TORIAN: The Scars...

The First Of Many Scars (Intro)
The way in which we start things isn’t as important to me as how they are ended
.
My years as a violinist taught me that easily enough. Sometimes the pieces you play begin on sour notes only to end beautifully.

But sometimes it varies based on the situations. I have been there and back again. Thus is the lot of the quiet violinist.

Torian

.
Yeah, that’s my name.

I am sure there have been stories before, stories of evil men being made and ones where a monster was finally seen to be a man. . Yet this tale has common threads.

This is about scars.

More to the point, this is a story about my scars. And if you truly know about scars you know the pains that usually come with making them.

Do you want to see mine?

OK. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Here is the first…

The story of a drunken violinist...

The best thing about writing your own characters is that it gives you a rare opportunity to create life, even if it's purely fictional.

I've done that many times over...

But when I do it I try to write perfectly flawed characters that you have strong feelings about, whether they are good or whether they are of the negative persuasion.

For example...

I created a curvy temptress who goes from selfish, self-absorbed bitch and, through her own struggles and triumphs, becomes a good woman and a good mother. This pales in comparison...

....to writing a conflicted villain who is evil by circumstances, only to be revealed as an avenging hero at the very end of his life. It surprised me thoroughly when the few people who've read the whole story name a villain as their favorite character.

Yet the oddest character to be liked by the masses...is a drunken violinist.

<-- strong="strong">This drunken violinist...

...a guy I named Torian Kennedy.

He's basically this brilliant

and quiet tortured artist who has something of a drinking problem and is blunt to the point of being a complete asshole. For my return to my blog, I'll be talking about him for a while.

I hope you can bear with me as I do...

  

Black Scion Poetic [2]

This is my way of saying...yeah, I still write epics.

"As I look back on all that's happened..growing up, growing together, changing you, changing me -- there were times when we dreamed together, when we laughed and cried together. As I look back on those days, I realize how much I truly miss you and how much I truly love you. The past may be gone forever..and whatever the future holds, our todays make the memories of tomorrow. So, my lifetime friend, it is with all my heart that I send you my love, hoping that you'll always carry my smile with you, for all we have meant to each other and for whatever the future may hold."

Verse One
A foolish first time kiss
The type of encounter you remember
It was the end of a solo
Some sort of sonnet called December
Caught a stare
Beyond the compare
That simple way we ignore eyes
As if milky whites
With no sights
Unalike the wonders that surround
Your social network got all looks
Parts of me were impressed
Over your blasé
About her sashay
Betting you beat your drummer
Probably deftly, probably slummer

I get your interactions constant
Conversations playing almost falling
No one was attempting clumsy steps
In slow motion, tumbling, stalling
Around the way cutie
Threatening to be beauty
Quiet loving for the fear
Lit liquid into lingered danger
Tides and tempting, no stranger
So began an ease
Into innocent young encounters
A shoulder covered in extending
For a second, a flutter
Pretexts melt as butter
By the architect end, a design
Finding myself calling you mine

Chorus
(Selfish)
I think when I called you mine
You gave the entire world divine
The perfect light
Every night
And the days I called you mine

Repeat once

Black Scion Poetic [1]

This is my way of saying...yeah, I still write epics.



Chorus
For a moment of caustic seconds
We glared across the abyss
And we saw this
Another notorious figure
Mirrored into motions upon opposites
Of ships passing in the night


Verse One
They’re fearful fuckers
Clock suckers
Two so timeless, always
Those Lauper nasty boys
Time after time
Into sweetest repetitions
A rendition of the ego
Wherever I go
He go, she go
Down for the count
She's licked over and over
Cumming up short
In your scarecrow sensibilities
"Daddy's home..."
That's her fearful symmetry
Sharing the goods with both
In hopes of feeling hole again
But you don't
I won't kowtow to your fright there
A nightmare syndrome
Boogeyman logic
I'll taste like the tonic
Liquid courage
You forage more
One question, Goldie...
Who's this porridge for?

Chorus

Verse Two
We’re ugly honesty
Something honors me
Bowed like the arrow might
See the reflection?
I can’t William or tell
Everything about it is legend
The chanciest encounter
When clout stirs
Down all doubters
No one blinks a bit
Because no fear is the motto
It rested in the eyes of devils
A modern violence
It’s a whisper
Super sweet ultraviolet
Beaming on the other twisted vine
Kudzu in killer seasons
Yet no choking
Breaking the fourth wall barrier
A real night terror
Shadows shifty
The afraid are thrifty
Cheap thoughts abound
Only cards to be pulled
Tell me, little piggy…
Are you afraid of bad wolves?

Chorus

Of Babylon

My inspiration comes from everywhere. One of my favorite inpirations will always be the Bible. To give you a little backstory for the newest piece I've written I want to tell you all about a notable character in the Bilbe, the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II.



Nebuchadnezzar II (‎English pronunciation: /nɛbəkədˈnɛzər/ Arabic: نِبُوخَذنِصَّر c 634 – 562 BC) was king of the Neo-Babylonian Empire, who reigned c. 605 BC – 562 BC. According to the Bible, he conquered Judah and Jerusalem, and sent the Jews into exile. He is credited with the construction of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and the destruction of the First Temple. He is featured in the Book of Daniel and is also mentioned in several other books of the Bible. The Akkadian name, Nabû-kudurri-uṣur, means "Oh god Nabu, preserve/defend my firstborn son". Nabu is the Babylonian deity of wisdom, and son of the god Marduk. In an inscription, Nebuchadnezzar styles himself as Nabu's “beloved” and “favourite”.

The name is often mistakenly interpreted as "O Nabu, defend my kudurru", in which sense a kudurru is an inscribed stone deed of property. However, when contained in a ruler's title, kudurru approximates to "firstborn son" or "oldest son".[5] The Hebrew form is נְבוּכַדְנֶצַּר (Nəḇūḵaḏneṣṣaror Nevuchadnetsar), but is also found as נְבוּכַדְנֶאצַּר and נְבוּכַדְרֶאצַּר (Nəḇuḵaḏreṣṣar). The Greek form was Ναβουχοδονόσωρ (Naboukhodonósôr). He is also known as Bakhat Nasar, which means "winner of the fate", or literally, "fate winner".




Nebuchadnezzar is most widely known through his portrayal in the Bible, especially the Book of Daniel as נְבוּכַדְנֶאצַּר. The Bible discusses events of his reign and in addition his conquest of Jerusalem.

The second chapter of Daniel relates an account attributed to the second year of his reign, in which Nebuchadnezzar dreams of a huge image made of various materials (gold, silver, bronze, iron and clay). The prophet Daniel tells him God's interpretation, that it stands for the rise and fall of world powers, starting with Nebuchadnezzar's own as the golden head.

In Daniel chapter 3, Nebuchadnezzar erects a large idol made of gold for worship during a public ceremony on the plain of Dura. When three Jews, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah (respectively renamed Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego by their captors, to facilitate their assimilation into Babylonian culture), refuse to take part, he has them cast into a fiery furnace. They are protected by what Nebuchadnezzar describes as "the son of God" (Daniel 3:25) and emerge unscathed without even the smell of smoke.

Daniel chapter 4 contains an account of another of Nebuchadnezzar's dreams, this time of an immense tree, which Daniel interprets that Nebuchadnezzar will go insane for seven years because of his pride.






While boasting over his achievements, Nebuchadnezzar is humbled by God. The king loses his sanity and lives in the wild like an animal for seven years. After this, his sanity and position are restored and he praises and honors God. There has been some speculation on what the organic cause of this insanity might have been. Some consider it to be an attack of clinical lycanthropy or alternatively porphyria, or an advanced case ofsyphilis.

Some scholars think that Nebuchadnezzar's portrayal by Daniel is a mixture of traditions about Nebuchadnezzar — he was indeed the one who conquered Jerusalem — and about Nabonidus (Nabuna'id). For example, Nabonidus was the natural, or paternal father of Belshazzar, and the seven years of insanity could be related to Nabonidus' sojourn in Tayma in the desert. Fragments from the Dead Sea Scrolls, written from 150 BC to 70 AD state that it was Nabonidus (N-b-n-y) who was smitten by God with a fever for seven years of his reign while his son Belshazzar was regent.

The Book of Jeremiah contains a prophecy about the arising of a "destroyer of nations", commonly regarded as a reference to Nebuchadnezzar (Jer. 4:7), as well as an account of Nebuchadnezzar's siege of Jerusalem and looting and destruction of the temple (Jer. 52).

Equally opposite (Excerpts)-II

Loose Rubbers
Verse One Almost nervous and nearly near enough
Stripper shaking with a
Pocket full of loose rubbers
Fingers fiddle
A one noted sort of nigga
You know the type, right?
We see them with binoculars
Seeking out high notes into climax
Frequenting the lower tones
Hoping for the night to find them
Deep in the depths in some pleasure
Wanting her even when she scoffs words
Leaving the presence back to the pasts
No again and again
It was then but living now
Always love like an old rendition
Played slow, sweet but just memory
Made of body kisses long gone
No love made, no fucking strokes
You are the former inspiration
The words repeated without hearing
Until tears fallen are a rainstorm
But it’s shaken, brother
That’s the move, man?
Emotions are irrelevance
Simple trifles except for you
A lost gold in a silver society
Even if it hurts to admit it
Hitched up smiles, false faces figures
Another might enjoy pocketfuls
Of loose rubbers

Chorus Pocket full of horses
Of course it’s little more than a game
Don’t want your name
Please be thinking the same
All I want is you to understand
What will happen with the loose rubbers in my hands

Repeat once

Verse Two Downing drinks to settle nerves a bit
Uneasy with that
Pocket full of loose rubbers
Hands palm
Ones read in hopes sooth say differently
But it won’t, will it?
All the cognacs and mixed concoctions
Promise no passion, pain, or pleasure
May end up alone in the low lights
Five knuckles shuffling sticky
Instead of deep in the depths of warm pockets
Tight and moist enough for interest piqued
Still it seems presumptuous to ponder
Positions and contortions so earnestly
Lest you slip the objects of affectionate lust
A little mouse beforehand and before hands touch
A mickey to the bottom, got them
Only if you were that brave
So it’s just a dream to think on
Try to ply them with the wit and innuendo
All too blatant to be missed
No interest and no regards
Dying hopes two humidors puff on your cigar
So what’s next, friend?
All or nothing statements
You trying to fuck? Affronted but no subtlety
Slaps ensue and lonely islands grow
But no shame in it, you tried the best
Laughing it off, called them bitches for the troubles
Almost closing time, let’s get rid of
All these loose rubbers

Chorus 2xs

Verse Three Last call was the shouted announcement
What to do with this
Pocket full of loose rubbers
Look at her spread
Hoping quietly she spreads like peanut butter
She’s down, right?
Maybe that’s why the fingers caress
Places in the open and under the table
Like hush money dollars
Maybe I can make one holler out
Names, expletives, speaking in fabled tongues
Seems willing to a victim
Drained like vamps and bloodsuckers
So he just wants to fuck her ragged
It was urgent the way she pulled at the shirt
So now the two are leaving quickly
Crumpled Jacksons lie under a half full glass
Optimisms abound, hands all over ass, squeezing
Back to the bedroom, naked in seconds after sixty
Fumbling into front ones for prophylactics
Impatient mare seeks a stallion, rushes rides
“Fuck me already…”
If you ask me she’s ready, Alicia
So what’s the decision, brother?
Cast aside because he was thirsty
And she was wet so it all worked out
For an hour or two long dong deep down
Scratching pleased tattoos on the upper back
Next morning gone but something lingers
A tingling that says that maybe
You could have used a few loose rubbers

Chorus

Equally opposite (Excerpts)-I

St. Valentine’s Night (Interlude)

Half dead roses on the window seal
Wilted flowers so close to the day

Had a feeling that would catch your eye
Amazing how well you know me...
(He winks)

(She smiles)
This is for...St.Valentine
The sun sets, the stem drops
Almost without sounds or sights

It doesn't have sound?
Scarcely any…
Hmm.... oh, well

Leaves start to fall
Tumbling drowsy, elegantly
One by one, for every hour she's alone…
Until the pile up, a mess of remnants there

(The Equal Opposites were in rare form tonight. Their performances are always interesting to watch, even to that guy in the back who ponders over taking one of those listening ladies home with him tonight. He reaches in pocket and feels around. Inside he finds change, a few dollars of various denominations, and a few loose rubbers.)

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.)