Friday, July 28, 2017

New writing on VerySmartBrothas and Cassius Life

Oh hey, I've been writing and such.



"Have Your Heaven Now: What Lupus Taught Me About Life" (Very Smart Brothas)
One. Lupus taught me that I may not have that undefined five, ten or 15-ish years to lollygag, gain and lose weight, have babies, move, work soul-crushing jobs, and fuck around before thinking about possibly maybe preparing to getting serious about chasing my dreams. I went from thriving to barely surviving overnight. Then from comatose to a decade of following my curiosity around the country hunting down happiness. Lupus could return anytime. You could awake tomorrow and melt from overexposure to Flo Rida fandom. Do the damn shit while you can. 
Two. I complain too much. After being diagnosed with lupus, chillaxing in a coma for a bit, and recovering in the hospital, I had to learn to walk again. My leg muscles atrophied and my dancer’s legs were less useful than a guest verse from Chingy in the 2000 and the 17. While dancing a hateful Harlem Shake with Prednisone, my bladder control went on strike at the worstest of times. The same steroid increased my already hyperactive appetite 21 thousandfold. It also gave me a lovely coat of acne that covered my face, neck, and chest. Those were problems.

"Hot Peas & Butter and More Slavery Merriment In Virginia" (Very Smart Brothas)
I lunged towards the grill, lifted its cover, and there it was. A long leather belt with a big silver buckle. Apparently, you’re supposed to yell out “Hot peas and butter, come get your supper!” but we were far too cool for that shit. I grabbed that motherfucker, spun around and there he was, the new kid who could never have company when his parents weren’t home without a lengthy logistical debate via house phone, likely because their house smelled like potpourri and dumpster juice-infused pot liquor, Kaymonn.

"Black Extraness: When You Do Way Too Much With Way To Little" (Cassius Life)
On one hand, I get the desire to impress and the urge to seek additional credibility to fortify thine pedestal or whatever the fuck via a Doctorate of Advanced Geometric Left-Handed Divinity from Sepatown University, earned after years of pondering the relationship of peanut butter to jelly and the problems of Tom and Jerry. And tithing $199 plus shipping and handling. 
Anyone who’s attempted to get a grown-up job in The Age of Needing Thirty Years of Experience For Entry Level Phone Answering is familiar with the often undue weight our society puts on The Degree. Though it guarantees neither riches nor competence, it is often the gold standard of achievement. It holds weight. It matters.
Here's the rest of my writing.

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