how it shaped the sexual, racial, and cultural drama of today. i'm friggin diggin this class.

on the other side of the coin is the fucking yawner from my american literature class. she's also a petite blond who's young. turns out she's also someone who is already addicted to the sound of her own voice. all she does is talk, talk, talk. rarely does she engage the class participants or ask us how we interpret stuff. she spends half the damn class explaining the definition of terms everyone in the class already know. this isn't a class of freshman fillies, scratching our heads trying to figure out what a metaphor is, but that didn't stop her from spending ten minutes of a three hour lecture defining the word.

for goodness sakes, the creature actually read us an elementary-level book on colonial life, complete with kiddie illustrations. i kept closing my eyes and wishing a gunman would burst into the room and shoot me. i would have wished for her to be shot, but that would mean i'd have to deal with her incessant babbling in hell (cuz we all know i ain't goin to heaven and her fucking torture of a lecture guarantees her a place right next to satan himself). it got so bad that at one point i raised my hand just so another voice could break through the cloying air of the sounds coming from her mouth. it took everything in me not to yawn loudly before grabbing my shit and bouncing, right in the middle of her droning. afterwards, all i wanted to do was take a shower and wash myself of her lecture that had leeched itself to my skin and sucked out every last drop of enthusiasm i ever had for the written word.

pray for me. she's rather small and i really could strangle her with no problem.

what da hell is his name, anyway???

i came home yesterday to find the fulton county marshall parked right in front of my parking space. after maneuvering my car around them, i backed up slowly into the space, fretful of what they could be there for. in my experience, marshals are around to either evict or arrest. i quickly scanned my brain for any evidence of recent transgressions before deciding i was innocent of anything they'd be there for.

getting out of the car, i walk towards the entrance to my apartment building. the driver of the marshall's car rolls down his window and says "we're not here for you."

"i figured that," i said hesitantly.

"we're here for your neighbor," he went on. i noticed then he was really attractive. i thought "they don't make the brothas anywhere else like they make them here in atlanta."

"i'm just glad i'm not the one getting tossed out this time," i said, my eyes glance up at the sky, which had been gray all day. then i looked at the ground, which had been wet all day. i glanced back up at the officer and said "this is a crappy time to get evicted. it's raining."

"we called the guy to let him know we were at his apartment about to evict him, but he said he couldn't leave because he was at work." the officer shook his head in disbelief, amazed the guy could remain at work knowing when he got back his stuff would be tossed out into a heap on the sidewalk.

"well, seeing as he's just lost his apartment, he probably thought it was a good idea to keep his job." the sarcasm was threaded through my voice, but luckily the marshall took no offense to it. by the time we said our good-byes, i was headed up the stairs to my apartment. on the way up, i notice the door to the guy's apartment open and some big sweaty white guy was tossing things unceremoniously into the stairwell. i instantly started to feel even more sorry for the guy at that point. funny, in the years i've been in the apartment, i never got his name. he was there when i moved in and that was five years ago, so he'd been living there at least that long. we'd always say hello if we saw each other in the stairwell or out by the cars, but the conversation never went further than that. my neighbor was a short and rotund man with pale white skin and a bushy beard. i figured he had to be between 40-50 years old.

what a fucked up thing to happen to a guy at that age.

i think this to myself as i step over his stuff, now partiallyl blocking my entry onto the next level of stairs. by the time i get to my apartment, i can still hear the guys in the apartment below, grunting as they shifted stuff around before tossing them out of the doorway. when i got into my apartment, i just dropped my things by the door and plopped down on the couch in the darkened living room, listening intently to the sounds of a person's home being torn apart and his future being torn into uncertainty. i felt helpless at that point.

the rain outside went from a light mist to the beginnings of a downpour. i sat there for what seemed like forever, trying to figure out what i could do to help this guy. i picked up the phone and called my mom.

"hello?" my mom's voice is like torn silk, smooth with a raspy edge because of her decades of smoking and drinking.

"wassup mom," i said, relieved to know she was home. i always get a little more paranoid when it rains and my folks are driving on the street. my dad was killed in a car accident on a rainy friday night, so i've never been able to shake the forboding that overcomes me on rainy days.

"what's going on?" she asks, concern in her voice because i usually don't call so early in the day.

"one of my neighbors is getting evicted and i've gotta do something, but i don't know what to do."

"is he there?"

"no."

"do you know a number where you can reach him?"

"no. i don't know him, mom."

"where are his things?"

"i'm not sure. i looked out back and i didn't see anything." as we're talking, i go into the bedroom and look out of the window. i can see his things piled up on both sides of the sidewalk leading to the apartment building. "oh, they're out front, mom."

"get his things and bring them inside. no telling who's already looking to take his things." at this point, mom's voice has gotten the authoritative tone to it, like she's about to start issuing orders. it's something i both love and hate about her.

"um, mom. my apartment is about as big as a gnat's ass. have you forgotten?"

"well, how much stuff does he have?" she inquired, the tone of her voice letting me know she didn't miss me cussing in front of her but deciding to let it slide this time.

"he's been living here longer than me, so i would think he's got a crapload of stuff."

"well grab what you can. i'm sure he'll appreciate it."

i instantly felt better.

i looked out of the window again after getting off the phone with mom and i saw some folks already perusing through the guy's stuff! damn, they don't waste any time the friggin vultures! my bedroom window was already open, so i just yelled really loudly "hey! those things don't belong to you and the owner will be here soon to get his things. i'm watching them until he gets here!"

the three men look up at the window, mouths agape at the surprise voice that appeared to boom down from the heavens. wait a sec, maybe that was a little melodramatic. they looked up in surprise at the voice of a woman shreiking for them to stop doing what they were doing.

they stood there for a minute, i guess at a standoff or something. were they trying to decide if they gonna heed what i said? i wasn't sure. either way, i wasn't about to let them go through and take my neighbor's stuff. i grabbed my keys and ran down the stairs to the front of the apartment building. bursting out of the door, i told them again to step away from his things. they continued to stare at me for another minute or so before deciding to walk away from the situation. i stood there a little frightened, cuz i didn't really know those cats and they could have just told me to go fuck myself and did what they wanted to do.

after expelling the breath i didn't realize i was holding, i looked at the disaster before me. my neighbor's stuff was everywhere. i didn't even know where to begin and it was starting to rain a little harder at this point. i just grabbed whatever i could carry and started heading upstairs to my apartment.

when i got down after the first load, my neighbor had pulled up and was walking around, surveying what had happened to his things. everything was soaked, as the rain had been a steady pour for a while at this point.

"i have some space in my apartment on the porch and you're more than welcome to use the space to store some of your things." i wasn't sure if he had even heard me cuz the look on his face was devastated and distant, like he couldn't believe it was actually happening. he looked at me for a moment.

"thank you so much for your kindness." i could tell he was fighting tears and i started to feel uncomfortable because i've never in my life witnessed an old white guy crying in front of me.

"it's aiight. let's get what we can so your stuff doesn't get ruined." we started grabbing things and taking them upstairs to my porch. after a couple of trips, one of our neighbors who stays across from me came down and started helping. next thing you know, three other neighbors pitched in. we ended up storing stuff on my porch and the porch of the neighbor across from me. despite that, there was still a shitload of stuff downstairs.

one of the people who was helping suggested we get tarp to cover what was left outside. my neighbor went to home depot while we started pushing stuff together so we could get as much stuff covered with tarp as possible. someone brought out some tarp they already had and covered his bed and mattress. i saw some tarp in a corner and covered some of his other things.

by the time it was all over, everything was covered in tarp and what wasn't covered was upstairs. the six of us were standing there, at last feeling a little better that we did what we could to alleviate the situation.

i gave my neighbor my phone numbers and he told me he would be back on friday to get his things. i told him i'll make sure i'm there so he can pick his stuff up.

then he walked away and i STILL didn't get his name.

i feel a little better now...

had to rant for a sec but now that i've gotten the anger off of my chest, i'm better. i should never have let it simmer for that long, as anger has a way of blackening the soul with permanent soot.

anywho, it's dreary here in the atl, and it looks like it's gonna be this way for the rest of the week. i'm gonna be leaving work early today to go and rest my weary body. i ate a piece of year old wedding cake last night and now i realize i shouldn't have done it. evidently the sugar content was enough to sieze my body and stamp it with the kind of pain that can cripple a person. i'm not sure what it is, but i'm gonna go to the doctor (like that'll help it). i've learned from past experience that doctors are little more than highly-paid speculators, checking off a list of symptoms before guessing what's wrong and then sticking some pills from a lucrative partnership into the patient's hand.

maybe i won't go to the doctor. hell, i can guess it on my own with enough research. either way, i'll get down to the bottom of this as soon as possible.

he knows he has to say goodbye without ever having said hello...

his loneliness grows as his form fades, his infinite yearning now but a trail of diamonds on the landscape below. he leaves them as a gift for his beloved.

he becomes bolder in his request for her attention as the sky turns midnight black.

his pleas for his lover's affection are whispered clouds of wishful thinking. he knows his calls will go unheeded as nature's movement means being forever just beyond his lover's reach.