Category Archives: Blogs

12.30.11
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…..On Muses

December 30, 2011

Mixing it all in shows amazing resolve or rather one must show amazing resolve in order to successfully mix it all in. All of the fear, all of the embarrassment, and all of the weakness. Put that all on the stove, heat it up, and pour it in a cup. Don’t wait for it to cool down either. Just put it straight to your lip and let it burn your mouth.

 

That’s what good art is. Good art is irresistible yet painful and it is so irresistible because it is so painful. When something hurts so good one can’t help but to share it with everyone; “Have you seen that movie, have you watched that play, have you heard that song, when are you going to that exhibit? The one that almost made me cry. The one where the artist tortures herself for us.”

 

We suspend everything to be engaged. No time, no space, nobody else in the room with us. No clothes on our bodies, no make-up on our faces, and no lotion on our skin. No brush against our scalp and no comb through our hair. The only thing that matters is the only thing that counts. We see the projection of our souls against the wall, on the stage, or rattling the speaker-box and we remember that our individuality is not specific only to us. Our isolation has been connected to another being, and our overwhelming sense of loneliness has been transformed into so many brush strokes on an open canvas.

-YB

12.24.11
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Pause

12/24/12

It’s a tragic thing when a writer no longer trusts an empty page. Recently I’ve let a lot of creative thoughts disappear instead of running to the nearest piece of paper and writing them down. In those moments when I was on I used to text lines to myself and get them on my laptop as soon as possible. But at present I have allowed space to come in between myself and my passion and I’m not sure what it is. I mean it’s not writers block. Maybe it’s just a pause. Perhaps I need to freeze my dream for a little bit in order to analyze it and make sure I’m doing what I can to make it tangible.

I wonder if this happens to anyone else.

-YB

12.20.11
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Ms. High Sadity

 

December 20, 2011

I was sitting there in my favorite Chinese food restaurant being judged every second. Snide comments were made on my choice of entrée, my sense of humor, and how loud I blew my food. It got so bad that I lost my appetite. I was so annoyed by the woman who sat across from me that I honestly considered throwing my won ton soup in her face. It had the potential to end up like a bad episode of the show Blind Date but I kept my composure. I made solid conversation with her until it was time for me to go. I walked her to her car and told her to take it easy and wished her good luck in life. After that first date I never returned her texts or called her again.

 

It’s fascinating because I spent a whole portion of my adult life thinking I deserved to marry some high-class chick who went to private school her whole life and never lived in the ghetto. I used to think that’s what I was striving for. In retrospect I have never been more wrong in my life. I have always had serious problems with people who are condescending in nature. It doesn’t matter how pretty or accomplished a woman is, if she has a nasty attitude I don’t want to be around her.

I still can’t believe that woman. As educated and successful as she was in the end she was socially retarded. She has no idea how to treat a human-being. And though I haven’t kept in touch with her I can bet that she is still very lonely. It’s ironic that a person could put all of their energy into establishing a career and lose their ability to have positive interactions with everyday people. If that’s the price that one has to pay to make it to the top then I am completely ok with struggling down here in the hood. I guess it could be a lot worse.

-YB

12.18.11
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Feeling Grinchy :-(

    December 19, 2011

     There’s nothing like Christmas time to remind me that I’m broke as hell. I mean it’s not like I could ever forget with my good for nothing hot water heater that blows out every other day and the suspicious partial power outages that disable half of my lights and my television for hours at a time. I know I live in the hood and the reality is that well—people in the hood tend to be broke. I’m not ashamed of this fact and I haven’t allowed it to make me stagnant either. I’m still working hard while trying to get a hold of that one missing piece of the puzzle that will land me a full-time job with benefits. And of course I’m still passionately pursuing this writing thing. But meanwhile it really sucks to see dozens of commercials about I-phones, I-pads, Cadillacs, and a bunch of other crap I can’t afford. It tends to stress me out a little bit.

After all Jesus Christ was a humble dude who wore sandals and normal everyday attire so how has it become customary to celebrate his birthday by spending all your money on designer clothes at some overpriced department store? I don’t know it just all seems so lame to me. Everyone is lost and no one seems to care. The worst part is that I am a huge part of the problem. If I had a few thousand dollars to blow on presents this year I wouldn’t even be composing this piece right now. I would probably be at some bar downtown with Christmas decorations in the window drinking with friends and buying brandy and eggnog for some chick because I like her smile. Oh the hypocrisy of it all. Why must Christmas be about complete and utter excess? How do we rise above this foolishness?

Wow I feel like the Grinch and Scrooge rolled into one. I need to get a grip, LOL.

-YB

12.07.11
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Frontin’ On Jesus

December 7, 2011

I’m feeling stressed—so stressed in fact that I’ve taken to reading the bible and calling on god in the middle of the day. Not that this is anything I’m ashamed of but I am a bit concerned about my relationship with god. When my life is at its lowest points I pray, I fast, and I live with the Holy Ghost inside of me. On the contrary when everything is swell one could argue that I’m an atheist because I act as if god isn’t even there.

I think about those people in my life who only call me when something is wrong or they need some kind of help. I think about how shallow and inconsiderate they are, and then I think of myself. When it comes to my religion I am they. This is what troubles me more than anything else right now. This is something that I need to address.

-YB

12.04.11
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“Anybody Can Get It”

December 5, 2011

The only advantage of feeling like you have no control over your life is that you never have anything to lose. I’ve seen the video footage of 3 young men who on November 28th shot 8 people at the filming of a music video in West Oakland. The most seriously wounded was a 1-year-old boy who was shot in the head. He is currently in critical condition at Children’s Hospital.

A few nights ago on the East side of town there was a shooting involving 3 cars in which no less than 50 rounds of ammunition were dispensed. A man’s head was grazed by a bullet and an 86-year-old woman was cut by shards of broken glass. Thankfully no one was killed but tragically anyone could have been killed. It’s hard for me, even in my most nihilistic of moods, to fathom some people’s disregard for human life. In my mind I see a 19-year-old young man with a pistol in his hand and a hood tied tightly to his head. His only thought is; “Anybody can get it!” From ages 1-86 it really doesn’t matter to him.

Perhaps it’s the thrill of it all or maybe it’s the hopelessness. I can’t be sure. I don’t know what it takes to bust a gun into a crowd of men, women, and children who are only trying to enjoy themselves. It could even be the strongly held belief that your life really isn’t your own. That because you were born in the sewer of society living dirty is all you know. I suppose it could be a variety of reasons but in the end it doesn’t matter.

What matters right now is a 1-year-old boy is fighting for a life that he has barely gotten a chance to enjoy and an 86-year-old woman has been traumatized by automatic gunfire from young men who are probably young enough to be her great-grand children. Nothing is sacred in the ghetto. Not the wisdom of the elderly, the purity of 1-year-old babes, or anything else that may fall in between.

-YB

11.23.11
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Lost and Broke

 

 

November 23, 2011

                My hot water heater keeps blowing out and I ain’t gone lie, I’m way too educated to be this broke. To be such a well read man and still have to resort to taking a cold shower is almost unbearable. When it gets really hot or really cold ants march through my kitchen in full force as if they don’t know I have a Master’s Degree. Sometimes they make it into my room and bite my flesh at night like they don’t see my degrees on the wall. It’s all so pitiful.

                Not that I’m trying to solicit pity but a little respect would be nice. My living conditions are so substandard that I am honestly considering moving into a library. That would really be amazing. Occasionally I dream about going to sleep reading a book while using another book as a pillow. A dozen dictionaries would be my blanket and my lady. I would be enraptured by words in every state of being. Then I suppose a hot shower wouldn’t matter as much. Nothing ever matters when one is lost in literature.

                Lost?

                So many of us have lost our way. We have allowed the academics to lead us astray. For in life you can’t find the answers in the back of the book. All of the important information isn’t in bold print either. So much time has been wasted and I have learned to cherish everything that can’t be applied. Imagine a little boy with all the book smarts in the world but no common sense. Now try to imagine him being successful. Can you do it?

-YB

11.22.11
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The Trials of Fatherhood

November 22, 2011

I remember when my daughter was a baby of about 11 months and I had to go to court to see her on a regular basis. I ended up having to fight the system as hard as I could to get two days a week for visitation. I can recall doing everything I possibly could to not only never miss a date when it was time to pick up my child but also to never be a second late. And I realize now just as I realized then that the main reason for my dedication was the constant fear that if I ever went over a week without seeing my child then she would forget me and I would soon be replaced.

Fatherhood can be a very unforgiving enterprise. It is very common for people to spend their whole lives hating their fathers without ever making an honest attempt to empathize with him. It’s a role that has become dispensable in society. In most cases having a healthy relationship with ones father is seen as a luxury as opposed to a necessity. At times when I would go to get my little girl I would read the faces of the people in the house where she lived and they would all say; “Why are you still coming here? How long are you going to keep this up?”

 

American households no longer know the function of a father. Fathers have become the appendix of the family unit, particularly when a couple splits up. There is no law in place that says a woman must allow her children to see their father. A father must go to family court and in the state of California he must pay upwards of $400 to start the mediation process. I’m sure most people can’t imagine how degrading it feels to, in essence, have to save up to buy your own child. I do believe this is was what caused Huckleberry Finn—the protagonist of Mark Twain’s most revered work—to experience an epiphany regarding the institution of slavery. It occurred after he discovered that his good friend Nigger Jim planned to work hard up north so that he could earn enough wages to eventually purchase his children who were still in bondage. Ultimately Huckleberry Finn who in so many ways represented the American conscience began to see that despite the popular opinion of the day and alleged biblical verses that justified the practice, slavery was in fact very immoral.

 

I wonder about the emotional shortcomings of a fatherless culture. How limited is the future of a people who fail to appreciate half of what brought them into existence?

-YB

11.21.11
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Notes on Planned Parenthood

November 21, 2011

In my limited travels through a handful of American ghettos I’ve noticed one very conspicuous consistency, and that is the presence of Planned Parenthood. Whether it be Oakland, Portland, Atlanta, or Los Angeles I find it interesting that some of the most desolate and underserved communities in the entire country somehow manage to attain a Planned Parenthood. Because of this fact in some of these neighborhoods abortions have become more accessible than fresh produce. It puzzles me. But I guess when it comes to the hood businesses are set up to control the population rather than to serve the community.

These are the kind of thoughts that keep me up at night.

-YB

11.16.11
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MISS UNDERSTOOD

 

 

 

November 16, 2011

                 I once dated a woman who liked to wear a brown dress with the words MISS UNDERSTOOD written in bold white letters across the front. She was a really cute young lady; really provocative, and fast in her ways. She irritated me but she inspired me as well. I only got to hang out with her two times before our lives blew us in different directions. I think about her from time to time. Every now and then I Google her name to see what she’s been up to; what new art she has made, how she’s wearing her hair, and to check out the latest degree she’s working on.

                This girl was a real strange kind of beautiful. She was the kind I was never able to figure out. I am convinced that if I would have dated her consistently from then all the way until now, she would still be a sensual puzzle that I could never quite put together. But whatever we had fizzled out and it fizzled out quickly. I know for a fact she never thinks about me. It always feels slightly uncomfortable to know that someone has impressed upon your life 1,000 times more than you have impressed upon theirs. It’s like that awkward moment when you see someone from your past and you are excited to see them, only to discover that they either don’t remember you or don’t really care that you’re alive. Then you wish that you hadn’t even said anything at all.

                I once saw the young lady a few years after I met her walking toward a BART station in Berkeley, CA. She didn’t say hello to me. I wonder if she ever got a chance to read these words would she speak to me then.

-YB