Fools and a Poem

April Fool's Day just passed. Remember when you lived for April Fool's Day? On what other day are people of all ages encouraged to blatantly lie, deceive friends and family, and bask in other's embarrassment? I remember creating an elaborate story about how one of the fiiiinest girls in school had asked me about one of my best friends. "She said that when you see her at lunch, you should grab her from behind and whisper 'Hey, Beautiful' in her ear," I told him as I watched his eyes gleam in delight. So, my excited friend saw her at lunch and proceeded to take my advice. As he grabbed her waist, she quickly turned around, slapped him in the face, kicked him in the 'goods', and gave a verbal lashing Richard Pryor would have blushed at. When my embarrassed friend limped over to the group of us doubled over and wiping laughter-induced tears from our faces, the only solace I could offer was - "APRIL FOOL'S!" Priceless. Imagine that worked in all facets of life. 1) You walk into your job and say to your boss, "I hate you! You are absolutely the worst person on the face of the planet. The world we be a better place when you're no longer in it...April Fool's." or 2) "Baby, I slept with your sister. I didn't mean to; I just kinda fell in. Wait! That's not all. I went to the doctor and I'm sure she gave me some sort STD! April Fool's! Ha Ha." And then all is forgotten. That would be great. Okay, just had to let that one out. Now, a poem from me to you. Awake!!!

Awake!

Awaken from your dormancy, your normalcy.

Arise from your slumber and tumble into consciousness.

Wipe the apathy from your eyes.

Wash your face with gasoline and brush your teeth with a book of matches.

Greet all you meet with a kiss on the cheek.

Set the world a fire!

Be inspired.

And in turn, inspire others to greatness.

Take this poem and burn it, write a better one.

Incinerate the world, make a brighter sun!

Awake this very moment and choose life and let life choose you.

Steal hours and conceal minutes.

Hide time and its very conventions in your mind, behind nice thoughts that mask rebellious intentions.

Dare to dream despite the worlds constant pinching.

Take religion, replace it with spirituality.

Take conformity, replace it with individuality.

Replace education with knowledge,

Let experience be your college or university.

Embrace diversity.

Realize it’s worse if we were all the same.

Stop taking life for granted.

Just Stop.

Listen. Look. Love.

© Darius D.

Preteen Dreams & Grown Man Wishes

This post is in serious violation of "MAN LAW", and I am fully aware of that. It's a good thing that I don't buy into any of that BS, so I have absolutely no qualms with the following statement:
Men need to grow up!

Yeah, I said it. And I don't mean in the "You're how old and still playing those damn video games while I'm over here in my new lace, tiger-print, Frederick's of Hollywood lingerie?" kind of way. I don't even mean it in the "They're only shoes; who cares that he stepped on them and didn't say sorry?" kind of way. I mean it in the Al Bundy drooling over the centerfold of the Jugs magazine kind of way.

Now, don't get me wrong; I am truly a fan of the female physique. Along with The Pyramids and Machu Picchu, the feminine form is one of God's most amazing creations. Poets and sculptors have crafted masterpieces from its inspiration. Amazing lyricists like Carl Carlton, "Her body measurements are perfect in every dimension~She's got a figure that's sho' 'nuff gettin' attention~She's poetry in motion, a beautiful sight to see~I get so excited viewin' her anatomy," and Sisqo: "She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck~Thighs like what, what, what~Baby move your butt, butt, butt," couldn't help but pen classics in honor of a woman's body.

And I understand that. But I don't understand what drives men to the point of losing their damn minds over the mere prospect of seeing ass and titties.

When I was young, I used to sneak under my uncle's water bed mattress to find a deluge of dirty magazines. It was a preteen's paradise. The mere sight of naked breasts was enough to work my burgeoning libido into a frenzy. Every chance I got, I would sneak a magazine out of the house to share with neighborhood friends. You would then find 5 or 6 googly-eyed adolescents smiling wildly as they stared at things our young minds could only imagine of experiencing first-hand.

But we were kids. We had nearly the same reaction when my friend Jarvis showed us his new G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu grip.

Why do grown ass men have the exact same reactions when it comes to strip clubs? I don't get it. Friends have tried to explain the merits. Some even talk about the great food many establishments serve. Maybe it's my aversion to germs. Maybe it's my ego. But I have never been a big fan of paying for a sweaty stranger to invade my personal space.

I was recently a groomsman in one of my really good friend's wedding. As is customary, the Best Man did his due diligence of organizing the bachelor party. To the delight of almost everyone invited, the itinerary basically consisted of strippers, dinner, and more strippers. (I hope my boy's new wife doesn't read this.) Almost to a man, everyone was happier than a rooster in a hen house when talking about the dancers. They were even willing to forsake a good meal just to see naked women. They reminded me of that huddled corner of kids I used to be a part of.

I'm not knocking a person's desire to view the physical form, or to toss money into the vicinity of the hard-working women. And if you're helping someone get the school, keep their lights on, or pay for their panther paw tattoo, isn't it all worth it in the end?

I just question some of the personal lives of those who go crazy at the thought of seeing naked women. Come on, man; you're an adult. Behave like one. Save all of your drooling and panting for the privacy of your own home...in front of your own computer screen...watching whatever porn site you choose.

Cuck Fupid!!!

Okay. It's One Question Quiz time.

Ready?

1. What is the most ridiculous singular day on the calendar?

Ground Hog Day? While a day in which the world waits for a rodent to determine the transition of the seasons is unbelievably inane, it is not the correct answer.


April Fool's Day, you say? Hmmm...a day when everyone, children and grown-ass people, alike, try their hardest to concoct some elaborate rouse just so they can have the pleasurable experience of yelling, "April Fool's Day" to someone who should be skeptical of any out-of-the-ordinary occurence does seem like a likely answer, but...WRONG!

I'll give you one more try. Okay, here's a hint. A large percentage of the population celebrates it with as much reluctance as certain members of Congress and the Senate have about referring to "That One" as Mr. President.

Still no clue? Okay. I'll tell you. It's Valentine's Day.

Now, this isn't your typical male rant about the day of pinks and reds. I am far from a non-romantic. That's just it. There is nothing romantic about Valentine's Day.

How romantic is it for someone to show their love for you on the day that the rest of the world has decided they should? Sure. Reluctantly giving you a gift because I don't want to hear your moaning is sooooooo romantic.

True story: There's this guy. He'd been married for a few years. During those brief years, he'd been with seven or eight other women. She'd "expected" his infedility (read: she knew but never had any concrete proof.) Needless to say, their marriage was in shambles. What kept it together? He would rush in at around 11 pm with a silly plastic-wrapped gift basket containing a bear and some old chocolates, and somehow, this would build up an incredible amount of goodwill that would last until her birthday came around.

So much importance was put on one day, that this woman sold her dignity for it.

Now, I believe in love and all that shit. Flowers are great. Who doesn't like some nice chocolates? Ferrero Rocher is my favorite. And you can never go wrong with a brand new bottle of "smell good". But having one day that you're "supposed" to show your love is plain stupid.

When I was younger, I loved the thought of going to school on Valentine's Day and exchanging little Scooby-Doo cards and chalky candy hearts with messages like "you're sweet" and "be mine". It was innocent, then. But even then, if someone you weren't great friends with didn't give you a Valentine, you felt slightly hurt. You tried to recall a time when you didn't share your crayons or took too long on the swings: anything that would have caused them to pass you by.

Today, the importance of this day has increased exponentially. It's become some sort of measuring stick for lovers. If your significant other is the only one in the office who doesn't receive flowers, chances are, you won't be "receiving" anything for a long time. Who cares if she doesn't like flowers or if some of the other women sent flowers to themselves?

Tip O' The Day:

Don't try and do the truly romantic thing like write a poem to her. If your sonnet isn't accompanied by something from FTD, Godiva, and your local your jewelry store, you might as well had written last year's winning lottery numbers on that paper; it would mean the same thing to her.

We, as a society, have become so wrapped up in the external matters of life, that the truly ethereal things don't matter. If you can't touch it, taste it, smell it, or show off to your friends then it doesn't really matter. So, with that, Valentine's Day has reached the pinnacle of pertinence, especially for those whose love language is "gifts". (By the way, whose love language isn't gifts? Don't we all like gifts?) Does a spontaneous, heartfelt gesture on a random day in August truly carry less weight than a box of undesired, coconut-filled chocolates on society's pre-established day? It seems that way.

I'm sure on February 14th Facebook statuses will change to reflect fanciful notions of love. And profile pics will transform to hearts and pictures of embracing lovers or a naked nymph ready to shoot his arrow at unsuspecting hearts. But why isn't that spirit of love and romance a constant? Women: If you truly want to be treated a certain way, why accept the opposite on 364 days of the year?

Somewhere a man is being hated for his anti-love stance. Somewhere else, a woman is hating herself because all of her loneliness is compounded on this day and she equates her flowerless desk as a sign that she is truly unloved. But that shouldn't be.

If you "looove" love and think that February 14th is the most romantic day ever: good for you. Just make sure that you don't substitute one day for substance. One bouquet of roses and a seafood dinner make not a romance. A box of chocolates and a Victoria Secret's Secret gift card do not prove his love. And if he brings you a gift basket from the corner, he's probably sleeping with your sister, or brother.

Bottom line: When all else fails, buy yourself a Scooby-Doo card and candy of your choice. And love yourself!

Should Two Roosters Be Able To Cluck Each Other?

Okay. I have serious dilemma. I have come to an impasse regarding an extremely important decision in my life. Rarely am I completely torn, but this is one of those rare times. So, I'll treat this situation like I have done most of the important decisions in my life: I'll write about it. Usually, once I start writing about things I gain some clarity. Sometimes the clarity comes about in the midst of me writing and before I put the final period in place, and on other occasions, I need time to reflect on the things I committed to paper that were stuck somewhere in my confused or afraid subconscious.

So...the problem.

Should I stop eating at Chick-fil-A?

Now, some people may scoff at my quandary and feel it warrants little contemplation. You may chalk it up to a simple dietary decision.

I can already hear my vegan and vegetarian loved ones' comments on this. They're probably shipping me some tofu and hummus, and emailing me their best tofurkey recipe. Thanks.

But this is serious.

I looooove Chick-fil-A.

I am not a heavy partaker of fast food at all. I can't recall the last Big Mac or Whopper I enjoyed; it had to be in my teens. I have even weened myself off of McDonald's fries. (Even when they are fresh, hot, and perfectly salted.) I am an overall healthy eater. I've even learned to reduce my portion size. Now, I'm only slightly gluttonous.

However, a #7 with extra-large waffle fries and a lemonade with little ice is a sin that I proudly confess to. But the recent controversy regarding my favorite chicken spot has caused me to put a pause on all of that. I've passed by a few times, my taste buds crying out for those potatoes dipped in barbecue sauce, but I kept driving.

But should I really stop eating there because they have donated food and/or funds to organizations that lobby against gay marriage? Hmmm.

Well, friends have compared it to patronizing a company that supports the KKK. Of course I wouldn't buy a soy caramel macchiato from Starbucks if they provided free coffee at a David Duke rally, so shouldn't I feel the same way about Chick-fil-A?

Should I? Many people who support the rights that gays have to get married and be as miserable as heterosexuals are proponents of all rights and freedoms for all people. So, doesn't that apply to religious beliefs? And if I am free to have my personal religious beliefs. can I not be an entrepreneur as well? And if I am a religious entrepreneur, should I not be able to espouse my beliefs and run my business at the same time, as long as I don't break any laws?

The argument on gay marriage is not simply one of politics, but simple humanity.

Dr. King said, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." And I understand that. My beliefs about gay marriage are clear: we should all have the right to fall in love, get married, become disenchanted, and get divorced. But does that have to get in the way of me enjoying a tasty meal?

It's okay that I patronize a company that may support an organization that has some beliefs that vary from my own, isn't it? I am an advocate of fathers being significant part of children's lives.

Chick-fil-A sponsors a program with that exact purpose.

Hmmm...I'm still confused.

Does everything in the world have to become politicized? Can Chick-fil-A just be a spot that makes a damn good chicken and sandwich and not the Don Imus?

Okay, I think that's it. I think I'll go and get some Chick-fil-A today, tomorrow, or the next day. And I'll eat it while making a donation to the ACLU.

What's Really Going On?

With Black History Month right around the corner, I felt obligated to pay homage to and examine the mighty words of my father, Marvin Gaye. Well, Nona and Frankie Gaye, if you're reading this, don't be shocked. Chances are that Marvin is not actually my father; a brotha can dream, can't he? But I do have an undeniable connection to him, his music, and his spirit. And while I can't sing, he's sorta my musical daddy. A day does not go by that I fail to listen to something Marvin created.

In Tupac's, Keep Your Head Up, he mused, "I remember Marvin Gaye used to sing to me. He had me feeling like black was the thing to be."

That's how I felt growing up. But not only black, I felt that it was cool to be dark, creative, sensitive, sensual, conscious, spiritually conflicted, and so much more. From Sexual Healing to God is Love, Pops showed the world that depth can come on many levels and from the same spirit. And if you dig deep in the archives, you will see that he could be as metaphorically nasty as 2 Live Crew and as socially conscious as BONO.

The first verse of the title song on arguably the greatest album of all-time is absolutely iconic.

Mother, mother There's too many of you crying. Brother, brother, brother There's far too many of you dying. You know we've got to find a way To bring some loving here today.

This verse, inspired by police brutality and the horrors of the Vietnam War, could have been written today as an indictment of the violence in impoverished parts of the country, the lives loss in America's overseas conflicts, or the current unrest in Egypt. The song is laden anti-war and pacifist sentiments. Paraphrasing MLK, he let us know that "Only love can conquer hate."

What's Going On has my vote to replace our national anthem. I know I relate to it a lot more than the talk of bombs bursting in air, and what the hell is a rampart? What good is it to have a black president if he can't make some impactful and soulful changes? Let's Go, Barack!

The second song on that revolutionary album, What's Happening, Brother?, is like a diary of the millions of people suffering from the current economic situation. I could hear my uncle, Kevin, bemoaning about the difficulties of finding work and how the world seems to be passing him by.

Below is a recording of live performances of those two songs. Apart from the beauty of the songs and Marvin's flawless and empassioned delivery, the thing that stood out for me was Happiness. From the smiling, excited kids in the crowd, to casual person in the street, there seemed to be a certain level of happiness. Even in times that seemed harsh and draining, you can still smile. You can have a cookout with your friends in the park and dance to your favorite song. You can walk with your new lover or old lover and feel each other's heartbeat through your hands. You can push your child to new heights on a swing and in life.

So, the next time someone asks you, "What's going on?" or "What's happening, Brother(Sister)?" smile at them. You can tell them about the trials of your day and the trevails you're sure to face, but in the midst of it all, flash that smile like my daddy.

More Than Dreams

Every year when January 15th comes around, we turn our attention towards the greatness of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Dr. King is one of most influential people in American and world history. So, why is his legacy often relegated to one day and one moment?

Everyone recognizes the power and brilliance in Dr. King's speech during the March on Washington. We know that he had dreams of "that this nation would stand up to its creed" and that his "four little children will live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

Those will forever be some of the most important words ever spoken. However, Dr. King had so much more to say about so many different things. Let's take a look.

• "In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."
  

As citizens of humanity, it is imperative that we stand up for what is inherently right and stand against what we know to be wrong. Standing by nodding or shaking your head will benefit no one, not even you.

• "Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others?"

I continue to work at this one. But I do realize how important service is. It doesn't have to be something major or something public, just something significant for someone else.

• "Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscious stupidity."

Damn! We see examples of this on all levels, from the blinded students in high school classrooms to those who take their ignorance to violent extremes.

• "Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided missiles and misguided men."

This was true then and is true today. And I fear that as technology reaches new heights and the depravity of man reaches new lows, there is an inevitability for some higher spiritual force to correct that imbalance.

• "It may be true that the law cannot make a man love, but it can keep him from lynching me, and I think that's pretty important."

Yes. Pretty damned important, indeed.

Go ahead and live that dream that Mahalia urged Martin to speak on. But take these with you as well.

Can't Touch This!!!

This blog began as the customary look at the New Year. I started typing about resolutions and how they fill up the gyms for a few months or weeks. I typed about the concepts of new beginnings, fresh starts, and clean slates. There were examples of my never-fulfilled and near-reached resolutions. It was going to be rather interesting; maybe I'll get to it next week or month.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the end of the blog. I went to the grocery store. While I was in the produce section, I had an encounter with a random older gentleman. As I was examining bananas, he started talking to me. He began opining about the poor quality of bananas and how they tasted differently than bananas in other countries, especially in the Caribbean. His conversation was innocent enough; truth be told, I blocked out about 78 percent of what he was saying. But he found a way to gain my attention.

He touched me!

As he got deeper and deeper into his banana versus plantain dissertation, he started touching me. First, it was my elbow: a simple gesture seemingly intended to reel me into the conversation. Then, it escalated. Somehow, in some swift move resembling a teenage guy yawning and stretching to place his arm behind his "unsuspecting" date, he quickly moved his hand to my shoulder as he smiled and blabbered on about nothing at all.

Now, I'm a considerably friendly guy. I'm not the one to meet total strangers and greet them with a full-on embrace. (My boy, Marlin, might disagree.) But I'm at least cordial. But I've realized that I have a "thing" about touching. Each time this stranger touched me, my skin crawled. My natural reaction was to move my arm, as to suggest, "Dude, get your hand off of me!" But that didn't work. He felt entirely comfortable violating my personal space. So, eventually, I had to make it more obvious.

He had taken his hand off for a second, but then attempted to give it what he assumed was its rightful place. As he reached for my upper arm, it was like a scene from a movie. His hand moved in slow motion as I simultaneously leaned back and put my hands up in a position similar to one I'd learned in Tae Kwon Do class.

"Yo, I can hear you without you touching me," I stated. His face dropped and luckily, so did his hand.

"Oh," was all he said before he walked away.

He seemed so enthusiastic about the fruit conversation, but he dropped it all simply because I asked him not to touch me. Why was the touching so important?

Maybe he was trying to "kino escalate".

If you don't know, kino escalation is the art of initiating physical touch: starting with with small, innocent gestures, and steadily moving into more intimate situations.

Think:

1. a guy meets a girl in the club and starts talking to her.
2. as they are talking, he touches her elbow during the conversation.
3. as she seems more comfortable, he eases into touching the back of her arm or her shoulder.
4. and if things go as planned, he's kino escalated himself into whatever his horny little heart desires.

Well, that's all according to this guy:

His name is Mystery, and apparently he's an expert in the art of picking up women. So, was old dude in the grocery store trying to pick me up? I don't know. I was looking kinda cool that day. Maybe it was more innocent than that.

We touch people every single day. When we meet strangers, what's the first thing we do? Shake hands. Now, we have no idea what that person was doing with those hands before we saw them. Think about what you do with your hands when no one is looking. Now, would you want to someone who was just doing what you just thought about? I think not.

But touching is such a natural part of our society. In certain cultures, men greet each other with kisses on the cheeks and sometimes lips. In other cultures, individuality and independence is more highly regarded, and personal space is placed at a premium.

A touch can mean so much, yet so many different things. The gentle touch of a mother's hand across the forehead or cheek of her child is entirely different than the sensual touch of a lover massaging work-weary muscles. A simple hand on the shoulder of a friend during a moment of sorrow can go as far as a father's swift hand of correction placed on the backside of a misguided child.

It's hard for me to imagine a life devoid of another's touch. No more of my niece's kisses to the cheek or slaps to the cheek that get increasingly harder. No more embracing my grandmother as if she was my child. No more of the...ummm..."touches" that the adult me has come to greatly appreciate.

However, I can go without the waiter touching my shoulder as he places the bill on the table. I don't need the dude in the gym to shake my hand, "dap" me up, fist bump me, or give me a half-hug every time he sees me. The minister in church slapping "the claw" on my forehead as he prays for me seems a little unnecessary. And those strangers who want to reach out and put their hands in my hair...back the hell up!

Maybe my feeling towards touching is some metaphor for my fear of intimacy. Maybe me not wanting people touching me is code for me not wanting anyone to get cclose to me, emotionally. Or, maybe I just don't people's filthy hands on me.

Somehow, though, touching each other seems to be justified. I guess touching is our link to humanity. When we touch or are touched, we know we're alive. It gives us a connectivity that our other senses can't. Maybe one day I'll let down my guard and allow people into that invisible space that I hold dear. But until then, unless I know you and invite you, then take this as a friendly request.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otCpCn0l4Wo