13…An Amendment In Name Only


I am sad, a sadness
that was never
there, but
should have been,
should have been born
in my soul at birth
I am
sad for people
I don’t know, will
never know
I am sad that I didn’t
know to be sad
so much wasted time
of oblivious
while millions
millions oppressed and denied
…denied and died
of slavery converted, of
false freedoms and
real humiliation
redefined…exit a civil war
vast landscapes of destruction
rebuilt from
the failures of conflict
but not so fast…
the souls destroyed inside of
human beings
ignored over commerce
over property;
chain ganged and led
to death
now fast forward…prison
the new new slavery
looking for
1 in 17 white men
1 in 3 black men
not hard to tell who
the red laser dot is floating on
the man
in his sad 6 by 9 said
I’m not a nigger any more
call me
a new box but
it’s the old slavery
it’s the same
fear…the same

Broken Glass and Barbed Wire

For the last 4 weeks I’ve had a cricket in my bathroom.

Yep, a cricket.

In my bathroom on the 29th floor of a glass and steel high-rise, a chirping indiscriminately, never while I’m standing near, impossible to find goddamn cricket. But not the kind that just chirps away, not a happy to be alive cricket…no, no, no, no…it was a duplicitous little bastard who purposefully shut the hell up whenever I walked into the bathroom.

It’s was driving me insane.

At first I thought it was one of the electronics in the bathroom so I methodically unplugged and removed them one at a time trying to isolate which item was making the noise. Thinking it was a low battery kind of thing. Kind of like a smoke alarm sounds when it’s 9 volt is running out of juice.

The hair clippers…nope.

The electric toothbrush…nope.

The digital scale…nope.

So I put everything back and started just scrubbing the place up super clean. Like the OR at the hospital before surgery clean. I threw away all the magazines (they call it “the library” for a reason) but still the chirp was there. I emptied out the area under the sink and threw away anything that wasn’t needed…even took a brush and scoured the inside before putting the extra soap and shampoos and guest towels back.

Mother of all that is holy the goddamn chirp was still there!!

I resigned myself to having to listen to that occasional, random chirp coming from the bathroom…at least until I move at the end of November. I realized that without being right there with my ear 2 inches away from wherever it was I was never…NEVER…going to catch the little demon. This was to be my lot in life, haunted by a cricket.

Today I was sitting at my computer doing computer stuff and I heard that little wise-ass once again chirp a couple times. I walk slowly toward the bathroom, almost holding my breath, I really had had enough dammit! I get to the doorway and a chirp!! A mother fucking chirp! I stepped into the bathroom now really holding my breath…

…and nothing.

I waited a full 5 minutes and was just turning to go, dejected and thinking of large amounts of alcohol when he chirped! And my ear was turned so I knew where it was coming from, I had narrowed it down to behind the toilet tank. I switched the light on and stuck my head behind, looking for telltale cricket signs…

…and nothing, zilch…nada.

I swear I was on the verge of tears, I was losing it thinking that someone would find me in the fetal position rolled up on the floor of the bathroom, mute and staring, unable to move. Until I had a thought…I had never look inside the toilet tank. I had looked at every square centimeter of the bathroom, under magnification in some cases, but never in the tank itself. I slowly moved the books off the tank cover and gently lifted the cover off. I looked closely at any flat surface where a cricket might hide…


I was seriously contemplating self-harm utilizing broken glass and barbed wire at this point but…as I went to replace the tank cover, I disturbed the water in the tank which caused the float (the thing that shuts the water off) to move slightly up and down.

Chirp. Chirp.


So this is what I think about Hillary…I’ll give you an analogy: say you have a 16 year old daughter—let’s call her Annie—who for all intents and purposes is a model student and teenage girl. She gets A’s in school, volunteers at the animal shelter on weekends and is an all-around nice person. You trust her but more importantly, you like her as a person.

Now one day you’re driving to the store to get some milk and as you’re passing a notorious biker bar—known for fights, prostitution and drugs and the associated arrests—you see Annie’s bicycle laid against the alley wall of the bar with her backpack still hanging from the handlebars. You slow down and stop across the street to look closer and you spot Annie through the window of the bar. She seems to be talking to several of the bikers, smiling and laughing. 20 minutes later you drive home.

Later that night when Annie gets home you ask her what she was doing out. Her reply is that she was riding her bike from school to home but that she stopped to talk with some friends which is why she was late…and she starts to walk upstairs to her bedroom. You stop her and ask her who the friends were and she replies that they were some boys she met at the animal shelter last weekend. She continues up the stairs and you stop her again asking where did she stop to talk to them and she, getting a little exasperated with you by now, explains that it was in town…and she wasn’t breaking any rules by being in town!…and can she please just go upstairs to do her homework?

You let her go but you’re sure she was in that biker bar so later you go upstairs to her room and confront her directly. You ask her point blank if she was in the biker bar earlier that day and she replies that she was near the bar because she had to stop…her phone fell out of her backpack when she was taking a shortcut through the alley next to the bar. She then goes quiet.

You look at her for a second and you finally tell her “Listen, I saw you when I went by that biker bar today, you weren’t in the alley, you weren’t looking for your phone, I saw you in the bar for at least 20 minutes talking to several of the men.” You say “Tell me what was going on!”
She looks at you for a second and finally explains “Well, I was riding home through the alley past that bar when a few of the men called out to me having remembered me from working at the animal shelter. They had adopted a dog the weekend before and they had some questions about feeding and training so I went in and we talked about their dog. They told me about the funny things the dog did and we laughed. I gave them some pamphlets I had on me and then left. That’s it. I did nothing wrong.”

The questions that would keep running over and over and over in my mind are:

“Why the fuck did it take so long to get to the final answer?”
“Why all the other partial answers?”
“Why couldn’t she just say that when I first asked her??”
“What the fuck do I believe now?”

Imagine that happening 8 times with Annie in 8 different situations where the final answer always seemed innocent…but all basically the same scenario…

…that’s what I think about Hillary.


You. You are important.

You are probably the most important person you know. Wait, not “probably”…you *ARE* the most important person you know.

But…to you. You are the most important person to yourself. There is a difference as every other person on the planet is the most important person to themselves that they know. This is how it should be. And this isn’t about power or money or jewels, cars, investments, cars, jobs…this importance has nothing to do with anything external. You cannot buy this importance.

It simply is not for sale.

You make this importance inside of you. You do so by recognizing that you ALONE are responsible for all and every decision in your life…regardless what others say or what you might feel from parental or societal conditioning. You make the decisions that affect how you live your life…and ultimately what your future will be.

You decide if you believe in religion.
You choose whether to fight in a war.
You decide to eat meat…or not.
You decide if the individual’s wellbeing is less important than the state.
You decide which political party speaks for you.
You choose your mate.
And on and on…

All of these choices and decisions affect you deeply and explicitly control how you live your life, how you interact with people, who you love and protect, the job you have, the school you go to, the food you eat…simply; who you are.

I’d call the person making those choices pretty goddamn important…

…wouldn’t you?

Believe. Go. Do.


Trash Day

Imagine a world where what people said to you could not possibly make you feel bad about yourself. Not possibly. Regardless if it was corrosive, hurtful or evil, whether it was born from psychosis, jealousy or spite, whether it was willfully intended or not…nothing anyone could ever say to you could ever come close to damaging your self-esteem or self-image.


You’re too fat, you’re too skinny, you’re wearing that? Why are you such a fucking asshole? Your ass is huge! How the hell can you vote for that douchebag? No way can you do that! You’ll never win. You’re not even close to being in my league. Did a homeless guy give you that haircut? You will never be good enough. No one likes you. You can’t possibly believe that you can win. You’re too bad an influence to be around the kids. Your dick is too small. Hey, where’d your tits go? No one will ever, ever love you…


Imagine that world as being real…because at one time—in your life—it was. It was for you. And you. And you and you and you… That world was real, it existed, it was your world when you were 1 year old. At 1 year old you existed on this planet but could not understand what people said to you. They could still say all of those horrible, shitty, soul destroying things but you couldn’t be hurt by them because, quite literally, there was no way for you to understand what the fuck they were saying. They still said them because that’s what people do…

…but you were completely unaffected.

Do that shit again.

Become the person that just doesn’t understand when people say stupid, hurtful things. Whether they mean to rip your soul out of your body or not, simply choose to not understand what they are saying. Watch their lips move, feel the frequency of the words they say, watch their facial expressions as they say what is an obviously fucked up thing…and smile. Learn to sift through the words you hear and grab the facts and the words that are based in objective reality but dump all the subjective, opinionated and totally useless words that are meant only to hurt, to degrade, to destroy.

Think to yourself; “I have no idea about a lot of what this person is saying but I’m sure they mean well so I’ll just nod and smile so that they don’t feel bad about not being understood.”

Unlike being a 1 year old, you have the ability to pick and choose what you understand and what you don’t. You get to decide which words will have an effect on you and which ones simply float away in the air around you. It’s not ignoring people, no, it’s actually listening to them intently for the constructive and civilized bits and pieces of their conversations…and disregarding anything that veers into spiteful and demeaning territory.

You are simply filtering out the trash.

I know this to be ABSOLUTELY TRUE; you are an amazing and beautiful person, unique in every way possible, and you were born with all the tools and knowledge needed to love and be loved in return.

There are no words on this planet—not a single one—that can be uttered by any person, regardless of who they are, regardless their relationship to you, regardless of how much money, friends, wealth or twitter followers they have…

…that can change any of these facts.

Believe. Go. Do.


African American

When I was growing up (we grew up in north Detroit (12 mile) in a tiny suburb called Roseville) I was a lucky little bugger because my parents were as progressive socially as you could get. Their best friends were a gay couple—they showed me what true love looked like—and my mom being an artist and active in the arts community had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances from every imaginable walk of life.

Black kids made up about a 3rd of my elementary school and my parents had many black friends who were over to the house for dinner, overnight guests, etc. The reason I tell you this is not to show how unbiased and colorblind I am but, in fact, to do quite the opposite…I want you to know that I am prejudiced and that I make sweeping judgments about people without having ever met them personally.

It’s just that the color of a person’s skin never quite makes it as a characteristic I judge.

Liberalism, progressivism, socialism, elitism—stuff that you generally make a choice to be—are the kinds of things I make sweeping generalizations about. The color of your skin, your sexual orientation, height, wearing glasses, physical handicaps, etc. are things you didn’t choose so they simply don’t make the grade for me to judge you on them. I mean, why would I…or anyone? The point of judging you (see above) is to get you to alter that which is being judged…to get you to better align with my idea of reality.

If there is no possible way for you to alter what I am judging you on, what’s the point?

Anyway, I was reading an article on Black Lives Matter/All Lives Matter and it struck me a little strange; the world as it was when I was growing up to the one I live in today. We didn’t have the words African American so we just called black kids, black kids and that’s what they called themselves. We were white kids by the way, it’s what we were called and what we called ourselves if we needed to make a distinction.

The point is that we recognized that there was a difference between a white kid and a black kid but that that difference was as meaningless as that between a blonde kid and a redheaded kid…just kidding, we all know redheaded kids are weird! Ha ha, of course I’m not serious but neither should anyone be when they judge another person by the color of their skin. Yes, you’re not fucking colorblind, a difference exists…

…it just doesn’t goddamn matter.

And that I think is where everything went to shit. Once the progressive, politically correct class decided that in order to change racism they needed to give black people a new name—African American—they essentially gave their blessing for racism to continue. Because once you acknowledge a difference by camouflaging it, you agree that you’re hiding it, not resolving it.

And as long as it’s “hidden” then no one is going to step up to try to fix it.

What I want


This is it.
This is what I want
from you.
It’s not simple, easy
or ordinary.
It’s damn
fucking hard
in fact.
It’s likely the
hardest thing
you’ve ever done.
Or will ever do.
I want you
to love
Believe that you
are deserving.
Are worthy
of your
own love.
Fuck what I think.
they think.
You’re here for you.
Not by choice.
For riches, money
fame or
anything else.
Get right with
Become best friends
with you.
Do that.