Asking why is one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
Asking what is my main reason for being born and walking this earth is a error in which I wish I had the ability to take back many years ago. By asking this question, what I am doing is saying that there has always been a laid out path for me before I wasn’t aware I could even talk, use words, and hear sounds. By me thinking there is a “Why” it left me with a safety net that no matter what happens towards the end, there will be some mythical person in the sky waiting to catch me when this ride of life tossed me out, and made room for the next person chasing the color of air. There will be some magic that will carry me towards the promise land as I flew above the chaos of bums in the street, forgotten kids, men with there eyelids slit out as they walked around aimless searching for a light like a moth to a flame, women who followed the “One size fits all” model and ended up watching “Teen Mom” laughing at hers and their ignorance in youth like a fortune teller that has already seen the future, and family members who despite my same blood would not cause me to end up like them. Yes, asking why as I now look at it is dangerous. Dangerous in the sense that, it left me as a arm-less man accepting fights with anyone because I knew somewhere there would be a person to stand in and fight for me. It left me as a black man with the 2008 “Obama can wipe my own ass now because we have the same skin tone and he is running shit” type of ignorant mindset. It left me with the unconscious process of a woman that somebody will be there in the end like Rollo from The Rational Male eluded to in his “Balancing Act” post a few weeks back. I had no other way of viewing the world as I thought this was not only THE way, but the RIGHT way that could guaranteed me a pass in heaven, and in the arms of a woman. Years later tho, I was sadly mistaken.
“WAKE UP CALL”
Coming to a understanding on the way I viewed life as a whole crashing against the reality in which I found was a mind numbing experience. There was no magic powers behind it. There was no special words and actions that would lead to results every time. There wasn’t any particular person that had all the answers locked away in a secret fridge with the label Secret stuff on it. It was simply a map. A map in which was not there for me or anybody else specifically. What you do with that map is on you and you alone. This map along with certain tools would be here long after I am dead and sharing room with the dirt and the worms like a certain scene in “Kill Bill” should of ended up being. But again, that is simply entertainment. That, is not real. That world was there to show me the path of the zombie and the graveyard of copy and paste, with voice box swapped with automated answering machines programmed to say the correct thing every time. No, this was not that world. This world had men who didn’t wait in line for their number to be called up hoping things go right. It wasn’t for men who found a once alternative with socks, lotion, and tissue paper, to it now becoming the norm and even acceptable during the late night hours of dark rooms, and lit PC screens that resembled campers around a fire watching and hearing the same ghost story over and over again. It showed a different male that lacked fear or didn’t weep when he did something wrong, and waited like a dog for a thousand words to hit him from his master in the form of newspapers, with the current event section used as the first couple of pages.
There was no waiting for acceptance from a gender that has an emotional state compared to a light switch that is used quicker than Sandra Bullock’s from her current situation. These men did as they please and it left me at first shocked. I seen it as pure manipulation. I wouldn’t waste my time with such bullshit. I still had hope this was merely a pathetic scheme for those not worthy of God’s path. The bread crumbles that I searched for everyday would soon turn up, and those dark souls would regret choosing a path with no one to serve and worship.Yet, a addiction occurred. The more my eyes tired from the bread crumb search, the more I would use this knowledge as a pillow to ease my head and calm my thoughts. Once former dreams now becoming external scripts that shifted into movies and then later on become behind the scenes reality type documentaries. From drama to action and then later on comedy as I looked around and seen nothing but jokes. Jokes of people still attached to idols and ideas that have long been proved wrong and cashed out from common sense. My mind no longer wished and instead did. The pennies that were once used to flip Abraham Lincoln’s head into a watery grave to once again hope a Santa Clause like figure will gift me with rewards from high within the sky, was now gone and showed no used to me. I at this moment was wide awake but honestly, I still deep down wanted to go crawl back in a comfortable bed, curl up tightly in the covers, and then drift back in a deep coma like dead sleep.
Sometimes when I am watching certain movies or listening to certain songs that deal with love and the themes of God and devil I ask myself, maybe. Maybe there still is “something” out there looking over us at night as we either sleep with the TV, or a wife or girlfriend near us. Sometimes I think there is still a plan for all this. I wonder if the kids that got shot at Sandy Hook a while back were simply not part of the master plan. They were just kids that were…. Here too soon? I guess I still try to squeeze a dry sponge hope liquid still manages to leak out as I listen to certain classic 90’s R&B, and drift away in thoughts of being able to lay next to a woman, and be able to share my deepest desires to her. Be able to tell her I would love to take care of her, and for her to never worry again about a man treating her badly. I would love for her response to be genuine and happy before her eyes would match her pink slit as we made LOVE all night (Or, for as long as I could. Only Netflix gets the marathon treatment). That moment in my head would play sometimes as I sit and think deeply on the past and the ways I use to act and behave around not just women, but anybody around me just with different actions and motivations. I think about hanging out with “friends” and them using me for shelter, food, and money at times. Once, I remember a “friend” asking for some money. I said sure and looked in my pocket. Yet, I manage to peek up in time to see him smirking to another person with him as if to say “Such a sucker”. I think about times like that and try to block out new information with rationalizations of why he smirked. Maybe something funny was being done behind my back that I didn’t see. Maybe he was just smirking due to a inside joke I was not aware of. Or, just maybe he was just smirking because he was happy and bragged to he other person he was getting some money. Yeah. I think about these things from time to time and wonder.
Then, I catch myself talking with one of my bosses, and hear them get into a mini rant about one of the employees I work with. I just stare and listen. I listen because I wonder what they are saying about behind my back when I am not performing to
my THEIR best ability like Paul Mooney eludes to until the 1:23 mark. I wonder how much they would claim to “love having me there” if I wasn’t caught up in the laziness my black people tend to sink themselves in as they fall back on “White people vs Niggers” rant. I wonder what else everybody is saying about me when they hear I get high praise in the office. I see smiles and head nods, but how many times has a “Fuck this dude” crossed their mind. When I am not dealing with that, I talk with some women and just think about what she really is deep down. I think about a certain thing I just said to her and watch her react in ways my younger self would of ran and ducked under cover, had he said the same exact thing with his weak and shivering tone. I smile while tilting my head as I hear her claim one thing yet do the complete opposite once I push the right buttons. I see a smirk and glee in their eyes that was once foreign to me. This look that my young self would only see in a distance as I sat away waiting for them to BLESS me with their attention so I can say a joke and mistake a laugh for flirting. Mistake a “help with this homework” for a “soon to have her number” ego investment. My ears once used to hearing tears for other men would now be used on me as I finally felt what the other man felt for a change. I once envied this man. But now I understand why he was “hurting this precious flower” so much. She is no longer a purpose, but instead a tool in conversation to pass the time when the beer, weed, or philosophical debate isn’t in use. I look around more, and I see my own people saying “God works in weird ways” as they crumble up another scratch ticket and pray that next time he blesses them with a piece of paper he never invented nor endorsed in the bible. I see people no longer as evil or bad, but more so a product of their DNA and environment as they do what they can do to survive. Its not about a path any longer. Its about just trying to make it to next year without blowing a motherfucker’s head off. Cypress Hill’s song “How I can just kill a man” is no longer entertainment, but more so understandable as a life lesson.
Fuck a maybe and a why. I want something in life, its up to me and me alone. Certain people want to only use me for resources? Cool. More room in my contacts and more money saved on me once I delete a motherfucker out my life. People want to sit in a building all Sunday as they talk to air, and give their hard earn money to a man that gives zero fucks about them accept when its time to get into character, fuck it. That is their choice. A woman wants to be treated a certain way in order for me to get some pussy, soda, and a well made sandwich, fuck it again. This is not my fault. The game will be here long after I am merely a afterthought in conversation as my younger cousins remember a funny time about me, before moving on to make some money and seek some unfiltered sex. I have my moments that cause me to look back and remember the good times. But then I see a incident in which I see my mother say “Don’t embarrass me” before going out to dinner with her stuck up side of the family and I start laughing. Fuck the bullshit. You know who is to blame if I end up broke and forgotten in this world, me. You know who is to blame if I end up getting married to a bitch who talks back, holds sex for ransom, and has no problem letting her motherfucking pussy grow out like she is doing a remake of “The Blair Witch Project”, me. Motherfucking me. There is no WHY and damn sure no maybe. Things happen because things just happen. Period. Its about Power, nature, progression, and saving your money for future security. Fuck a man in the sky and a demon in the dirt. I am the only one to blame for my success and failures. Why? Why the hell am I wasting my time looking for a simple word and definition that has already been created and found in the Dictionary. Made by us. Again:
FUCK A MAYBE.