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...

"Bush issues Kwanzaa statement"...
..on a USAToday.com blog caught my eye. Anything Bush had to say to Black people directly would be entertaining at least. The statement was not delivered in front of anyone- obviously way too many big words for him- but it was a generic acknowledgment anyway. The only benefit of such uselessly rare public touches of race is watching the Jerry Springer civil war that erupts in the comments section after. The beauty of of online anonymity is revealed in this ugliness. This is america raw. People launch such blatant and malicious attacks on the races that you begin to wonder if everyone is racist, or if this is just where they all meet. And Jews, although rarely a part of the original story, get dragged in just as fast as the blacks and whites. But these comments seemed particularly offensive today. Normally the arguments stick near the "white oppressors" side or the "stupid nigger/jew" area, but I was bothered by a common third view in these comments. A black person wrote a lengthy comment about the stupid jews, the evil crackers, the governments Kwanzaa, etc. A white person ignored the first few parts and chose to focus on the third. Something about "tired of appeasing minorities" and how this made up holiday is an example.The idea of these two very different people coming to an agreement seems like a good thing, but not always. Let me defend Kwanzaa officially for once: What other day of the year do black people in america actually think or act in remembrance of where they came from? Black history and the month begin with the slaves being brought to america, but we know the story begins before then. In Africa, bitches. And that's what Kwanzaa is about. Officially on board.

So...
I was playing Call of Duty 4 last night and my Halloween costume idea just came to me(since my budget was 0). Apparently not everyone shares my sense of humor. Happy Halloween, infidels...

Visualize...
World peace.


Try saying it aloud to someone else...

Monkey Boxing...

You...
Can't please everybody, so you might as well please yourself.

Happiness...
In life, is the theme of this video. I see the following: They man flips through a magazine (consumer-based economy) in the pursuit of happiness. As advertised (same way most people have their decisions made for them), he fantasizes about this miracle product (money, cars, junk) bringing him the blissful life we all seem to be chasing. But at the end of the video, you see things from an outside perspective he doesn't seem to recognize (can't we all use a new perspective?)- his hair all gray (life has already passed him by while he has chased dreams, and still does). The moral? You decide. I say life is passing us by while we chase a fantasy sold to us. Not me, suckers! Im alive...

Today's Find...


A good and appropriate flow to an already established catchy beat. Why not, I say...

Belly...
Is what my caller ID would say if I were to call my asshole self. It's somewhat depressing, but probably more so being Saturday Night. And I'm not alone, but feeling quite unsatisfied with myself. Perhaps the coffee table just happens to have been cluttered with trash and ash long enough to summon the subconscious mothers scold from Christmas past, and the timing is unfortunately perfect. Now all I can see is a messy coffee table and an alarmingly increasing fatmosphere around my waistline. Why am I so aware that it's Saturday Night? I guess from an outsiders point of view, which I seem to value mysteriously more, I criticize every recognized moment as an example of either a tragedy of wasted talent- minus this one, which strayed and lingered a while at misplaced arrogance. I suppose at the end of the day, left up to me, I wouldn't change much more. Either increased productivity from today, or like originally hoped, from further in the past on a job well done. Until then, I linger in the what ifs for just a while, then choose the post over the xbox, and at least think about a crunch. First step, I say...

Good Morning....

and afternoon, and evening. Out of the three hundred and seventy youtube videos sent to me, I'm glad I didn't autodelete this one. It put me in a better mood this morning.

In the nicetime, I'm going to attempt to Take6 and spread love today, and encourage you to do the same. Call your mama, and have a nice day...

There's No Point....
In staying in a bad mood. Don't do those things- we all have them- that only exacerbate the problem. Eat, get some sunshine, put on happier music, treat yourself to lunch, do that thing u felt bad about doing before. Also, take your own advice. That is all...

I need...
To work out.

Bicycle Day...
On April 19, 1943 Dr. Albert Hofmann intentionally ingested 250 µg of LSD, which he hypothesized would be at most a threshold level dose, based on his research on other ergot alkaloids. Surprisingly, the substance showed a potency orders of magnitude above almost any other substance known at the time, amounting to a much heavier dose than typically given in modern therapeutic use. After ingesting the substance Hofmann found himself struggling to speak intelligibly and asked his laboratory assistant, who knew of the self-experiment, to escort him home on his bicycle, since wartime restrictions made automobiles unavailable. On the bicycle ride home, Hofmann's condition became more severe and in his journal he stated that everything in his field of vision wavered and was distorted, as if seen in a curved mirror. Hofmann also stated that while riding on the bicycle, he had the sensation of being stationary, unable to move from where he was, despite the fact that he was moving very rapidly. Once Hofmann arrived home, he summoned a doctor and asked his neighbor for milk, believing it might help relieve the symptoms. Hofmann wrote that despite his delirious and bewildered condition, he was able to choose milk as a nonspecific antidote for poisoning.^[8] Upon arriving the attending doctor could find no abnormal physical symptoms other than extremely dilated pupils. After spending several hours terrified that his body had been possessed by a demon, that his next door neighbor was a witch, and that his furniture was threatening him, Dr. Hofmann feared he had become completely insane. In his journal Hofmann said that the doctor saw no reason to prescribe medication and instead sent him to his bed. At this time Hofmann said that the feelings of fear had started to give way to feelings of good fortune and gratitude, and that he was now enjoying the colors and plays of shapes that persisted behind his closed eyes. Hofmann mentions seeing "fantastic images" surging past him, alternating and opening and closing themselves into circles and spirals and finally exploding into colored fountains and then rearranging themselves in a constant flux. Hofmann mentions that during the condition every acoustic perception, such as the sound of a passing automobile, was transformed into optical perceptions. Eventually Hofmann slept and upon awakening the next morning felt refreshed and clearheaded, though somewhat physically tired. He also stated that he had a sensation of well being and renewed life and that his breakfast tasted unusually delicious. Upon walking in his garden he remarked that all of his senses were "vibrating in a condition of highest sensitivity, which then persisted for the entire day".
History is so interesting...

Blue...
is what it is, but red is what is seen. Misunderstanding is my name for it, but what does that matter?

Happy Valentine's Day...
To me, especially. What better gift could a nerd like myself ask for than news that George Lucas is finally working on a new Star Wars movie and series. Love is in the air...

Perhaps I should be appreciative....
But god I hate work. Its not that I dont like doing things, or being productive- I just hate having to come to work. Why cant I just lie on a beach somewhere? Why cant I wake up when i want? Why cant I stay home and clean up when I want? Ugh...

Nora Roberts...
Ain't exactly taking up much space on my bookshelves, but I still would join her literary mob and burn pinche ladron, Cassie Edwards, at the stake- metaphorically. If the courts rule that her actions are anything less than blatant plagiarism, then I may reconsider a career in writing. This excerpt was all I needed to read:

Roberts wrote in "Savage Longings"(which I found offensively titled, but thats another story):

"The women who belonged to this society created ceremonial decorations by sewing quills on robes, lodge coverings, and other things made of the skins of animals. Snow Deer had told Charles that the Cheyenne women considered this work of high importance, and when properly performed, it was quite as much respected as were bravery and success in war among the men."

Edwards wrote in "Cheyenne Indians"(also poor taste):

"Of the women's associations referred to the most important one was that devoted to the ceremonial decoration, by sewing on quills, of robes, lodge coverings, and other things made of the skins of animals. This work women considered of high importance, and, when properly performed, quite as creditable as were bravery and success in war among the men."

Really, Cassie?
You didn't steal, but only got "influence" from Roberts' novel? As a novelist, I know that the talent stems from the creativity, so to rob her of not only that, but of her method as well, burns me up. Shame on you, Cassie Edwards. I hope you get paper cut...