Wednesday, October 22, 2014

On America...

You have to wonder why the rules don't apply to everyone. If a young white kid shoots up his school, people are quick to bring up mental health issues. If a young black kid shoots another black kid, mental health is not mentioned. Although, a lot of times, that white kid comes from a two parent household (which doesn't mean a good environment) and is above the poverty line. When these crimes happen by black kids, usually they are below the poverty line and come from very adverse backgrounds. So it seems the white kid can't be a bad person, he's just sick. But the black kid who does the same murder can't be sick, he's just a bad person.
We've come a long way? We may have just camouflaged the road.

Mo'ne Davis x Spike Lee

Monday, October 20, 2014

Tuesday, October 14, 2014


Currently burning through the pages of 'Stokely: A Life,' by Peniel E. Joseph. The life of one of America's heroes and greatest revolutionaries. From his upbringing in New York to him being on of the world's most powerful figures in the search for freedom.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Tuesday, September 23, 2014


Currently burning through the pages of 'The Buddha in the Attic,' by Julie Otsuka. Follow the lives of Japanese women coming to America for the first time. When they finally land they meet their new husbands, who they have never met, and find out what they were told about America is not the truth.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014



And I woke to your eyes grazing across me.
Couldn't help but smile.
Being admired by the admirable.
And you touched me.
Fingertips resembling flower petals from the planet Beauty.
Geez ,WOMAN.

And I woke to your precious body exposed bare.
Art married to functionality and desire.
Mine, bare as well, like a mere field in Texas.
But yours...equipped with valleys and hills, curving and peaking.
Flowing deep down into crevasses where souls are kidnapped with just a tiny tremor from your hips.
Damn, WOMAN.

And sometimes I feel like the smartest man in the world.
Because I've learned what most haven't fathomed.
That WOMAN is the closest thing to god we have on this Earth.
No temple, no church, no book can create WOMAN. Only WOMAN.
And to wake up next to a being that you realize and acknowledge as that tangible representation...well...
It's a drug.

And I woke next to you and blushed at your very existence.
Addicted to the moments I feel you next to me and make me believe in this world again.
Ah man, WOMAN.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014


Currently burning through the pages of 'Satchel Paige's America,' by William Price Fox. Meant to be a regular biography, Fox instead spent a few weeks with Satchel as he traveled around the South. What you get is a book where you feel as if Paige and you are at bar and he's telling you about the old days in America. Probably the best baseball pitcher who ever lived...can't forget that.

Monday, September 15, 2014

On beauty...

At a certain point a man is no longer attracted to just beauty. Beauty becomes abstract even. A worldly man sees things differently. They look for a complexity that is more attractive than the rest of the world's definition of beauty. They're looking for the future of beauty.

Yeah Man...

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

I don't put a lot of personal things on the Internet because when something goes sour, it's common for people to erase or delete those past moments. And life isn't like can't delete your past and forget what happened.

Kate Moss x AnOther

Santana and Miguel x Indy

This is a jam.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014


I've never heard of a case where you have 5 eye witnesses to a murder and their accounts are cast away as if it doesn't matter.

Monday, August 18, 2014


Currently burning through the pages of 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being,' by Milan Kundera. A worldly doctor in Prague deals with muses, the meaning of love and the world not understanding him along the way. (side-eye to myself). Great line in the first 7 pages: 'Was it simply the hysteria of a man who, aware deep down of his inaptitude for love, felt the self-deluding need to simulate it?'