Lost & Found.

I’ve never been this lost.

I’ve also never felt more in touch with reality. I’m in the middle of a struggle with the notion that I’ve never known my true self. What I think I am trying to say is that, I can’t tell If I’ve lost myself, or simply found my true self. All I know, is that I’m unhappy with myself either way. I’ve matured from a completely self involved being, to one that lives outside of the self. In this relocation I have realized that I’m different people around different people. I think I have known this for awhile subconsciously, but in my new found conscious-awareness a key question arises.

Which one is the real me?

For years I thought I always knew, but I’ve been different people with different people for so long, I wonder if they all are the real me.

Is it possible that I’m both DMX and Malcomn X? Is it possible that I’m both Andy Warhol and Andy Milanokis?  I don’t know the answers, and I’m almost sure I never did. I believe I’m very sane writing this, but as a reader I’m unsure if this sounds crazy.  I’m not sure if I’m sure about anything anymore.

This confusion of the self is scary, and is affecting my creativity. . . I think.  It’s either that or the profuse amount of marijuana I’ve introduced into my life as of late under the guise that It’s a creativity booster. I  don’t believe it is, at least not for me. Either way writing has never been this excruciatingly hard for me. My words have never felt more thoughtless, and once again I’m struggling with the idea of being lost or found. I don’t know If I’m losing a talent, or realizing it was never there.

I wish to find myself, and be that self, no matter who it is. I only hope  that I’m a beautiful soul, with the ability to make the world feel.

To Be Continued..

It’s now or never, not now or later.

Time flies like a fighter jet, and we must not allow our creativity and ambition to become passengers. There’s no round trips on time’s jet, and if we allow it, we could lose the best part of ourselves to it forever. If we allow it, it can be a non-stop flight to a world of your own creation, but a world in which things can not be changed.  It’s a world of nevers that were once I’ll do it laters. NOW IS THE TIME TO THRIVE.


My Parents.

I don’t have the typical parents, if such a thing still exists. Nothing is typical anymore, is it? Anyway for conversation sake, I don’t have the typical parents, nor the typical relationship with the two of them respectively.

I love my mom more of the two, and more of any other being the world has to offer. I’m unsure if this is completely noticeable, and I have certain moments of this ironic, uncertain, clarity where this thought saddens me. I hope she know this though. I hope she sees this through, the hanging up, the yelling, and all the other things one shouldn’t do to their mom, or the person they love most in this world. I pray in these moments that my love is so strong, and bright, that it shines through the cloud of bullshit I bring over the sun that is our relationship, and not perfect, but perfectly loving mother.

Where to get started with my dad? I’ve got a mixture of emotions towards him, but I don’t show any of them to their full extent, if that at all makes sense. I have anger, and I show him, but not to the full extent it deserves. I may cop an attitude, but I should be copping a pair of brass knuckles. (Not really, but the point is, I never really show him the complete level of my emotion.) I have love, but I can count on one hand the times I’ve told him I’ve loved him.  There are times when I wake up in a very nice apartment that he pays for completely, and I am able to write staring out my bedroom window & into the sun rising over the horizon. In these moments I want nothing, but to call and thank him endlessly, for allowing this to happen, but I don’t. Our relationship is built around playing it cool. It’s built around clever or smart ass, or moments of mutual respect. There’s rarely moments in between you know? Of complete genuine, and peeled back emotion, it’s all thought out on my end, I can’t speak for him. When those moments happen though, few feelings that I’ve felt in my young life can I describe as being better.  I don’t know why this is, or whether I even want it to change. I just find it interesting, the way I find that we as man kind decided that California is 3 hours behind Georgia because of the way the sun sets, and rises over there/here. That blows my mind, but I don’t care much if it changes or not.

I don’t have the typical relationship with my parents. I go months, sometimes years without seeing them. Some people can’t even fathom that I imagine. Sometimes I go months without even talking to them. My mom- via me creating a cloud over the sun that she…. mostly is.  My dad- via we just lose touch.. It isn’t natural for us to keep in touch if it’s not involving the necessaries.

It is important that I state that I  don’t want this at all to come off as sad. When you completely accept the things around you, I believe it also gives you complete control of them as well. In a sense of course, I am not saying you can change the world if you accept it, but in a sense that’s also completely what I’m saying.

My dad paves a road for me in which I am able to ride more smoothly to my dreams. My mom talks to me, and holds my hand the whole time I’m in the car on that road. I appreciate my not so typical parent puzzle, and find that it works for me.

As you two are reading this there may be parts that anger you respectively, but I’m fine with that, I just hope it makes you guys feel. With love, with thanks, with thought, with appreciation, I just want to say all that I’ve already said, and that I hope you feel something.

If I can change one thing, and I know that one day I will, I will have it so that there is  complete positive energy between the two. That is all. That is all my 21 year old self would change.

My Parents.



I need a fucking Journal

I’m paralyzed by emotion. I’m trapped in my thoughts, engulfed in the flames of my pain. When am I not, right? I literally lay in my bed, minutes ago or days, consumed with gathering the details of a single painful thought until I felt, how I feel. I don’t know why I do this. I don’t know why I type in “W” in my internet browser and Worldstarhiphop comes up instead of WordPress. Why don’t I write more? I don’t write when I’m happy, but writing is what I want to do for the rest of my life. Does that mean I’m doomed to drown in pain, and revive myself through the words?  No one will ever understand. You aren’t meant to.  I need a fucking journal.

This Is Love.

It was like dancing to your favorite song, with your favorite person, in your favorite place. Only I couldn’t dance, and I’ve seen better sights than my apartment’s community laundry room. Still. The feeling was epic.

I remember her saying, “I feel you throughout my body. I can’t feel anything else, but you.”

“I haven’t stuck it in yet.” I admitted.

“I know.”  She whispered.

I knew I loved her before this moment, but this is the moment I will tell our grand children I knew. We danced until we couldn’t dance any longer. Afterwards we lay naked while our clothes washed under us.

“If I had one wish in this world, I’d wish that I could sing to you right now.” I said.

“Really?”  She asked.

“I mean it. I’ve thought this out. This would be my one wish in a life full of wishful thinking.” I said.

“Why don’t you sing to me then?” She asked.

“Because I’m really bad. It wouldn’t have the same effect. It would hurt your ears.” I admitted.

“I’d still listen.” She urged.

I took a deeper than deep breath. “Oh how I love you.” I sang. “Oh how the sky is blue because I love you. Oh how the stars shine at night because I love you. Oh how everything makes sense because I love you.” I finished.

“Encore, Encore!” She screamed through crying eyes and bleeding ears.

This is love.

That was nine months ago.

“Push!” The room screamed in unison.

She looked up at me.

“I can’t push any more.” She said.

“It’s just a couple more.” I encouraged.

“I still feel you throughout my body, I can’t feel anything else, but you.” She whispered.

“Maybe it’s the baby inside you.” I teased.

“It’s you.” She reassured.

“Push!” The room screamed in Unison.

“I don’t think I can do it.” She admitted.

“Oh how I still love you.” I sang. “Oh how the sky is still blue because I still love you. Oh how the sky is still blue because I still love you. Oh how everything still makes sense because I will always love you.” I finished.

“Thank you.” She said pushing through crying eyes and bleeding ears.

Then almost everyone cried in Unison.

“The baby is here!” One shouted almost loud enough to drown out the nurse yelling, “The baby is here, but the mother isn’t breathing. Were losing her.”

I was losing her. I wanted to yell. Not we. It was I. However, I couldn’t speak, and the love of my life couldn’t breathe. She was gone, but not completely. I could feel her throughout my body, I couldn’t feel anything but her.

This is love.