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Cold Shoulder


Well it looks like we are gonna get bombed again. Let’s hope it’s a dud like the last nor’easter that they called “snowmaggeden”..lol. Who comes up with this stuff?

Anyway..I wanted to post this slideshow video for my song, Back to Back. I’m getting some real positive feedback on this cut. Enjoy it.

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Barack, the man of my dreams


I am going to preface this post with a disclaimer that I already know I need some kind of psychiatric evaluation.

For some reason, I keep having dreams with Barack Obama in them. In each dream, we are close friends, but the surrounding scenarios are always insane.

The White Snake
Last night I had a dream that I was going to the park to play basketball. It was a very warm and sunny summer day. I was dribbling the ball as I walked down the street. I don’t know where I was, but it had the feel of somewhere in Brooklyn. As I approached a corner, there was Barack walking up the adjacent street. He looks at me and says, You know what to do with that thing? (he’s typically a wise-ass in my dreams as well). So I’m like, do I have to school you? He looks at me and gives me that half chuckle that we’ve seen many times as if to say, Yeah right.
He was dressed in slacks and a white collared shirt with his sleeves rolled up. So he says, Come with me, I got a few things to do first, then I’ll play you for beers. So I accept and we start walking together. He starts telling me he’s got “Some Presidential shit” to take care of first but it shouldn’t take long. All the while walking, he’s wise cracking on me, saying stuff like, I’ll play you in my shoes so it will be fair..Do you have any face insurance?..I’ll try to keep the media out of it so you won’t be too embarrassed to go home, we wouldn’t want your family to disown you.
We came to these steps that lead to an underpass, kinda like a subway station and he says, Hold up, I’ll be right back. Don’t punk out and run. Then he jaunts down the steps in the manner that we are so familiar with. He had something like a walkie-talkie on his belt that was connected to the Secret Service. I could hear the static from it fade as he got further away, then suddenly it stopped. I stood there expecting to see him come up the other side but he didnt surface. Worried, I went down after him to see what happened. It was dimly lit and dank, much like some of the lesser maintained subway stations you’d find in NY. I called out to him a few times and all I could hear was the echo of my own voice. Off to my left, there was an opening in the wall. I saw his shoes slightly sticking out. I slowly approached it, calling his name. Suddenly I heard movement coming from further back in the opening. It was dark and water was seeping through cracks in the wall. I yell out, Yo man, this ain’t funny. Again..no answer.
Something was moving and I stepped slowly closer to see what it was. At first it looked like he was laying on the ground covered in something white and leathery. Then it moved and I was face to face with a huge white Anaconda, it’s eyes gleaming at me like a dog when you take it’s picture. I turned and started running, the snake chasing me. I could hear the massiveness of its body as it slid down this wet and dungeon like corridor. I reached the stairs and was met my a low hovering helicopter with Secret Service agents in it. I was out of breath and struggled to tell them what I’d just seen and I woke up..
I lay in bed, my heart pounding so hard I thought my head would explode, asking myself what the fuck is wrong with me?
This disturbed me so much that I started Googling dream interpretations.
I came across this info. Scroll to the section about a person being eaten. Read it for yourself..It’s pretty deep

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The year that was


2014 was as year that re-shaped and reignited my desire to be creative. To delve deeper into who I am. Peeling back layers of changes I’ve gone through over the years trying to please others or focus on someone else’s agenda. That’s the kind of person I was in relationships and over the years I kinda lost myself. I realize even more so now that you should never shut down who you are and anyone that insists on it is not for you.

These are a few shots I want to share from this past year that I thought came out pretty good. I think the measure of a good photo is that it should pull the viewer into the moment. That is what I tried to do. I used different processing methods for added effect. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did attempting to reach that goal.

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Santa and the stuff of nightmares


I was a precocious child. I learned to read and write by the age of four. This presented many problems for me at that age because of my lack of knowledge about the world combined with a very fertile imagination.

I was born in Brooklyn. We lived in a the Albany Housing Projects in the heart of Crown Heights. It was Christmas time and as with all little kids, I brimmed with excitement that Santa was coming. Most of what I knew about Santa came from TV shows. I’d watched a stop motion version of Rudolph the Red Nosed reindeer so many times and daydreamed about how Santa would come to my house and deliver his presents. The only problem was, we didn’t have a chimney. How would Santa get in? Would he forget me because he couldn’t get in? I would dwell on this question all day until I had to get an answer. I would ask my older brother Elroy, surely he would know.
Elroy lived to torture me. At every opportunity, he would mess with my head. He would very often be left in charge of watching me to his dismay. So to control me and keep me out of his way, he’d tell me stories of Sam Bodoo. Sam Bodoo was the name of the boogey man who lived in the closet. When I wasn’t looking, Elroy would put a shoe in the closet just so the toe was sticking out of the door. He’d then say if I came out of the room, Sam Bodoo would come out of the closet and eat me. He’d say to me in a spooky voice, If you leave the room, Sam Bodoo is gonna get yoooou! I would start crying and he would say if my tears hit the floor, he’ll open the door. That was all he had to say. I’d sit there trembling, eyes as big as saucers, terrified into rigid silence. When he wanted to stop scaring me, he’d pretend to talk to him in the closet while sliding the shoe back with his foot and close the door. I was safe as long as Elroy was around to control him.Elroy was my guardian, surely be able to tell me about Santa.
One day I asked Elroy, How does Santa get into our apartment? He thought for a second and said, he will come down through the incinerator. This was a problem. The incinerator was in a small room in the hall outside the apartment. It had a heavy iron access door that you would pull down to open and put garbage in. This led to a huge shaft that went from the basement to the roof. At the bottom was a huge furnace that would burn the garbage. At that age, it seemed like a chasm to the entry to hell itself. I was terrified of it, especially when the fire was on. When you’d open the chute door, you’d hear the raging flames and the sound of air being sucked in. The vacuum would be so strong it would put the chute door closed with a loud bang. Surely this was no place for Santa, I thought to myself on Christmas eve while laying in bed. My mind imagined that Santa would not be able to stop and fall to his death. consumed by the fury of the blazing holocaust within. I couldn’t let that happen. It would be my fault Santa died trying to give me presents. He must be warned. So bravely I crept out of bed in the dark, terrified that Sam Bodoo would see me, but I had to go for it. Every footstep I took was filled with terror until I got to the bedroom door. I went out of the apartment and into the entrance of hell. The fires were not burning, I knew this was my only chance so I pulled open the heavy door and yelled Santa! Santa!!. My yells had apparently awoken my sister who came running into the incinerator room to get me. Boy! What’s wrong with you?? she yelled. I told her I was trying to warn Santa so he wouldn’t get burned. She looked at me incredulously and said, What? What are you talking about?? I explained to her what Elroy had said and she just started laughing hysterically. Get in the house boy!, she said ushering me back sobbing because I’d failed, Santa would die and I would get nothing for Christmas.

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I’ve got a special wonton soup for you


Bill freaking Cosby..wow. Like who would have thunk it? I defended him, mocked Angie Dickinson for her story and was totally convinced this was some plot to discredit the positive black man. First I’d like to take back everything I said about Angie. It was mean and insensitive. Being a sex assault victim myself, I should have never even gone there. No one probably read it and no one cares, but I want to take it back because I don’t want that out there in the universe. You’re probably wondering what changed my mind. Well, it was Beverly Johnson. This is someone I have met a long time ago. People change, but I think I know her personality and she would not put herself out there if it wasn’t true. On the surface it may seem like a racial thing for me not to have accepted this until now. I did really ask myself that but no, that’s all there is to it. I feel convinced he’s an habitual rapist because this is someone I feel would not lie.

The bad thing about rape is, the victim is always made to have to bear the burden of proof amidst immediate skepticism. There’s shame, fear, vulnerability and a host of emotions one has to overcome to speak out on these heinous life altering attacks. It is as much mental as it is physical, with scars that run deep and remain hidden for a lifetime.

There’s a part of this story that bears discussion. A lot of people don’t understand the impact this has on a lot of people in the black community. This guy single-handedly changed the image of the black family for an America that could not accept the holistically positive aspect of black family life. He was also one of the pioneers in tv of the cool contemporary black male. Yes, it’s TV but it had major social significance to the black community. So there’s a sense of disbelief and a sense of loss for at least 2 generations.

I’ve been wondering why there is such a disparity from the image of him that myself and many others held, and what is turning out to be a dark reality. On the surface one can say that it is the published media image that has been created for him that is totally inaccurate, but when you zoom out and look at the broader picture, there is something very significant happening to our society.
Up until very recently the media factions, tv, movies, and news, owned the control of information. This information is carefully processed by producers, media consultants, editors and so on. When the information becomes damaging, they protect their own interests. If the content is too controversial, it is pasteurized. But now, all of that goes out the window. With the increase of access to the internet, everyday people have ways of communicating unfiltered to the whole world. What we are seeing today is the result of that change. It has affected every aspect of our culture and media communication.
This is not something that has gone unnoticed. People of influence and power want to retain that status so they are trying to get in front of it, infiltrating your social media activities, trying to penetrate all levels of communication that are available. Gathering detailed information about each of us to find a way to manipulate your behavior. Just look at Facebook. Why do they need to know the things they want to? It’s not because it impedes you from using the product. It’s to build a portfolio of you and identify the things that are most likely to influence your behavior. Every time you hit that like button, you fine tune that portfolio. This is the golden egg that the people who want to maintain control want to get their hands on.

I know I drifted off from Bill Cosby, but it helps to see the whole picture to understand the dynamics of whats at play here. In a way, the crumbling of Bill Cosby can be seen as iconic in the way our society continues to evolve.