Quitting.


I must quit you.
You speak to me,
as if I’m not there.
Then, You dissipate.
Together, we sing
so joyfully,
only to escape my spirit
in search of my soul.
What more melody
can I take in, 
until I am hooked
at first stanza’s end?
I know I am here.
And I sense corruption,
a cou-de-ta to make me into
a robot of dysfunction.
It’s been fun
even when I didn’t have none.
Just too many to choose from
all in one night.  When I do.
That is a lighter I never want to use again.

How Blue Bell turned me into a ‘Nana Puddin’ Junkie!


     Making the transition to the South was hard enough.  Leaving behind my mom’s historical southern flavor was enough to make me long day in and day out for home.  Upstate New York, sure there was a lot of cultural diversity…that is, museums, music festivals, but true conversation was never lacking.  As long as you definitely had something worthwhile to share, you were somewhat accepted.  Atlanta, Georgia had it all.  There, you wouldn’t have to look too hard to find an open cross-dresser, an open audition for a nondescript Tyler Perry film, a shopping mall that insisted on the valet of a Lamborghini, dog grooming salons that truly pampered your pooch in Hollywood glamour, and grocery stores with parking lots so clean you would think you had self-parked at a hotel resort.  ‘Nuff said, Atlanta was culture shock for the Northern Boy. 

     I managed to keep in shape.  Walking and a stellar gym membership became my pastimes.  That’s really how I kept up with the corporate Joneses.  Appearances meant everything in the new L.A.  Your reputation meant everything when it came to networking.  But, with keeping up appearances came the corporate dinners, albeit lunch or dinner.  For some, it was both.  I began to miss real flavor.  Just the first bar of my mom’s voice ached to ask her to FedEx a dinner my way.  There were a couple of places that came close to easing my homesick pain:  Mary Mac’s Team Room in Midtown and the Horseradish Grill.  Everything I ever devoured in the North was not all Southern.  It was just about the flavor.  That’s all.  And the only one who seemed qualified to satisfy me was my Mom.

     Maintaining my demeanor, I needed to relax, unwind.  It didn’t help any that Atlanta’s weather promoted even the chilliest of deserts – any time of the day or night.  I had always been a fan of Breyer’s ice cream in the North.  It was probably because it is the most widely distributed brand in the world.  While grocery shopping at Publix, the cleanest grocery store in all the South, one night after work (managing called for late hours), I found myself loathing the site of the salt-infested Breyer’s Butter Pecan ice cream that I had come to adore.  No other brands or tastes peaked my interest.  That is, until I noticed a yellow tub-container with a gold-rimmed lid.  It was Blue Bell.  It was Blue Bell Banana Pudding!  Had I found the flavor I was looking for?  Had I found that homesick replacement?   I couldn’t get home fast enough to tear open that sheer potential for goodness.  With the correct coloring, the moist but fresh vanilla wafers brought excruciating, yet delightful, joy to my palate.  I was hooked from the very first dip.  I found that I could eat this ice cream for breakfast.  Thank goodness my body didn’t welcome lactose intolerance.  But the late night night-cap in a Pier1 Import cereal bowl eased the discomfort of another busy day ahead. 

      I became so enthralled with Blue Bell’s Banana Pudding Ice Cream until I let all my northern friends and family members know what they were missing.  Some even asked if I could FedEx them a carton.  It wasn’t at all possible.  Soon, the thoughts of home subsided.  I would still frequent the popular restaurants in Atlanta…just as long as I could imagine what was waiting at home for me.  For six years, I continued the same routine:  working, dining out, Banana Pudding.  Notice I didn’t say, “working out?”  I did try to stay in shape by doing a few reps with free weights here and there, a few push-ups to keep the chest hefty, or even a few squat thrusts to…keep my pants up.  Once word spread about my newfound joy, I became delusional when I had to search different stores when Publix was out of my Banana Pudding.  The girls at the Customer Service Desk must have thought me neurotic the way I would nearly bang my head on the counter when they informed me of the next shipment of my fix.  Then, I was told that the drugstore CVS carried Blue Bell.  With gas prices not as high then as they are now, I didn’t mind going store-hopping.  CVS did charge a little more, but my CVS Advantage Card saved me considerably…at times.  It just didn’t save my waistline though.  My body seemed to had grown in the most obvious places.  I carried the weight of my world above and below my Coach belt.  I even began to seem more managerial to my guests.  All that weight was mistaken for solid muscle.  Okay, it still was muscle, but it savored a little something extra – like high-cholesterol, high-blood pressure, borderline diabetes.  I had suddenly contracted in the South what I should have contracted in the North because of Mom’s purity and sweetness.  Just when I thought the South would be my savior, it became my demise with the diagnosis of Blue Bell Banana Pudding Ice Cream.  Need I really say how much weight I bore?  Good.  Because it doesn’t matter.  All those wonderful years in the South found me now fleeing upward. 

     With age, you are not really expected to keep up the same look or physique from high school.  But I did exactly that while I was in the North.  One would think that as salty as any Breyer’s ice cream was I could have just been a catastrophe in the making.  Always on the go, always trying to be up on everything, maybe it was my mobility that kept me from falling earlier.  Once I became comfortable, I never really thought about the Joneses anymore.  My happiness was found in a bottomless tub with a gold-rim. 

     Back in the North, the absence of Blue Bell Ice Cream was both a blessing and a curse.  After so many years away, and the ceasing of praise towards such a culprit, Blue Bell could not be found.  I even wrote the President of Blue Bell, Corp. to ask as to when their brand could be purchased.  All I was told was that there weren’t any immediate plans to distribute it to the northeastern part of the country.  What a shame!  Even after my physical ailments cleared, I still found myself longing for the taste of Blue Bell’s Banana Pudding Ice Cream.  Because of all the work that is involved in the making of Mom’s own banana pudding, she couldn’t make it as often as I would like.  But she knows better.  Now, with the weight off and me back to my sociable self, I still crave my ‘Nana Puddin.’  I can’t even look at another kind or brand of ice cream as I did Blue Bell.  Its classy but deceptive packaging made me see just how much I have in common with the crack-head or recovering alcoholic.  I admit I am still a ‘Nana Puddin’ Junkie.  I really do hope there are no plans for Blue Bell in the Northeast.  If there are, I hope there’s a rehab facility that won’t laugh at my insurance plan.    

//

Like Somebody Other Than Myself


Six pills left

Until I see him next

I wish I didn’t have to

I hope I get lost this time

 

Standing there

Before the crowd

It’s just me

But there’s somebody else

 they wish to see

 

Will I say the right thing

Will I talk like I can sing

Will my hands and legs move and grove

So they can’t tell I can soothe

 

But I can’t do anymore

Than my body is alive for

I can’t be anything or anybody else

Like somebody other than myself

 

Playing this game

Just a symptom before a name

How do I let my real feelings show

Keep ‘em guessing or throw a blow

 

Seeking my end result

Though speaking to the leader of a cult

No generic for me

Need a taste of false reality

 

And when I go to cash them in

Shopping spree I’m ready to spend

A mental life lets it begin

Soon the bank will be my best friend

 

 

Glorious, but Notorious


Glorlous, but Notorious

Has this World got enough

room for us?

 

Dark Hands

Light Hands

Everybody wants to leave the stands

Prayers sent out in song

Faithful followers don’t know they’re wrong

 

Glorious, but Notorious

Has this World got enough

room for us

 

As pressure builds

Hearts are thrilled

Do it up with drink or get pilled

On the cover

of Page 6 News

Quite a different lover

Now you got the blues

Where are the clues, for fools?

 

Glorious, but Notorious

Can your body

hold all of us?

 

Over the seas

You are a hit

Bell-ringer breeze

Let ‘em catch you in their mitt

 

Clothes on

They see the diamond sign

Glorious, but Notorious

Make ‘em go blind before you’re out of time

Tick-Tock

Goes the pretty clock

Glorious, but Notorious

Who’s making all the fuss?

Open for Pain


Greasy your hands

Impatient are your glands

Potions corruptedly mixed

Smoldering shooting star nixed

Forgiveness nowhere in sight

Forbidden pleasures torturous fight

With x-ray vision

Only glancing no longer the mission

With every bend

Oblivious to how you offend

Take care and yet beware

Of every silent hyena’s stare

Sugar is gold becoming honey

Sap spread and the shot is money

Underneath your clothes

Bears an unopened rose

The bees will not sting

Until the joy you bring

And like a happy bird

You sing the way they all once heard

What a blow to the ego

When you are a no-show

But with each attempt

More coins are pimped

But when you pimp the limp

Who then becomes the wimp?

The Queen who rules the 24 hours

Even headless you have the powers

And though you give face

This is but a taste

Of the pleasures

And treasures

That satisfy the measures

Upon salacious pressures

Where are they

When you want to play

Or have one stay

Until the end of May

Cause that’s when all springs

Turn to hay

And the day

Will come

When the mighty sum

Gives you the thumb

Chasing you from the beat

And off the heat

Before you are covered with the sheet

That turns the biggest trick

Of no longer keeping you sick

Cause that’s when all springs

Turn to hay

Blessing you with all pain brings

Every time your smarts you lay

Awakening

Forsaking

Shaking while

Making it just for the taking

Take care and beware

Of every Greek hyenas lair

Before you chase your hair

Away from all that is fair

Cause that’s when all springs

Turn to hay

Beating at your door with pain it brings

Will your voice pray

Before or after the dues they pay?

Is not a Muppet

A puppet?

No matter how you tuck it

Someone’s hand has to stuff it

Unclean hands

Spoil the glands

Enraging fans

In the stands

Be it woman or man

So can you take a stand

And be diamond grand?

Cut, color, carat

How long can you grin and bare it?

 

What Price for Stimulation – TTBoy (The Writer) and TTBoy (The Porn Star)


 

 

Health
Health (Photo credit: 401(K) 2012)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What is the price one pays for visual stimulation?  Whether the stimulation arrives in the form of written verse of video, is there a real difference?  The Writer delivers from his craft a dialogue in commentary-style, albeit essay, rhythmic poetry, or prose.  The Porn Star gives erotic stimulation through touch.  What makes one more desirable than the other depends on the type of gratification sought by the viewer.  However, even the literary genius craves a good romp in the Principal’s Office every now and then.  And, the Janitor enjoys a great essay on the effect racism is having on the Presidential election.  But what is desirable to some is offensive to some.  The Writer can offend without the use of profanity, though alluding to everything and anything of a clandestine nature:

 

 

 

     When I Come For You

 

 

 

        Thy Will Be Done

 

I will have you

 

in whatever way

 

on whatever day I say

 

I won’t care if you are ready

 

or if you are sick or poor

 

And if you are happy and rich,

 

shame on you

 

because I won’t need anything that you have

 

but You

 

That soul that you have

 

 only seems to cry out for

 

something, someone, some thing

 

Him

 

when you are in need

 

of a fix of clarification that you are not

 

alone

 

And you are not Alone

 

And that is why

 

I will have you

 

in whatever way

 

on whatever day I say

 

And I thank you for your sometimes-nature

 

That’s why You are so valuable to Me

 

So

 

When I Come For You

 

Don’t Be Afraid

 

You know why I’m coming

 

 

 

For the most who attempt to decipher this poem, they get it wrong.  Although the piece appears to possess a sexual tone or erotic tone, it is so far from it.  Yet, there is stimulation into thinking and believing what the reader or viewer wants.  The Writer, a good Writer, is able to designate for his intended audience.

 

 

 

Then, we have the Porn Star (TTBoy).  A male, who has starred or performed in over 1,500 adult films, is definitely considered an artist who is not only well-respected in the Adult Film industry, but one who has perfected his craft so well that any avid fan of adult films owns at least one film that stars this major league player.  There is no need to list his real name here, mainly because he can be found in Wikipedia.  Although both TTBoys can be found in Google, it is the Adult Film star who generates constant buzz because of different form of stimulation:  Nudity.  Nudity, still visual, of course, can reviewed in a couple different ways.  There is erotic visual stimulation (Soft Porn) where there is sensuality without aggression.  TTBoy, the Porn Star, often portrays a rough demeanor in his scenes.  If you’re about to view a TTBoy DVD by renting or purchasing, you already know what to expect.  But nudity in any sense with at least two people, other than a photo of Adam and Eve, the Venus di Milo, or the statue of David, automatically signifies sex:  perversion, demeaning, non-discriminatory, unsafe, unholy, filth, etc.  The negative adjectives could go on forever.  Yet, again, there is a need for this type of stimulation.  Though when a monetary value is placed on the Written versus the Visual (though both are visual), the obvious performance action wins out every time.  And while sites like Triond, Blogger, and WordPress.com promises to distribute the Writer’s work to as many available literary sites as possible, the Adult Film market reigns supreme at marketing and distribution.

 

 

 

Having performed in over 1,500 adult films could mean serious wear and tear on the actors’ bodies.  The viewer is unaware of the many edits, cuts, and retakes in any film.  While some patrons of adult film prefer the bareback-style (no-condom) film, there are still those who find pleasure in watching performers who use condoms.  Fast Forward to the Writer…while the Writer may write several different pieces, over a 1,000 in fact, some may be seen as one-sided – favoring one specific opinion.  Then, there are the patrons who like the Writer but would prefer to read pieces that reveal a softer, more delicate side in a peace-love-and-happiness format.  What a difference when it comes to visual stimulation.  The mind wants what the mind wants.  With the various methods of stimulation, reading a good book, story, or poem, is very similar to watching porn.  Whereas constant reading could result in cultural literacy, the constant viewing of pornography could result in addiction.  Some may say that watching porn helps their sex life.  Others may say that watching porn in the comfort or privacy of their own home keeps them safe from contracting sexually transmitted diseases or attaching themselves to toxic relationships.  Either way, the visual of porn helps the needy.

 

 

 

Sure, there are other Writers out there…just like there are other Porn Stars out there.  It just so happens that the two TTBoys do the same thing, just in different ways.  Whether or not they have met makes no difference.  A mistake could be made if one goes looking for a nice poem or essay on the President of the United States and accidentally selects the link describing the latest installment of oral pleasures.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somewhere’s Morbidity


Somewhere

they went over the clear

wide blue rainbow and

waved from above

So strong was the dragon

Singed was the porcelain pallet

that searched for tears from an angel

But when Santa hit the bottom

out came a diamond from behind

The pristine tale by the dragon

told of mystics

and fairy dust

Made flies fly through fire

Changed princess to a vampire

Even made a priest fearful to kneel

Somewhere

They knew not where

Nor did they care

as long as they were there

And they rode unicorns

And walked through walls

Suddenly a prince worked the pole

A shame he got lost in the hole

They all woke up

Somewhere

With help

They all came down