Friday, July 17, 2015

Oh Yea...

I come through walls, like the Kool-Aid man. I'd forgotten about this place. I was thinking about a journal, when it came back to me. It's like a journal after someone has read it. Adulterated, but still there. You still have the relationship.
It's been a while. Too much has happened to catalog, but some stats are historically crucial, like living in the bayou, still accompanied by Prince Luke Skywalker Robinson, my chewy, & owning a piglet named Boucherie. I didn't choose her (it's, as I'm constantly reminded) name. For some reason, there is concern I will love it, & be incapable of doing the deed when it comes time to slaughter. Halfway legit concern. I assured my comrades that I can do both, as is required of all ninja who join the order. Besides, since the ability to kill is of such importance, killing a thing you love should have special value to you savages. That's right, savages. Day 3 and I'm already on the verge of giving up bacon. The paradox is the local shop having a sale, 12oz for $2. Who can resist a deal, right? $3 and I can have 2 of my famous bacon avocado sandwiches(tm).
When people ask how I'm doing, I say I'm eating. I think that's a good indicator of how things are going in one's life. Mind you the cancerous poverty still exists, but last week I said aloud "I'm sick of eating brisket." What a problem to have. I still worry that all we do, I do, is consume. What have I done for anybody, myself included? What have I given my siblings, my nieces, & nephews? How dare I ask what I've done for my community, people, world? What is my role in the times? I think about these things, while the phone bill is past due, and there are more bills than dollar bills. "Final notice." Promises promises. I was thinking about food. Thinking about being tired of ordering pizza. Somebody said "This is my friend J. He's a really good writer." I was just thinking about what to eat, now I can't stop thinking about that. Thought about it. Came here, at least. I keep pushing back on the age. Soldiers die young. Might not see twenty five. All the greats go at twenty seven. Jesus didn't even start until thirty. Jesus died at thirty three. Toni Morrison's first was at forty. Harper Lee only did one ever. What is age, anyway? As long as I'm not dead, it's not too late, right? Fine, I'll write something for my friend, before I die. Also on the list, something for my younglings, to inspire them, & teach them, and something for my enemies to choke on. Can't do anything on an empty stomach, though. I'm eating.