I will never forget...
the evening of August fourteenth as the night that I met Dennis. The day had been a blur of normalcy. Since noon, I had been working in my small performance theatre semi effectively, and at myself as well, downing coffee in an attempt to conjure up enough energy to make the day exceptional. Several hours and grumpy spells later, I still had failed. It was only through various complaints of my acrimonious mood did I even begin to get over myself by the second act. It was then, around ten that evening, that a man walked in. I had barely glanced up from my laptop, as there were three female employees working for me at the front desk to address whatever benign needs he may have had. On top of that, he was on a cell phone- a small annoyance I felt justified my inattention. Yet phone still to ear, he ignored the three attendants entirely and came to the back of the lobby, directly in front of me.
He ended the call as I turned to him and said
“Hi. How long have you been working here?”
A question of credibility, since this was an old institution. I suppressed the small stir of ego inside me and answered.
“Three years. How can I help you?”
Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a small stack of single dollar bills, and handed it to me.
Reluctant and confused, I reached out slowly to accept as he explained himself.
“Two years ago, I was suffering from a drug addiction. I came in here and you, I think it was you- do any other employees have dreadlocks?”
“No...” I said.
“So it was you. You loaned me five dollars, and I wanted to pay it back.”
I was flabbergasted. Silence would have been much better than the stammering that followed.
“I...but...that’s...”
I was too overcome with emotion to properly express my gratitude. He simply said
“God can do anything. He can do whatever he wants.” And began to walk away.
“Wait.” I called out, walked to him, and shook his hand.
“Thank you.” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Dennis.” he replied, and then left.

India Arie bumps in to Erykah Badu...



is not only heel-arious [funny because it's tragic] , but a cool tool for writers. Screw actors- how strong do your words stand alone? Look at how corny Transformers 2 was with collagen and explosions: imagine a scene from that script read by legos? Painful. Let the games begin!

Hemingway challenge?
It's on, and over!

-J Robinson

The world is really dirty.

Big Daddy Kane Documentary...

Alvin Ailey....
Last night was ineffably fantastic. At the beginning of the night, there was anxiety. We were running late, so I had to suffer through actual and perceived CP-time jokes, setting the mood as a mix of hurried tension and casual disinterest. In the lobby were the various expressions of darker than normal faces for a darker than normal performance. It began with a video, setting the tone and briefly educating the audience on the history behind what they were about to see, but the crowd became restless. It wasn't until the first dancers came out and began to move that silence enveloped the hall, and everyone in it. They moved rhythmically in every uncommon way, mystifying the audience into a deep admiration, a holy receptivity they wouldn't have likely stumbled upon in their empty little lifetimes. These dancers danced, and carried depth and meaning directly to the core everyone there, which rarely is addressed at all. You can't expose yourself to such beauty and return to the mundane unaffected. You can't be silenced and not acknowledge the power behind it. You don't have to recognize the divinity- just accept they danced, everyone voice was silenced in awe, and only when they finished did you realize something was happening. What a performance...

Happy V-Day...
What are these bubble that appear from the bottom of my glass? There is no source of air down there, so what chemical reaction causes tiny separations of elements, to form mini circular pockets? Are they filled with oxygen? What then? How long can they last? If there were none, then some, what decides how long until the flow stops? When I ingest, and the same bubbles form inside of me, where does the inner contents of each capsule go? At the the surface of the glass, they dissipate, but inside of me, where do the inner contents of each sphere end up? I must be drunk. Happy Valentines Day. Some say the "holiday" is a corporate created marketing strategy, but I think Love is of certain importance and worth celebrating, no matter whos idea it was. It doesnt matter if you are paired up or not, the concept is worth celebrating. Happy Valentines Day...
P.S.
Burp. That answers at least one question.

Prostitution...

was on my mind this morning. Im somewhat liberal, but against the selling of virginity. By selling your first time, your setting the wrong tone for the vagina. Typically, a woman is infatuated with her first lover, using the act to be closer to the partner she desires. By selling it, the goal is to become closer to the dinero ponied up. If the former example died and went to heaven, heaven would look like an ideal marriage. If the latter example died, it would be in a hell of repetition- prostitution- and few prostitutes want to stay prostitutes forever. Unless the prostitution game has developed a respectable retirement plan, which I havent heard about.

In contrast, men consider the sex itself the "being with" of the partner. If they are a romantic, they will marry the partner, which in essence says "I promise to only have sex with you." If they are not, then they will "hit that", which essentially is "being with" the partner, but saying "I value you at this moment."

Ladies, be careful with your virginity.

Katt Williams Kills Steve Harvey...

Whew!...
O eight was a year to be reckoned with, and it ended with a bang for myself. Two days into the new, and Im just now catching my breath. Shall I see the end of two thousand and nine, I plan to say "Look how far Ive come". I feel on the edge of a new emergence. Maybe once the transition is complete, Ill recognize where I was before- wherever it is I am emerging from. A state of preparation? For at least the second time in my life a song lyric played catalyst to the completion of a journey consisting of many trains of thought. "All this time, I've lived vicariously..."
I can say enough plans were cancelled, ideas forgotten, and inspirations unrealized to give me the dreadful feeling too much of my life had happened only in my head. I resolved to dance more this year. One can only say "I think I'm a pretty good dancer" so many times before they fail to convince even themselves. The sentence itself technically meant my dance skills only existed in my head! Well there are a great many things in my head. Its time they were free, like I want to be...