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Thursday, August 12, 2010

A mistake...

We... she and I were defined by all these things...













...until it all broke.


I Couldn’t (Soulful Laments)
Female-Well, remember when I told you I had a confession a while ago?

Male-Yeah

Female-Can I tell you now?

Male-Sure

Female-Promise to have an open mind and continue talking to me? You promise? Baby?

Male-Yeah

Female-OK.

Male VO
He sat listening, not with bated breath but with the knowledge that he would feel a portion of the weight that had been weighing her down since he’d gone. It would be heavy, it would hurt. But he loved her so he was willing to be crushed verbally if it meant that it would heal the both of them emotionally.

Verse
Well, while you were away...
While we were unable to communicate
Back when I was just convinced that your omissions
Were deceptions and lies
When your letters never came
I
Just couldn't take
Not knowing anything
And...
Back toward the second
Decided that I was no longer yours
It started with simply yelling
When the DJ asked where
All the single ladies are tonight
Then I started referring to you as “the former”
To myself when I would think about you
Started saying it casually in conversation,
You were “the former” to new people I met
Began to feel better about not knowing anything about you
Or how to contact you
Convinced myself that none of those things mattered
Because you were “the former”
So when guys would approach me
Words told them I was single
There were numbers
There were messages
Even invites
Held the way I wanted you to hold me
Conversations that I wanted from your lips
Attention I wanted from you
But of the guys that I've engaged in conversation with...
The best talks I've ever had were
With you
After calling you “the former”
While dancing with a new fire
And talking to different men
Still couldn't let you go
Couldn't stop thinking of you
Wishing for you
Praying for you
Promoting you
Despite my anger
Mentioning your name
Whenever fresh, new creative talent is topic of daily gab
My friends still know who you are
Because I never let you go
Even when I tried
Can't shake you
Of all the men I talked to,
None of them came close to you...
And frankly, it upset me
Disgusted that I couldn't get you out of my system
Mad at the situation
Couldn't convince myself that you
Were not lying to me
Mad that I couldn't tell you all my secrets
Couldn't see my new piercings or
Come to church with me one Sunday
Or relax in the park
Angry at all the days missed
About everything
Enough was enough
Invited one of the guys over to my place
Made him dinner
Watched a movie
It was late
He was sleepy, lived at a distance
Asked him to stay the night
Didn't want him to get sleepy at the wheel
He slept on the couch
I slept in my room with the door closed
We never did anything
I couldn't
Hurt you that way
Couldn't disrespect us that way
Wouldn't reject myself that way
Couldn't think of giving my body to anyone else
I couldn't let it happen
So my confession is...
I wanted to let this go
So badly
Because I couldn't handle being
So emotionally tied to a person
It is too hard.
I didn't want the burden
So I tried to remove myself from it
And failed
When he left the next day, I just felt lonelier
Because no seemed to fill the void you left
Had to deal with that void until you came back
When you came back I still didn't have you
No calls
Not the same.
Been hurt
Still hurting
Thought I was abandoned.
Abandoned by you....
And by love
Still…
I couldn’t
Just…
Couldn’t


Male VO
It was hard to hear, no question. Yet he heard it and he understood and felt, if possible, worse. There is was, raw, open, and vulnerable. In her transparency he felt the same way. What they had died but from what she said and what he felt there may be a chance to be Lazarus, to come forth and live again. Surely everyone who cared about her would hate him as they hated the more terrible things. But even though it would cut into him like whips and tortures, he felt that if there was even a fraction of a chance to rebuild he’d be able to take whatever was thrown his way. So he took her soulful laments to heart and vowed to himself that, if she’d allow him, he’d try to spend the days, weeks, and months trying to prove himself as the same person she had fallen for.

Black, White, indifferent

In our lives at one time or another we all wear two mantles, one being good and the other evil. So in essence we are both kindness and cruelty. Often times we try to discard one when it gets too overwhelming not truly realizing a balance of the two is what defines us. -Lucius Black







And I figure it's true because even the nicest folks have moments of less than stellar moments. Conversely even the cruelest of us has a heart and a conscience. The balance here is important. Without it, you are in an internal struggle to find it.


Graymalkin

Verse One
By the rules of a thumb I don’t often wear white
And it might be simply because it dirties up too easily
A quiet reason however measly
Past Labor Day isn’t the matter of real discussion
So it’s no fussing, no cussing
Then again it could be that connotation
Of things I paint
Colored a little eggshell off
Since I ain’t a grand saint
There’s always an attempt to do right by everyone
Try as the big heart might to accommodate
Facilitate every direction pulled, every expectation
It tends to end, bend into devastation
Cracked hearts and broken perceptions
Fucked up without an ounce of protection
In recollection intent was questioned, confused a few
The things I do, maybe odd
God, I try to make it right for those who
For lovers, brothers, and sisters
And sometimes I resent her
For questioning mother of pearl colors here
When at night I always lent the ear
In the face of the flaws
Disregarded laws I pause
Thinking that the tint of Jesus robes don’t fit
Then I quit believing that goodness is in me
Even if it was put on repeat and repeat
More deceit bonded to my fleet feats
Mere feet from a pure T-shirt, looks nice and right
But I remember why I don’t wear white


Chorus
Neither black nor white
I’m the graymalkin, killer
The balances to the checks
A calm in the thriller
Neither white nor black
Just a graymalkin, brother
The good, the bad
Tend to offset one another


Verse Two
It was a surname that was acquired and draped
No real escape from its warmth and its cold
For a number of years it counted me in the hold
It was clutching so unyielding
Stealing every feeling
And the stigma made me wonder over
A type of decision
In the ebony remains of the day
Then too willing to be just another villain
It felt right there at the heights of wrongdoing
No one to worry about but solo son
Undone was all the belief, all the hype
Broken into shatters of no matters with one swipe
But then the kindness kills, the heart breathes
From the place it was threaded upon my sleeve
Just in a second I reconsider being a bastard
Even if mastered, struck a chord
Dear Lord, black wallpaper’s been plastered
Over friend and foe alike
It was disgusting for the conscience to strike
Or to even feel reticent enough over the night
When it had that much easier to curse the light
Other shoes drop
Than I stop at the top
To really examine the shroud of eternal nightfall
Then I stall to reinvent the evil in me
Second coming as it appears and appears
And I fear what I came to hear here
Many tears stain the mantle covering the frame
As I transcend the bad guy and the surname


Chorus

Verse Three
Then there was grayscale attire there in the middle
It was a third fiddle that was never considered notice
Drawn dead magnetic to this
The attraction was something so absolute
Couldn’t dilute, couldn’t refute
It exudes a little scent of both former lovers
This is what body trusts
The mundane midway still
Had enough of the evil to excite lusts
Still there was that goodness that bound me
The same from the first verse and second mentions
Intentions mingled to maybe build, imperfectly create
Pygmalion chisels art, a start towards level plates
Taking on the both easier than being just one single
Allowing the goods and the evils to mingle
There’s a tingle of honesty, lies too as well
Heavens and hells, finally at peace
For them, they, and us
Safety and the same so dangerous
In complete color of unassuming sort
A peaceful word, a retort
Flaws and the perfect flex
No pretext, merely context
Content that the collaborations is just right
The day is night with both aspects alive
So finally after over and over
I wear grays after the genes of Jean
I mean Phoenix and Marvel Girl again
Grayscale attire on a lane of Graymalkin


Chorus





Graymalkin
Attack of the Plastics
Lucius Black
L. Powell

The Death Of Ken

All you really hear about nowadays is dudes, especially African-American males, worried about their manhood being questioned. Too afraid to cry because of the childhood programming that a man isn't supposed to cry because that makes you a punk. Don't even get me started on that 'no homo' and 'pause' garbage. If you're not of the homosexual persuasion, there's no need to really clarify. But I digress...

I have ALWAYS believed that a man's experiences and the lessons he learns define his manhood as opposed to the facade of being a tough guy and not saying things that can be construed or flipped in something less than heterosexual. As far as men go, one man (although inanimate) is the true measure of a man-Ken.





I've always found a measure of strength in the way Ken is quietly contented in being little more than a set piece to the woman in his life. Granted, this isn't me bashing those go getters amongst the female constituency. Nope. This is just me in my overactive imagination just imagining that Ken grows tired of being brow beaten by all of Barbie's accomplishments with nothing to show for it but a gay ass cowboy outfit and a pink sweater. This is an extended metaphor for dudes who are like this. Hopefully I pulled it off well. Enjoy.


The Ken Dreads

Verse One
Coolest Kenny
I bet it’s torture
The anatomical lacking
When rather piranhas are snacking
On shafts to tops of the elevator
But no, it was a ruthless
Chop shop diva made the man a eunuch
Emasculated by the picture perfect dollhouse
And some pink Corvette waiting restlessly
But wait…that’s sold separately
No glory, no nuts
No Skipper, no sluts
Took the consonant at the end
Makes you woman dearest mommy, friend
Less of a total, constantly what friends said
More than anything, the thing that Ken dreads


Chorus
Broke dick dolls and dogs
In for a slow slog
The loss of manhood makes kindred
And what Ken dreads


Repeat once

Verse Two
The killer K
Tantamount to doom down
Missing the members
Three minus leaving cold Decembers
To the skin grafts where towers rested
Cut off Samson after Delilah
No remaining power is survivor
That beach house bullshit was taxing
Hoping to escape thumbs of the girl
So sick until upchuck of a Barbie world
Without teeth, without balls
A prisoner, trapped in walls
Silent because of what the other side shows
Opinions and will held back by brothers, GI Joes
Going after phallus, a fallacy many said
More than everything, the thing that Ken dreads


Chorus 2xs

Verse Three
It was Ken
Alone within the hurt
Of being raped, robbed of the wood
Yelled for the return, as if it could
A trophy taken from the nagging wars
And those danger brothers contribute guard
Leaving the plastered smiles scarred
Tennis sweaters and khaki short uniformed disgust
So when Barbie came home it was to a different tone
As broken Ken picked one last bone
Take care, take stones
Perfect dolly, left alone
Three GI Joes stand at attention, wordlessly
As the blonde haired icon stares helplessly
Seems balls and words resurrect, base to head
Now there is nothing that Ken really dreads


Chorus 2xs



The Ken Dreads
Attack of the Plastics
Lucius Black
L. Powell

Friday, July 30, 2010

The Connect, Pt. 3

The friend of a friend...

The term seems to be seen often, in dating circles or when in social situations of casual associations. There are times when you meet this "friend of a friend" and they are cast aside in memory almost as soon as you meet them. Other times that secondary friendship becomes something more substantial. For example, I met three or four people (there are more but we're focusing on a small number) through my partner Cam. At first thought the people that come to mind as enduring souls are Santos, Vanessa, Lauren, and Lieu. This installment of "The Connect" is about the last named Lieu Fatale.

I KNOW!! She's been a discussion point before.

By way of a disclaimer, this IS NOT me being a suck-up or pole jocking. It has always been a policy of mine to speak well of those who I see talent and greatness in. She happens to one of them. Period.






For a LONG time Lucius Black and Lieu Fatale have been threatening a collaboration. It's been discussed but somehow, given our own individual drives an/or hustles, it hasn't come into fruition as planned. Very recently it did. When asked to scribble a hook to one of my latest songs, milady Fatale rose to the challenge and then some. She has told me of three to four possibe hooks. THREE TO FOUR!! What you will be reading is the song supplemented with one of those hooks. As always, your opinion matters. Yerp.


Letters Home

Verse One
The lead to the paper when the number twos were nubs
“Are you ready”, a simple question with answers of shrugs
So unsure of the first steps when the words came
But there was the given name
Caught up in the list of progression all the same
Heavy worlds on the Atlas in the brand new scenario
Excitement and a fear a masked man will barely show
It was a thrill, nothing or but eclectic
Despite the nerves and the presses being hectic
The freedom of breathing was damn near electric
The boy was a prodigal after a million doting days
A three twice guy, three thrice girl making sixty-nine ways
Young and wild making nights louder in their coming of two meaning
A sin city for the new secrets and the bad hands leaning
It was well hidden from home and mother’s gleaning
(But still you’re lost in the limelight, right?)


Chorus
The strumpets and panderers whispering in the night
Hustling for souls promising riches & a good time
Everything to be wished for granted with one breath
The spoil of the streets nurturing on an ambitious breast
When the wells run dry and the young suffer a slow death
There is nothing left but smiles caged within rotting flesh


Verse Two
Ballpoint’s turn to trace the pages until the ink dries
Long ago the kid as formerly seen up and lies down, dies
Leaving an animal with the same face and less ambition
Unless the word counts for putting pretty lambs in position
For rounds of pounding without either looking to intermission
Libations became the new water, tipped with fire and change
Making Jekyll no longer Hyde if only to rearrange
Suffer the purpose in the face of weekly drunken KOs
Trading cunning linguists for a little fellatio
“Blow this horn, girl, like you were Horatio”
Embracing the prodigal tighter than lovers true
When being straight laced is the last thing to do
Only in the slow evenings without drink or joint
As the lines with the words anoint
Unafraid now of who the stories might disappoint
(But still a young illusion…who are you fooling?)


Chorus

Verse Three
Twelve pointed font when the format is right
Something so tired of the endless nights
Came about the time when fun got far too crazy
Right after the blood proved no ifs, ands, or maybe
When little Miss, that three thrice had that baby
Kicked the bad habits off to the waiting curb
Left behind the libations and no seasonings of the herb
Still the income got unfamiliar, fast money slows
And every previous looks a lot like plural no
Rolled highs once, now prepare for the lows
Here alone with nothing remaining of old design
Hard than new arithmetic to say it’s all fine
The three folds in the paper, perfectly clear
Except for a smudge that looks like tears
“Momma, I’m in hell here…”
(But still you’re learning …ain’t that right, burner)


Chorus

Verse Four
Mercifully back to the point pencil two
A little help is the remedy to see blind through
It was the planning once believed a curse
Keeping the wolves circling from making it worse
The only reason for the final verse
Some things once seen as done badly
Change here when the little girl calls boy Daddy
Amazing how decisions make boys grow up quick
Finally seeing a woman instead of some trick
Even in the despise on this child thoughts click
There was once a prodigal, once lost at the brink
Simple Peter, a savior cannot let beloved sink
A disjointed happy ending to a story
As a fable to guide and teach if only
“If you need my help, here I’ll be)
(But still we close the tome and finish these letters home)


Chorus



Letters Home
Lieu Fatale; Lucius Black
"Three Coke" Charles: The Dawn
C. Lamon; L. Powell

Thursday, July 29, 2010

The Connect, Pt. 2

I am going to tell you something you should know already: Savannah, GA is a talented city. Now bear in mind I'm NOT saying that Savannah is the new Atlanta or anything like that. What I'm saying is that talent in Georgia is not strictly limited to the Atlanta area. Case in point, me. Another of the city's beacons of light...this guy.



I've known this man, J.L. Manning (or J.Laurent), since elementary school. A long time, really. We've gone to the same school since graduation. It struck me as odd that we both being engrossed in different aspects of music (in addition to our pursuits of higher education) that we hadn't worked on something together in that realm before. Here now we're doing just that. As we've discussed, he's producing my first mixtape (YERP!) and I'm really excited. There is also the plan to put out a track by the beginning of September so stay tuned. Our FIRST official collaboration is a song I penned recently from one of his beats. A wonderful track called "I'm Movin' On".

SHAMELESS PLUG: If you want to check out the production of J. Laurent, please stop whatever you're doing and hit up http://www.reverbnation.com/JLaurent. Yerp.

Here's a snippet of the lyrics:

Alleviate me from your thoughts so easily
Like the love days was sickness, coughs and measly
Mind games pushed up to a new mind frame
Of ascensions past you and the tensions of the same
Sort of nonsense, the explanation was like gibberish
Later on your body’s gonna scream for mine as last wish
For the way the curves met, lost within the deep sets
All you got for company now-bitter regret
Bets on the double down that I was still the willing clown
Dancing in the three rings sing
Stars falling down
Where your words left shards
Queen of the discards
This card was foolish enough
Threw in the trump card
I was thinking of a paradigm
Epiphany to the crime
Losing lust after your taste and your design
Maybe all the nights are gone
Maybe it’s a better dawn
Whatever the case may be, I’m moving on

The Connect, Pt. 1

Now you all know my close association with Lieu Fatale. I say close in the sense that I consider her something of a genius and a good friend. Recently one of her friends added me here on the Book of Faces. Young lady by the name of Rachael "Rai" Gethers.





Suffice to say, after a few conversations and a reading of some fire she wrote I came to a conclusion: This girl is mad talented. The other night while in the midsts of one of those exchanges, we started scribbling. It's usually what happens when you put two writers together. She had already posted it on her page so I thought I should do the same. **NOTE:** If you read my notes consistently, you know that the italics represent the female voice whereas the bold is the representation of the male speaker. The same is true here. May I present...



COMPLETE

Let’s go away to space so we can witness
Thirty-two sunrises
And thirty-two sunsets every day

Who's flying, you or I?
We both are
Sounds like a worthwhile trip
What's next after our two thirty-twos?
Return the earth and live life
Just me and you

In the places where nightfall
And the day tumble down, peacefully complete

Space was just an assessment
Passed with flying comets and shooting stars.
Welcome to Mars
Nightfall and day tumble down, in sync
Complete

Almost like it both were compliments to the other
Twisted sweetly around in symbiotic existence
Amongst falling stars
All ours
Endlessly touching
Suns, galaxies, each other

She’s sunbeams
He's thunder
On earth they're made for one another

His sound is for her light
Her blaze intensifies his timbre
Deafening
Blinding
Great and terrible all the same
Terrible that something like this had never existed
Great
So great because now it does

Now more than ever, before this collision of power
One can see a great work of love
An act of kindness so bizarre that...

...that words fail
Those syllables so powerful
Falter
At the altar
That alters them, makes them power
Energy immortal
Amaranthine

Three words
Three syllables that never fail.
That live as immortal as they
Gasoline
Propane
They fuel their power, their desire
Blooming like a flower

A flower born of her sun
Cooled in his starlit shad
Perfectly
A true symbol of the three
Words
Syllables
Unfailing, enduring
And more beautiful than the word itself

So in sync
Nightfall and day tumble down as one
Complete

Just
So
Complete




Complete
The Equal Opposites
Lucius Black; RaiGee
R. Gethers; L. Powell

Saturday, July 17, 2010

A cunning linguist...

Often times I strive to say things in a way that is both clever as well as tasteful. I am proud to say that most of the time that has worked. Through a considerable degree of eloquence and skill I have been able to talk on subjects that normally are taboo or not really spoken out loud too often. By way of an example:


  • For my first mixtape The Illest Alive I wrote two songs on two albeit intersting subjects. "Greatest Ever" was a song about a young man being caught in the act of masturbation. The other "Kiss, Never Tell" spoke of a physical affair between mother and son.

  • My last album Dirtyfoot's :FIN@LE had a song tainted with the incestous (i.e "Sin For The Lavender"). I also delved into homosexuality among females ever so slightly as well with the song "None Understanding"



I have also been pretty prolific on the subject of SEX. Some of those creations have been quite possibly brilliant and are favorites. Again, by way of an example:


  • "Tripping Wet"

  • "Naomi"

  • "Dancing Flame"

  • "Almost And Maybe"



All this is said to make a point or rather a segue. This segue...

For a while people in general were (for lack of a better word) ashamed of giving oral sex, particularly cunnilingus. You'd hear that garbage, dudes talking some such shit about "I don't eat..." or whatever hackneyed line was popular. Oddly enough females went through a similar thing, most times with fellatio being equated with being a whore. Nowadays given the climate of media (i.e. television, movies, and music) it has suddenly become more blasé and vocal about the subject. Between neighbors being well versed in what your name is to putting things on sideburns and soda cans disappearing in mouths, it's become a lot more acceptable. It's with that in mind that I submit my latest work.






A female friend of mine once told me that in order to tell that you're satisfying your lover, one should pay attention to the body as opposed to the sounds (although they are wonderful). So if her back is curving, yielding that loving arch YOU MUST be doing the right thing. Hence the song.


Loving Arches

Sound FX1
Approaching climax, moans, grunts, squeals, etc.

Verse One
It was enough
A distraction, even
To a point when thoughts were irrelevant
And nothing mattered but the feeling
Every destination from temple to toes was reeling
Ten close gripped soft cotton to hold back screams
Eyes tight shut daring to awake from dreams
No prayers still His name was constant
At increased rates and frequency
Muscles tense not from pain but pleasure
Pausing is the last thing on either mind
Only continuation, nothing else
The scene crescendos, the stage grows dark
When she gives him her loving arch


Sound FX1

Verse Two
It was enough
A distraction, even
Into territories where all else was minutia
Superseded by the sensation
And the arrival at that destination
Raven crowns seek a soft place to fall
Inhales and exhales falter and stall
Of the same years yet Daddy is the name
Between moments of uttered noises and sounds
Music like no other made, perfect in hearing
Encouragement to keep up the actions
Without cease for it no longer exists
The scene crescendos, two hit the mark
Then she gives him her loving arch


Sound FX1

Verse Three
It was enough
A distraction, even
Here where the wildest things are
Where there is merely the consciousness
And the pair, one giving the other bless
Aorta pieces pound louder than percussion
Tongues across lips offer no discussions
Disregard better and insisting upon the best
As the tricks and moves prove the point
Beyond happiness, beyond ecstasy
Maybe euphoria or aphrodisia
Whatever the case it made no efforts to slow
The scene crescendos, the places explodes from spark
Again she gives him her loving arch


Sound FX2
Woman climaxes



Loving Arches
Lucius Black
"Three Coke" Charles: The Dawn
L. Powell

Saturday, June 12, 2010

SLAVE

Gustav Graves: You see, I have a gift. An instinct for sensing people's weaknesses. Yours is women. Hers and mine are winning, whatever the cost. So when I arranged for that fatal overdose for the true victor at Sydney, I won myself my very own MI6 agent, using everthing at my disposal - her brains, her talent, even her sex.

James Bond: The coldest weapon of all.







ANYTHING can be a weapon or a method of control if you know what you're doing. Your words, for example, could break someone's spirit and in some cases that kind of emotional distress can manifest itself in physical maladies. Obviously physical abuse is a self-explanatory method of controlling a person, keeping them afraid and in line. But one that is just as dangerous can be sex. In your view of things you could be having that Drake type intercourse ("Best I Ever Had"), unaware that your significant other is using that insanely pleasurable act to keep you in the place where they want you. This particular post is about just that.



Hurdy-Gurdy Lilting

Male VO
We deal in power. We deal in perception. We cannot prosper nor long endure if we are perceived to be…dancing to the music of a hurdy-gurdy.

Hurdy-gurdy music plays

Verse One
Wind the crank, skank
I’m the turn key you’re robbing
Rather robin red breast in cages
For the subtle rages
Blake broken when fingers turn pages
To the chapter written
Openly smitten by seductive wares
That took faculties with no class
Crass to even consider being bitter
When hands grip an ass
A fool making donkeys of stranded, Circe
Curse be the lack of focus in I
When eyes blink then shudder
Heart minus syllables stutter
Murmur and mutter at the change
When it’s strange
There is no drive since there’s no pedal
Nothing left to steel since you took my medal
And my metal and the mettle of men
Who knew honor to the first sound
Before a switch and a bitch, a complaint
Bozo men and left boys clowned
Tapped out submission after double downs
Only to remain the way she left
Bereft of the struggle so beautiful, right?
The plight of the phoenix, remixed
Worst the second time around again
Then shallow scars made my Shalamar
Get ready…tonight, since I remember your touch
Not Midas, I paid mine, probably go dutch
Or Dutch to break beats or even dikes
Finger left in it, only words are damn and dam, if you like


Male VO

Hurdy-gurdy music plays

Verse Two
Flip the switch, bitch
Turn off lights for teddy bears and Pendergrass
In the grass snake sort of lady
Constant warring like Beatty
Lumberjack the pirate when shiver timbers, matey
Cap’n crunch me down low
Past praying ho to the bottom
Masters bait, feeling themselves much
Touch life with a wilting finger
Bittersweet like some Cranberries
When you make me linger
Rest in you lap where no light escapes
She rapes attention, leaving deficit
Deaf is this when your sound is only heard
In love and to hate with the absurd
When your loving drains the seed
In your greed
Nothing left to shoot off, dear
The guttural fuck whispers are only here
And all the trained drums are made to hear
They’re over there, bodies making out
Then in again with a life threatening stroke
Only doom in the room, rude intruder
Pharaoh whips and makes Moses of boys
Broken backed Jake of no Gomorrah sister
In puddles on the floor, dripping
Slipping into control so vodka and Absolut, right?
The call of max pain, another refrain
Hurting in those mean old Harlem Blues
She was my sinner, my Cynda
Clark bent on this Benecourt
No Occam, didn’t shave, she’s the razor
Or raiser who raises my tower
With her flower, sniff, high off papi and poppy

Thursday, May 27, 2010

the EVOLUTION: desire the Streetcar

In writing a character such as Tara Kelly I drew aspects of her from many of the females that I know. That list includes ex-girlfriends, friends, acquaintances, random females, one time encounters, and those young women I count as closer than close. By way of an example:


  1. One of my closest friends, Janae was the inspiration behind the marvelous singing voice has. Having heard her sing after alternate time of hearing her sing in a mock offkey way over the phone, actually hearing her actual talent made me include that detail to Tara.

  2. Another friend, Angelica, is the reason behind the eyes that Tara has. Numerous times I have said that she has nice eyes, a kind of hazel-light brown deal. Her eye stand out to me so when I wrote Tara I had to give her an eye color that stood out similarly to Angelica's. This is why Tara is the ONLY character (exception being her daughters) with that eye color.

  3. A lot if not most of my female friends have a measure of beauty and sex appeal so more likely than not, if you're a female friend of mine some of you went into Tara's inception.



With her I deemed that she should start out as a less than popular character in her beginnings. So I put her in as a temptation to Lucius Black and essentially a rival with Aisha Washington for Lucius' affection. As the story progresses we will see how this triangle plays out. For now, on to her original introduction.









Immaculate Solo
(As promised Lucius Black and Maxwell Riley conduct interviews for new people to work at Dirtyfoot’s, with the result of the club being busy for a large part of the day. For the largest part of the day the two partners are wholly unimpressed. All that changes as four people walk into Dirtyfoot’s.)

Lucius-(without looking up) Name?

Man-Quinton G. Ziegler…but everyone calls me GQ.

Riley- Forgive us if we don’t join the masses. Now what exactly is your talent?

Quinton-I’m glad you asked.

(At that he pulls a beautiful black and gold electric guitar from its case and plugs in the amp; still, despite the beauty of the guitar, they still seem unimpressed.)

Lucius-So your talent is showmanship?

Riley-(to Lucius) Or better yet guitar removal.

(Both start laughing until Quinton starts to play an amazing rendition of Seals and Crofts’ “Summer Breeze” during which he makes his guitar wail and whine as well as the two musicians who first played it. Lucius and Riley are floored by his talent but their faces don’t show it; for a moment, Quinton looks crestfallen.)

Riley-GQ, is it?

Quinton-Yes, sir.

Riley-You start on Monday. Go talk to the music coordinator Torian Kennedy. He will give you your schedule.

Lucius-Thank you and welcome to Dirtyfoot’s. Next?

(The next is also a male but this one in particular has a cocky swagger and a smug look to match; both Lucius and Riley regard him with a small degree of dislike.)

Riley-Name?

Man-Trenton Masters.

Lucius -Why does your name sound familiar?

Trenton-You might know my half-sister, Donna. She recommended that I come here and audition.

Riley-Donna’s your sister? Okay, I trust her judgment as far as talent but the real question is what kind of talent are we talking about?

Trenton-Give me a beat.

Lucius-GQ, come here.

Quinton-Yes, Mr. Black?

Lucius-Play “Summer Breeze” on your guitar for me, please. Loop the chorus.

Quinton-Gotcha, boss.

(GQ plays the requested song and Trent begins to string words together in a albeit brief but effective tapestry.)

Trenton-Madly I run to the summers so hot and bothered with kisses, insanity
Lost are the foolish autumn notions and winter thoughts of my vanity
All I need now more than oxygen needs fire and versa vice
One season seasoned with the summer breeze may just suffice
Moreover maybe, baby I need you like heartless needs unkind
Summer breeze makes me feels fine, blowing through the jasmine in my mind

Riley-I see talent runs in the family.

Trenton-Thanks, sir.

Lucius-You’re in. You start on Monday. Get some of your stuff together. I want it on point for Monday night.

Trenton-It will be. I won’t disappoint.

Riley-We’re sure of that. Next?

(The next person to enter is a young woman who has a soft type of beauty that seems to be rare these days; with that beauty is a certain familiarity. A few heads turns as she walks and stands in front of the two partners.)

Lucius-How old are you?

Woman-I’m nineteen years old.

Riley-Okay, name?

Woman-Kelly Lauren McCloud.

Lucius-Say again?

Kelly-Kelly Lauren McCloud.

Riley-You look oddly familiar…why do you look oddly familiar?

Kelly -Well, people say I look like my brother…he’s dead though.

Riley-How did he die?

Kelly-Killed last year in Hollyville by one Charles Williams.

Riley-(aside) She means Vegas. (to Kelly) That means your Douglas McCloud’s sister?!?

Kelly-Yes, sir, Mr. Riley. Incidentally enough how‘re Veronica and the baby? Tell her I said hello.

Riley-Great and I will.

Lucius-What’s your talent?

Kelly -I sing.

Lucius-Sing a little something.

(And she sings in a voice that sounds like it should not rightly belong to her; it is beautiful and mournful all at the same time. Both partners try hard to hid the tears in their eyes.)

Both -You’re hired

Kelly-Thanks, guys. I didn’t think I had the talent to work here.

(She walks off leaving the surrounding listeners in awe. Lucius speaks first after she walks off.)

Lucius-Modest one, isn’t she?

Riley-Truly that. Next?

(Upon utterance of these words the next potential walks in and heads of turn as she does so. The young woman who walks into Dirtyfoot’s seems to fill the place with a beauty that was absolute and blinding. Both partners look at her but with different thoughts in mind.)

Riley-(aside) Someone that beautiful means trouble.

Lucius-(aside) Wow…she’s absolutely beautiful.

(Riley is the first to regain his faculties having not first lost them and begins with the interview.)

Riley-Name, please.

Woman-Tara Kelly.

Lucius-Little Tara?!? Wow, you grew up…well.

Tara-(laughs)Thank you, Lucius.

Riley-Growing up aside, what is your talent, Miss Kelly?

Tara-I can sing. Listen to this.

(And in that moment all the heads that had previously snapped back into place after the curvaceous form of Tara Kelly jerk again as she sings her heart out and melts every male there as if a hot knife going through butter.)

Both-You’re hired.

Tara-(laughs) Thank you both for this opportunity….I can’t wait to tell Dana.

Riley-Before you do we need to meet with you and introduce you to the staff. Hang back for like five minutes.

Tara -Yes, sir.

(Tara walks off and necks break and crane in her wake similarly to her entrance; after her departure the two owners converse.)

Riley-I think we made some good choices today, Lucius.

Lucius-Me, too..especially Tara.

Riley-(sighs) As talented as she is she is too beautiful to not cause drama. I think we need to sever ties as soon as possible or watch her closely.

Lucius-We cannot just fire someone because they happen to be beautiful and over an unfounded suspicion, Max.

Riley-Nor can we keep her around because she has a perfect shape and a round ass, Lucius. We’re running a business not directing a rap video.

Lucius-If you, if we can give Douglas McCloud the benefit of the doubt we can give her a chance, Max.

Riley-Okay but the minute a line is crossed that’s it.

Lucius-Agreed.

(But as the two partners shake hands and agree their minds do not.)

Male VO
Into the mind of Maxwell Riley

Verse One
(spoken)
Trust unknown beauty seems to be foolish for genius society
All other sexually punch drunk as one remains the only one with a measure of sobriety
So as lupine teeth in male mouths hound the curves of her body form fantastic
It is left to the pragmatist to see in the flesh the values of the plastic
Neither doubts nor can it be refuted that she is glorious in temporal physical notions
The fear is that all will be susceptible to her love lust potions
But this is not said for everyone for these concerns are not regards dearly for them
My partner, brother, and friend-these worries are all to him
Those eyes glowed red and for brief moment temptress eyes flashed green
The sheer oddest and strangest thing these ocular muscles have ever seen
But maybe all this is unfounded; maybe he is smart enough and already knows
Yet even now so falls he deeper into chords sensual sweet of the immaculate solo


Chorus
This be the immaculate solo
As man’s sinful nature hopes for a yes when all of her screams no
What will a friend do as he sees comrades dance to the sultry tune?
Unaware even that it will spell his doom just that soon


Male VO
Into the mind of Lucius Black

Verse Two
(spoken)
Time and times made a little girl into a goddess in human guise and I cannot help but stare
Despite and consider the fact that I have unto myself a chanteuse solitaire
Even as that lives in my heart as a talisman to keep the stray dog in me to stray into unknown territories
The dog in me longs to wolf stalk goddess steps into a temptation story
Maybe this brother shaking hand is more correct in this situation than I could hope to ever be
But eyes entrance upon first sight so all else falls into lust at what they first see
Hunger for something beyond the realm of dinner, ravenous and gluttonous for her perfect skin
Never will this appetite of its type be satisfied until all of his touches this queen among women
No, there is love already set out for me, flawless diamond emotion that give life lights
Yes, just once though, all solo single needs solitaire is just one night
To dance with the devil in pale moonlights and taste flames of her body flavors
Yet this is the one thing, one solo that I cannot savor


Chorus

(And the thoughts that are all their own are put aside as the two partners stand before their staff, new and old alike, and talk to them.)

Riley-To those people who worked here before: it's good to have you here; to those new employees, welcome. As you may or may not already know my name is Maxwell Riley and (pointing in the direction of Lucius)this is my partner Lucius Black. We are the new co-owners of Dirtyfoot's. We have basically the same rules as our predecessor R. Tobias Slade, Sr.; his rule was simple: come here to work and leave all your drama at home. Everyone...is that understood?

(All present murmur assent; satisfied, Riley nods his head at Lucius so that he can say his piece.)

Lucius-(to Riley) Thank you, Max. (to everyone) Let me introduce the staff to you. This is Trevor Walker, or T.J. as we call him, our trusted advisor/stage manager/ janitor.

Quinton-Janitor?

T.J.-Place has gotta be clean, son.

(All chuckle.)

Lucius-Our musical coordinator Torian Kennedy, bartender/performer Willie Leroy, resident artist/occasional performer Jonathan Riley, poet Donna Graham, performer Joe Black, waitresses/performers Dana Kelly and Toni Casey, emcee Jamal Bonner, or Boney J.

(As their name is called each person stands up to acknowledge Lucius's introduction.)

Lucius-And finally performers Aisha Washington and Lena Jones. All these people make up the unique fabric that is Dirtyfoot's. Everyone has a dream, something that they want. (points to stage) This stage, this place is the first step. I don't expect anyone to stay here forever because this place is a launching ground for whatever desires and fantasies we have. I said it before and I'll say it again: Dirtyfoot’s is the best place for each of us to find what is we really want. I hope your tenure here helps you find that. See you all on Monday.

(All clap and disperse; Tara looks back and winks at Lucius who smiles and thinks those thoughts again. But someone speaking to him tears him away.)

the EVOLUTION: fort of minors

My greatest work to date is the Dirtyfoot's saga. Heavily based on my life and my experiences I needed the characters to be as real as possible. So far I think I have been fairly successful on that front. And with any story whether in print, on screen, or on stage there are always stand out characters. If you know me you know that I'm pretty humble. It is for that reason that the character that carries my namesake and a lot of my characteristics was written expressly not to be a breakout character. The good part about a series of with the sheer size of this one you're left with A LOT of stand out characters. In my opinion here are a few:


  • Joe Black:former criminal and the brother of Lucius Black.

  • Kenyah Black: the daughter of Joe and Carina black; heroic Hollyville PD who grapples with the wages of consuming passion.

  • David Jericho: the deadly and vicious ex-detective of the Hollyville PD who was no stranger to obsession, having fully accepted it.

  • Dana Kelly: the sweet, young woman who is pursued intently by best friend Jonathan Riley.

  • Jonathan Riley:the lovesick painter who chases his childhood crush Dana Kelly through calamity, ruin, and eventually marriage.



Yet of ALL these characters ther is one that I like most of all because of her evolution throughout the story.






Tara Kelly: the beautiful, green-eyed siren who slowly transforms from a shallow, self absorbed young woman to a caring, compassionate woman.

At first her initial appearance was in Dirtyfoot's @fter dark but I recently wrote a prequel (Le Dirty Clizze) to address any loose ends I let hang. In it she is introduced and described, merely as a minor character and a set piece, merely there to progress the story along. Here is where it begins. Enjoy.


Of No Comforting
Woman-So where is she?

(A query hangs in the air, a query posed by a female voice. The young woman to whom the voice belongs is beautiful, so beautiful that she is nearly unapproachable. She was shapely with full lips and long hair, her skin the color of a filter upon a cigarette. Of all the features her eyes were most entrancing. They were of a brilliant green unlike any in her family. At this moment those eyes stared across the room. Tara Kelly, Dana’s younger sister, waits a few moments longer for her answer then a male voice answers.)

Man-According to her, she’s in Aspen.

(Eric Kelly, or E.J., looked more like Dana than his younger sister did. Both shared the very same caramel complexion as well as the same eyes. The major difference between the two being that Eric exuded wisdom as opposed to Dana’s comforting warmth. Other differences were negligible such as age, height, and gender. Eric is adjusting his tie when Tara speaks again.)

Tara-Dana picked a hell of a time to go on vacation.

E.J.-Apparently it was Vegas’ idea. (looks at Tara, points to tie) Is my tie straight?

Tara-(looks at tie) It is. So how long is she gonna be gone for?

E.J.-A couple weeks. (looks at tie) Are you sure my tie is straight?

Tara-(sighs, rolls eyes) Positive, E.J. I wonder how her little painter is gonna take her absence at his father’s funeral.

E.J.-Hard to say, really. (grabs keys) Ok…let’s go.

Tara-Hold on. (turns around in a circle) What do you think of my dress?

E.J.-(looks at her, frowns) It’s too tight and too short…especially for a funeral.

Tara-Hmmm…perfect then.

E.J.-I don’t feel like the usual argument so let’s just go.

(Brother and sister get into the car and start the slow trip to Trinity Church. Per what was expected of a funeral there were somber faces and tears falling amid the crowd. E.J. and Tara make their way through the mass of humanity in an attempt to enter the church. On their trek to the entrance both run into a wholly unwelcomed face-Jonathan. The painter looks red eyed, almost as if he had cried for days. Tara hugs the mournful artist tightly, speaking kind words as he reciprocates the embrace.)

Tara-Sorry about your dad, Jonathan.

Jonathan-Thank you, Tara… (lets go, shakes E.J.’s hand) I appreciate you both being here.

E.J.-Not a problem, Jonathan.

Tara-Glad we could be here for you.

Jonathan-(looks around) Is Dana here?

Tara-(uncomfortably) Ummm…she’s…

E.J.-She’s in Aspen with Vegas.

Jonathan-(blankly) Oh. Excuse me, guys.

Tara-No problem.

(Jonathan walks off from the two Kellys, leaving Tara to look hard at E.J. and punch his arm. He
looks at her, affronted.)


E.J.-(rubs arm, looks at Tara) Ouch. What was that for?

Tara-Why would you tell him that?

E.J.-Being direct is preferable to stuttering and beating around the bush, Katara.

Tara-A younger version of Daddy if ever there was one.

(The two enter the church and find a seat near the front as people filter into the sanctuary. Elsewhere Jonathan stands before a bathroom mirror, sighing and wondering over the woman he has always thought of.)

Verse One
Grand houri
Shall sweet elation ever comfort?
To ease away pauper sorrows
As likewise lonely wretch
Has done in every moment
Even second
Since eyes were blessed
In taking on such glory
Or will continue the standard
Of no comforting to be had


Jonathan-Just maybe once.

Verse Two
Beloved muse
Will loving ecstasy ever console?
The falling of tears evermore
Similar to same such consolation
Always given
Surely shared
Since heart beat in rhythm
To the count of perfect soul
Or will remain the status quo
Of no comforting to be had


Jonathan-Maybe just the once.

(Lost in his thoughts for a moment he scarcely notices Maxwell until he yells at him, the effect jarring him back to reality.)

Riley-Jonathan!!

Jonathan-Huh? Oh, hey Max.

Riley-They’re about to start. Mom set me to come get you.

Jonathan-OK…(sighs) let’s go.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Lieu & Lu: The Inspiration


Lieu





Lu






You



First things first before we go any farther...

I AM A FATALE !NK LOYALIST




The one thing that I do more than write is read. I read everything from the Bible to the blogs. In regards to the blogs there are only a few blogs that I actually read religiously. One (or rather two) that I read with great consistency is written by the young lady that you probably saw at the top of this note. Miss Lieu Fatale was introduced to me by a friend (it was either Cam or Santos, I can't remember anymore) and since we've been pretty tight despite the fact that we've never met face to face. Despite that I read her two blogs (Lieu's Brew and Fatale !nk) for a good minute. Based on good music, fashion, reviews, features, current happenings in the entertainment realm, and undiscovered artists it's a damn good blog. The blog (more Lieu's Brew than Fatale !nk) deals with depth and certain thoughts and lessons. The most recent post I've read on both sights have been the mass of folks who are just spinning their wheels and aren't accomplishing a damn thing but a bunch of conversation. That was the catalyst.

Life inspires me (if haven't caught that yet, I'm telling you now). Her words gave me an idea when I was going through a period of rewrites and what became of it was something I really liked. Ladies and gentlemen, "The Syndrome" .




The Syndrome
(The stage is alight as the crowd enjoys the looks and the sounds of Dana Kelly. As she sings her heart out on the stage Darkcrowft slips into the club and looks to be heading toward the table where Slade sits. He holds up one finger to signify that he’ll be right with him. Slade orders his usual drink and Darkcrowft sits at a table with Joe. Not surprisingly Joe’s response to this is less than stellar.)

Joe-Oh my God. What do you want, Darkcrowft?

Darkcrowft-Just to talk to you for a moment. I have to explain something.

Joe-OK. (offers seat) Sit down.

Darkcrowft-Thanks. (sits down) I understand that you have a few grievances with me.

Joe-A few.

Darkcrowft-And you’re never quiet about voicing these things you don’t like about me. But I’d like to make a confession.

Joe-(raises eyebrow) Oh?

Darkcrowft-I think you’re a young man who’s chock full of potential. And I think the reason I don’t you like you or particularly respect you as a person is the fact that you’re so much like Darin-a talented soul who chooses to abuse that talent.

Joe-(angrily) I’m nothing like Darin Black.

Darkcrowft-You are. Instead of using your considerable charm and your ability to put words together for your personal greatness you once deemed it necessary to cast your lot in with your uncle. He, like you, chose to squander talent to become a criminal.

Joe-(wrinkles face) And you’re telling me this because?

Darkcrowft-I don’t want you to have done nothing your whole life…and one day wake up one day, knowing that you are old and used up. And you have done nothing with your life. You should have a life full of regrets and triumphs. You already have a few regrets, I’m sure.

Joe-I do.

Darkcrowft-Good. An empty life is a syndrome no one should have to suffer.


Intro
Slum sickness coursing through
The veined artery into actions unexplained
Contortions among the portions
Thinking thoughts throughout the brain
Ill fated fortunes must have
Brought about the condition
Now only to find a way
To send insanity into remission


Verse One
The wasted days wait in numbers
Counted against the bones of men
Who see life as merest stumbles
That feet clumsy trip into again and again
To the next fail
And set sail
For ports of ideals in stale
No ventures to a glorious home
For champions, not those of the syndrome


Chorus
The season of the sickness
Infect the witness
None dismiss this
Backwards hustles in the gloaming
Dying watch ones above the syndrome sing


Verse Two
Lost opportunity without direction wander
Through veins of man alive
As some negatively ponder
Against the beautiful strive
In jaded eyes
So despise
The meteoric rise
Of the talented souls breaking the dome
To achieve successes and shake off the syndrome


Chorus

Intro

Verse Three
Moments slip away into disappear
From the blood of the living sort
Some have made it crystal clear
That the plan is to abort
Stupid sentiment
Life irrelevant
Nothing for the descendant
After gone to that place of Jesus tome
Here lies another killed by the syndrome


Chorus

Intro

Chorus

Darkcrowft-I'll get this round. Enjoy…and think about what I said.

Joe-OK…and thank you.

(Darkcrowft places a crisp twenty dollar bill on the table and makes his way towards Slade. In his sitting Joe seems not to notice the music playing or the person on the stage who is allowing their voice to collude with it. So focused on the words left heavy on his spirit he barely notices Vegas enter with a woman who isn’t Dana. Most unfortunately Dana notices them as they sit down.)


PS-You need to check out these blogs, kids:
lieusbrew.com
fataleink.com
lbkluciusblack.blogspot.com




Do it.

Friday, May 7, 2010

The Glorious M.O.M.




My job as a mother...I will defend that come hell or high water.
-Deadira Brents






To date there is one job that is truly the world's older profession-being a mother. No task (short of hanging on a cross and dying for the world's sins) is as daunting and sometimes as thankless as being a mother. Surely some would argue that being a mother isn't a job due to the fact there isn't a salary for it. I'd disagree. Most times I watch my mother doing everything she does, all she sacrifices and I am truly grateful for it. Upon further I realize that not only is motherhood a job it's an inspiration, a full contact sport, a work of art, a blessing, a cross to bear that shows the character of a woman, and many more things. In light of that, in light of all the mothers I dedicate this note to you. I will only tag five or six mothers in this note but know that this is something for all of you. And to any others who read this, share it with your mother as Mother's Day approaches and show her how much she truly means to you.


Maternal Ode

Verse One
In the greatest gift a woman rises above any doubts ever born within
Doubts seem luxury that future matriarch is not to enjoy again
Borrow Sampson strength the task to be at hand
For the life to come does not ask but more so demands
So cry every tear now because there will be little room to weep
For that bundled joy cries now that mother put the wails to sleep
Be more than ever for the moment calls you to
Born in instinct so worry not, you will know what to do
Sleepless nights coming but more happiness with the insomnia days
The giggles and smiles will make all worth in its ways
The first born is the greatest joy but a challenge all the same
So much pride but such stress from calling that name
Watch daughter grow or watch son thrive under your watchful eye
Give confidence and values to them, teach the when and why
But that is a far off thing as the second generation grows within womb of she
Someday soon she will be the next great woman to fulfill the destiny


Lucius-Okay, baby…breathe. Breathe, Aisha.

Aisha-(breathless, angry) Shut up, Lucius…how about you have these damn babies?

Lucius-It’s gonna be okay, love…

Aisha-(yelling) SHUT UP!!! DRUGS!!! GIVE ME DRUGS!!!

(From the room beyond the delivery room, Joe and Kelly, along with Deborah, Sarah, and Aisha’s parents hear the screams of Aisha. Joe, in typical style, tries to lighten the mood.)

Joe-(whispers to Kelly) I guess she wants drugs…

Kelly-I never would have guessed that from the screams. (looks at Deborah) Your mother and Aisha’s parents are so calm…

Joe-They’ve been here before…this kind of thing doesn’t really make them as nervous as it’s making us…

Kelly-…or Lucius for that matter. His first child…

Joe-Our first nieces or nephews… or niece and nephew.

(The screams and yells from the delivery room last for hours on end until some time in the morning, as the sun begins to rise the yells are replaced by the sounds of crying. Deborah, being the only one still awake, wakes everyone.)

Deborah-That’s our cue…

(The family walks in to see husband and wife transformed into mother and father, each holding a small quietly cooing baby. Joe looks at the two newborns and smirks slightly.)

Joe-Hard to believe that someone as ugly as you could make a cute kid, Lucius…I guess Aisha’s genes won out.

(The room at large at laughs as Lucius smiles slightly and talks to the son her he holds in his arms.)

Lucius-(to his son) And that is your Uncle Joe…

Kelly-(looking at her niece) So what are their names?

Aisha-(to Kelly) This is your niece Saalayah Janae Black…

(The parents look at his granddaughter with love and affection as Lucius introduces his son to the family that will be his as he grows.)

Lucius-(to Deborah) And this is your grandson, Lucian Robert Black.

Kelly-Lucian and Saalayah…I like it. (to Lucian) Hey cutie…I’m your aunt Kelly.

(And the family looks on as the newest additions to their family look up at them, their small faces lost in quizzical wonder.)

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

BETTY

The streets always been my daddy
And mommy is the county jail
I'm a soldier and I'm about my mail
If I get busted I'm not about to tell
Because I'm a gangster
The streets always been my daddy
And mommy is the county jail
I'm a solider and I'm about my mail
I ain't trying to do right because I'm already living in hell
Because I'm a gangster

-"Soldier Story", Artist: Scarface feat. Z-Ro and The Product, ALBUM: Emeritus (2008)


Words are beautiful...



Beautiful because they are open to many interpretations.



The song that was quoted is one of my favorites. Well put together song with lyrics that seemed to come from a place close to each rapper's heart and a slow contemplative melody. What really stands out to me in this song is the chorus, sung by Texas rapper Z-Ro (Trae's cousin). I first interpreted as a statement of the things that were standard of the place where they grew up. Recently I've heard it and it sounds like a cry of someone who feel stuck in what is status quo in that particular area. This put me in mind of a piece I had written called "Harlequin Be Harlot" which a young woman ends up trapped in a role her mother had been known for and how it shapes her. Hope you enjoy this one.








(Big booty Betty
Givin’ out all her spaghetti)


At the feet of aging whore
Learning ways to weaken boys and men
Pure young woman birthed
Off a random encounter
Of the third kind
Third time together, those two
When customers bail out from duty
So little lady grew in moaning shadows
Hiding by doors hearing squeaky mattresses
Worn in constant use, again and again
Dollars add as the numbers do same ways
When their flow is constant
After twenty-fours and sevens
Never there dear mama
Back arching labor easing the apparent pain
Doing nothing for girl child lonely
Resentment thrived in solo soul
Hating the very essence of maternal exist
Vowing to be better, to transcend reputation of
That slut of a mother, people say
Yet trying the words hold down dreams
The surrounding crabs pulling down dearest
Only good on backs, like momma
Until it engrained like harsh reality
And sweet girl looked to follow in footsteps
On the same stroll worked by birth giver
Until age of innocence died earlier than hoped
There at twelve when harlequin be harlot

(Big booty Betty
Givin’ out all her spaghetti)


Grew into a body of Godiva
Smooth and tasty perfect except for
The habit inherited
Perfect sways at hips, ass
Stole many in the teeming halls
Of high school without any musical
Modern Helen
Bringing the destructions of Troy
And Marcus, even Michael
A whispering eye
Ruining city-states often
As with goddess protectorate
In a repetitive process
Surpassing mommy’s numbers
Preserving the legacy
Of best laid plans
Temple defiled by those
Allowed usurpers
Called Babylon by many Nebuchadnezzar
Until modern day when eyes glanced
The last decent sort remaining
Hoping to steal virtue as many before
And add man to the body count
Letting another enter deep for the murder
But differently not for pleasure or even to just see
Surely boy piques interest to point of liking
Ye this is meant to kill aurora, sweet Aurora
Cold planned spite, plainly simple

(Big booty Betty
Givin’ out all her spaghetti)

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Van MAN Wilder...

This time... the way I came up with this one will trip you out a little. Hell, it tripped me out. It starts, I guess, with a movie and a quote. This movie, in fact.



OK. Here goes: I was watching a movie (National Lampoon's Van Wilder) and the title character Van was pointing a girl to his friend/assistant Taj. Her name was Naoni. He pointed out (and thought it was rather clever) this tidbit:


Her name's Naomi. That's "I moan" backwards. -Van Wilder (played by Ryan Reynolds), MOVIE: Van Wilder, 2002




Inspired by that I decided to write a song on the subject of great sex. In writing this I wanted to use that somehow. When you read this you'll probably notice that the words 'orgasm' and 'moan' (a word I was careful not to use lest people catch on too quickly) are conspicious only by their absence. The refrain of the satisfied woman saying Naomi serves as the synonymous word for those two so painstakingly ignored.


I thought it was kinda clever...





Naomi

Verse One
Sugary sweet somebody, some body enough to make cavities
And cavities, niches were where body fits in amity
Maybe more as fingers intertwine in human vine of kudzu
Out of control, in touch with the tingling growing all through
The electric skins shock well and fingers seek the surging power
To illuminate the strength of a grand feat in phallus tower
Licked lips and transfix the desires fell in abandoned disrepair
Hot and heavy enough the set fire to the very surrounding air
Vestiges cast off in the exiles of the floors below
Living in Hell as two half clothed above such Heaven know
Intimate knowledge of spots and sights on ecstasy tour
Hitting every point of gasping interest with stops at obscure
Feasting on necks for no blood but nails dug in harder, deeper
Cain and too able to be the only lover and only keeper
Hearts attack as strokes collide in the passionate illness
Healing of a lonely ailment as two violins strung continue this
Symphony of satisfaction where the dripping rain makes applause
Standing ovations only count one letter in the eventual pause
And as the hurricane ebbs a survivor inhales and lets out slowly

Feamle VO
Naomi…

Chorus
And she whispers out
Naomi
Sweetly, slowly
Only Naomi
Softly, slowly

Repeat once

Verse Two
Caramel sweet something, some thing to pacify sweet tooth
Or teeth now nibbling at skin in sweet honest, the truth
Over thresholds, maybe matrimony as brass arm carry frame
To shape the next scene after the whisper of the final name
And that title started the next chapter upon silk of sheets
Pages of the odyssey not yet or soon complete
Unfinished, the bare skin bears resemblance to soft dreams
In realty as a temple of blinding beauty that gleams
At palace lips worship feet, slowly rising through space
Until ambrosia cascades to tongue from most holy place
As time stands still when grateful diatribes quickly escape
Stormed walls yield after no signs of pillage or rape
And eye to eye, staring souls down in the pleasure
Giddy enthusiasms again as the motions are too great for measure
Again the two conspired conspiracies of more and more
As pillows and time itself tumbles to the waiting, willing floor
Toes curl tight spirals to contain the coming waves
Of the storm washing over those facing it so brave
Another smile, lips meet and part as queen says lowly

Female VO

Chorus 2xs

Verse Three
Lollipop sweet someone, some one to give life flavor
A savory, sugary linger that mouths cannot help but savor
The dessert of the body under waterfalls, still close there
In collusion unlike any other beyond compare
Soapy fingers rub the other with two purposes in mind
As though seems to stray back to previous designs
When the waiting cup bosom in grasp of strong sensuality
And the two, smirking still, bring the tale to finality
Final caress of tongues against their loving rival
Forcing mouths together as the kiss becomes survival
Life and death in company of perfect lady, pleasing
As ling, top to bottom, does nothing but teasing
One point until strength seems to ebb like another did too
Away from the towers and back to getting through
Waist held tightly and the worship of bodies continue
At same paces but here in newer venues
Towels hold as arms did and join clothing in lower town
When finally and beautifully both tumble down
Before the slumber comes, into an ear are simple syllables, only

Female VO

Chorus 2xs

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

The Movie, Pt. 2

Some will win
Some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on

"Don't Stop Believin'", Journey, ALBUM: Escape







Cracked Mirror
(Lonely footsteps echo loudly off walls in the dark corridor as a set of familiar feet tread there again. As far as first looks go McCloud looks visibly shaken, not to a point of falter but more than necessarily normal for the boy who became monster. After the young man walked for a few more moments down quiet passageways a pause yields a door. Foregoing the customary knock he enters the office to find a chair facing a large window through which can be seen the falling dusk of Hollyville. McCloud sits in a waiting chair on the other side of the desk, holding his gun in one hand and wiping the barrel with the other. He sits wordless until Darin Black’s voice emanates from the turned chair.)

Darin-You didn’t knock.

McCloud-I felt getting here in a timely manner was a bit more important than common courtesy. So… (puts gun away) you needed me, sir?

Darin-Yes. (silent, sighs) It’s a beautiful night…

McCloud-Yes it is, sir. But what does…?

Darin-…a beautiful night for discovery. And a little completion. It’s time to kill him, Douglas.

McCloud-Is it?

Darin-It is.

McCloud-May I be frank, sir?

Darin-Surely.

McCloud-Two years is a long time to be killing people but I’ve done it without question and very little complaint. Now, after so much death, this is to be the one murder I’m unsure of.

Darin-Douglas, men in our position don’t falter. We are either beast or victim and in this business being a victim is not really an option. This is the last thing needed of you before you take over as my successor…plus the truth that you’ve sought so long depend on his death. I trust…you’ll do the right thing.

McCloud-Right is a state of mind…but I will do what needs to be done. I always do. (stands, exits)

(McCloud walks down the hallway, silently in deep thought about what was said and what was to come. Foremost above sadness, regret or even longing was a disgusted thought that had nagged him for as long as he had been in Black’s employ.)

McCloud-(aside) For so long he has tried to make me the cracked mirror of his dream. I guess he may get his wish.

Verse One
Little boy
Dressed up to vests in a sorrow thing
Eyes on ‘em, sparrows
In even saddest in soprano sing
Stress
Hurting now more or less
At last rite write epitaphs to bless
Alone in your struggle and your mourn
Solo son under sun ripped into torn
Asunder at the under of the buried
Misery of Atlas too great to be carried
Burn fire called loss to singe
A child sees shadows
With offers of revenge

Chorus
Cracked mirror of the new dreams
Cracked addict kid or so beams
The deal ain’t all that it seems
Kid bows so low
Shadows offer halfway the fix
Merely tricks
Makings of me
Forcing to be
Just like he

Verse Two
And the kid
Bowed to ‘em, altar
Faltered to a plan like a Gibraltar
Rocked to the core by a trade
Dice thrown and played
Took the dusk unafraid
Cloaked tight in a tailor fit suit
Mastered disasters strung into the boots
So in the clutch of an elder grasp
Docile of the lambs
Become another asp
Snakes
Took a slither route
Unsure follower has a new doubt

Chorus

Verse Three
And a man
Far gone in carry on and kill
No recognize seen
Chaser of a darker thrill
Doom
Bullet blast to your room
Black propositions long ago made consume
Back burner justice almost forgot
Lonely kid swears by all he is not
Twisted, resisted the complete urge
Suicide jumper mere stand on the verge
Yet if shadow has way plan ain’t dim
Once more, shooter
Just like him

Chorus

McCoy-Where to, sir?

(Faster than he had noticed, his feet carry him to the car with McCoy leaning on the passenger side door of the car. Noticing him there he us jarred from thought and speaks.)

McCloud-(looks at McCoy) Huh?

McCoy-Where to, boss?

McCloud-Larkcrest.

McCoy-Larkcrest?

McCloud-Yeah.

McCoy-Isn’t that where…?

McCloud-Who lives there is irrelevant. Just get in the car and drive, Tony.

McCoy-Fine, Douglas. Let’s go.

(The destination loomed before both as miles slowly began to fall behind them. An eerie, almost macabre mood now settles over the city. Yet among it one man seems unaffected.)

PS-For "The Movie, Pt. 1", check me out on Facebook.

Monday, April 19, 2010

never say...


Does aimless doodling mean he is any less focused there?




Does the sweet, shy girl and her words matter less because of it?




Is his resting there make him a slacker?



You could never say that you truly understood them, could you? In high school it was hard to understand those people who sat at the back of the class almost in their own reality. Apart from everyone. But why? Maybe they were just anti-social or something of that nature. Or...maybe that's the only place they felt like they had a measure of control. Away in the places they've drawn, the quiet corners of polite pondering, and a sleep before the absolute understanding.



BACK OF THE CLASS


Verse One
Saints elsewhere above common reality
Sketching loose leaf kingdoms
Distant from surrounding someone
Disregard to complex equation, sum
High turrets and balconies, perfect betrothed waits there
Sweet drawn breeze blows raven hair
Snatched away again
Questioned, answered, passed
Daydreams persist at back of the class

Chorus
And here we belong
Hidden away
Here we remain
Back of the class

Verse Two
Behind lenses, frames
Lie startling shades of softest hazel
Shy, afraid
Of appraisal
Unsure of the coming words however little
Lady sits farthest back jotting notes, tresses finger’s fiddle
Until name rings out
Answers, beautifully brilliant
More scribbles of electrons, atomic mass
Gifted but quiet in back of the class

Chorus

Verse Three
Heaviest weight tenders tired eyes
Struggling to remain awake, to listen
Here for remnants of the final year
Some kind of finish line seems to glisten
Head falls to desk, one eye, another
Ill afford to let down ones screaming brother
Quick rest taken
Strain to comprehend Macbeth’s alas
No such thing as fail in back of the class

Chorus

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

POWERFUL...regret

I still sometimes dream that I'm the mother of your children. I wanted her to die. -Susannah Fincannon Ludlow (played by Julia Ormond)


MOVIE: Legends Of The Fall, 1994


Tristan finally returns during Prohibition, bringing life back to the ranch and his father. He accepts Susannah's marriage to Alfred, falls in love with and marries Isabel II, and they have two children. Life seems to become more normal as Tristan finds solace in his young family. During Prohibition, Tristan becomes involved in small-scale smuggling bootleg liquor, finding himself at odds with the O'Banion brothers. Tristan's wife is accidentally killed by a corrupt police officer working for the O'Banions and in a fit of agonized grief, Tristan beats the officer to near death and has to plead guilty and serve 30 days in jail. Susannah visits, but Tristan refuses her advances and insists she "go home to Alfred," her rightful husband.*

*This is when the statemet (i.e. the quote above) is stated.


In writing this piece I deemed to take it another way, to assume the two parties feel the exact way about each other. So enjoy...




OUR CHILD
No solace remains
Neither vestiges of it
Remain here
In empty corners
Carved out
By the heart’s
Breaking
Shattering to a million
Pieces
Peace is…
Reluctant
Reticent even
Amid the cast off clothing
Skimpy, sexy, practical
Or otherwise
War paints of lipsticks
Eye shadow and mascara
Polish for slight eager claws
Dripping to a puddle of pink

The marks left mean nothing
Physical nor emotional
Physically, skin scribbles mean little
J’y suis, j’y reste
Here I am, here I remain
Clever sentiment, really
Emotionally speaking…

Too painful
Even up to now
Yet and still she thinks
Of a quiet whisper
Saying
“Still…
Sometimes I dream that
I am
The mother of your children”


No comfort lingers
Nor any remnants of such
Ruminate here
In shallow spaces
Hollowed out
By the word’s
Falling
Tumbling gracefully into
Hearing
Here things…
Hurt slowly
Torturous even
Amid the discarded roses
White, lavender, red
Or otherwise
Cast away letters
With love words and care
Songs written in the moment
Merely shreds upon the hardwood

The scars that count for less
Emotional nor physically
Physically, outer inked are irrelevant
Pax Aurora
The peace of Aurora
No peace left, not now
Emotionally speaking…

Too bitter to stomach
Even up to now
Here and again he thinks
Of a slow escape
Saying
“Still…
Sometimes I dream that
I am
The father of your children”

musty. Must he? MUST SEE!!

Legends of the Fall is a 1994 drama film based on the 1979 novella of the same title by Jim Harrison. It was directed by Edward Zwick and stars Brad Pitt, Anthony Hopkins and Aidan Quinn. The film won the Academy Award for Best Cinematography.

The movie's timeframe spans the decade before World War I through the Prohibition era, and into the 1930s, ending with a brief scene set in 1963. The film centers on the Ludlow family of Montana, including veteran of the Indian Wars, Colonel Ludlow, his sons, Alfred, Tristan, and Samuel, and object of the brothers' love, Susannah.

This movie was shot in Alberta and British Columbia, Canada.





CAST

  • Brad Pitt as Tristan Ludlow

  • Anthony Hopkins as Col. William Ludlow

  • Aidan Quinn as Alfred Ludlow

  • Julia Ormond as Susannah Fincannon Ludlow

  • Henry Thomas as Samuel Ludlow

  • Karina Lombard as Isabel "Isabel II" Decker/Isabel Decker Ludlow

  • Gordon Tootoosis as One Stab

  • Christina Pickles as Isabel Ludlow

  • Paul Desmond as Decker

  • Tantoo Cardinal as Pet Decker

  • Robert Wisden as John T. O'Banion

  • John Novak as James O'Banion

  • Kenneth Welsh as Sheriff Tynert

  • Bart the Bear as The Bear





PLOT
Sick of the betrayals the United States government has perpetrated on the Native Americans, Colonel William Ludlow (Anthony Hopkins) retires to a remote part of Montana with One Stab, a Native American friend and narrator of the film, where they build a ranch. Accompanying them are hired hand Decker, Decker's Cree wife, Pet and their daughter, Isabel II. The Colonel's wife, Isabel, does not adapt to the harsh winters and soon leaves to live on the East Coast. Colonel Ludlow has three sons: Alfred, the eldest, is responsible and cautious; Tristan is wild and well versed in American Indian traditions; Samuel, the youngest, is educated but naive and is constantly watched over by his brothers.

At age 12, Tristan tries to sneak up on and touch a sleeping grizzly bear. The bear awakens and slashes at Tristan, injuring him, but he stabs at the bear's paw and manages to cut off a claw. The bear limps away.

As the boys grow up, Samuel returns from Harvard with his fiancée, Susannah Fincannon. She finds Tristan's wild charisma captivating, and she is conflicted over this because she loves Samuel. Before they can marry, Samuel tells his family that he is leaving for Calgary to join the Canadian Expeditionary Force, and serve England in the fight against Germany. Much to their father's displeasure, Alfred and Tristan go with him.

During World War I, the brothers find themselves in the 10th Battalion, CEF. Alfred, commissioned as an officer, leads a mass charge into no man's land, possibly an offensive during the 2nd Battle of Ypres (see below), although the date in the narration is given as February 1915, rather than the real date of April-May. Tristan abandons his own unit to be at Samuel's side. The attack is repulsed with heavy casualties, and Alfred is wounded. While visiting Alfred in the field hospital, Tristan learns that Samuel has volunteered for a dangerous reconnaissance mission. He rushes off frantically to protect his younger brother but arrives too late to save him from being gassed and fatally machine gunned. Devastated, Tristan holds Samuel until he dies. Then, in tears, Tristan cuts out Samuel's heart, which he sends home to be buried on his father's ranch. Seething with hatred, Tristan single-handedly raids behind German lines, killing two gunners,though they are not the one's responsible for Samuel's death. To the horror of his fellow soldiers, he returns to camp the following morning with the scalps of German soldiers hanging around his neck. He is discharged from army service but doesn't go home (a deleted scene on the DVD shows him in a psychiatric hospital.) In the meantime, Alfred returns to Montana and proposes marriage to Susannah, but she declines.

Tristan returns home, where Susannah finds him weeping over Samuel's grave. Trying to comfort him, they become lovers. A jealous Alfred confronts Tristan and later leaves to make his name in Helena. Tristan's relationship with Susannah is doomed by his guilt and pain for failing to protect Samuel, as well as feeling responsible for driving Alfred away. These demons force him to go travelling again, chasing him all over the globe. Back at the ranch, Susannah waits for him but eventually receives a letter: "All we had is dead. As I am dead. Marry another." Alfred finds her weeping on the porch and tries to comfort her. Colonel Ludlow finds them together, leading to a huge row and they fall out. Colonel Ludlow has a stroke later. He doesn't speak for years and the ranch deteriorates. Eventually, Susannah agrees to marry Alfred, who is now a congressman. Alfred's business and politics cause him to get involved with the O'Banion brothers, Irish bootleggers and gangsters.

Tristan finally returns during Prohibition, bringing life back to the ranch and his father. He accepts Susannah's marriage to Alfred, falls in love with and marries Isabel II, and they have two children. Life seems to become more normal as Tristan finds solace in his young family. During Prohibition, Tristan becomes involved in small-scale smuggling bootleg liquor, finding himself at odds with the O'Banion brothers. Tristan's wife is accidentally killed by a corrupt police officer working for the O'Banions and in a fit of agonized grief, Tristan beats the officer to near death and has to plead guilty and serve 30 days in jail. Susannah visits, but Tristan refuses her advances and insists she "go home to Alfred," her rightful husband. After his release from jail, Tristan and his father-in-law Decker kill those responsible for Isabel II's death, including one of the O'Banion brothers.

Susannah, gazing at herself in a mirror, then hacks off her hair, and commits suicide out of guilt and inner conflicts. When the remaining O'Banion brother comes for Tristan, he and the corrupt Sheriff are shot and killed by Colonel Ludlow and Alfred as Tristan attempts to protect his father. Alfred is finally forgiven by, and reunited with, his father and brother. Tristan, knowing he will be blamed for the men's disappearance, leaves for the mountain country after asking Alfred to take care of his children. The film skips ahead, showing a rundown cemetery with the gravestones of everyone in Tristan's life, all who died before him. The movie ends with Tristan as an old man in the woods. He enters a clearing to investigate an animal carcass when he's set upon by a grizzly bear. He draws his knife and fights it. They struggle and as Tristan once again raises his knife to attack once more, the image freeze frames as One Stab says, "It was a good death."



**NOTE**
This is a set-up for the next post. Get ready.