the end

no, really, the end.

i find it interesting that these end at the beginning. by all means, go to the first day and read it from the start.

Then, humongous lapse, go and check out Brain Tattoo

Thanks and enjoy,
Reggie

what do i know?

i wanted to wake up yesterday and attend a church service in brooklyn. i don't know what it was going to be about exactly, and in all honesty, i suppose i didn't really care. the point was that i was going to go soley because it was Dr. King Day. i figured church was a good place to be in lieu of community service or orchestrating my own non-violent protest somewhere. however, in waking up an hour before church, i realized that it was only the sense of obligation that was to take me there, and not the purpose of King Day itself. i was only going to go to church out of the selfish desire to make myself feel better about having done something on the holiday, about having done something morally standing based on my own standards and personal philosophy.

it was going to be a forced celebration.

forced like the excitement shown at your 15th birthday party, when you would much rather be at the movies with your puppy love. forced like the smile you give people that you like, but smell bad. forced celebration. so, i rested and made progress in my personal and professional life.

yet, in doing so, i was able to tell some white counterparts what MLK is actually about. some really don't know that it is about the community service, and had never heard of the "day on, not a day off" slogan. it makes me think, what information do i take for common knowledge because of my unexposure to other cultures and regions around the world? what is it that i think people should know, but don't. in atlanta, you better at least say you WANT to to do some community service on MLK day, or at least a creative excuse as to why you're not out helping the people. but to not know what the day is about at all?! i don't know.

i'll have to comment more on this once it marinates some. the custoidan is blasting the radio outside of the classroom i'm highjacking internet from. not having the web at home sucks.

have a good day.

to fascinate

As I write this, I have George Benson's "Everything Must Change" playing through the Ipod earphones. It's blend of violins and smooth piano jazz makes for a soundtrack that can only be described as my "autumn solemness". Most times it's subconscious, but at other times, people ask about my inexplicable pensive expression. I quietly laugh to myself. Shouldn't I? There is something utterbly humbling about life when it is measured in it's fullness, if such a thing is possible. It's a remarkable moment, a frozen instant in time, when one's mind is allowed to simply wander - away from the responsibilities, away from the concerns, and away from the obligations. To wander away from the structure of cultural life and into the random beauty that is nature, that is reality. Inspiration is grand. The solitude of life, which can be so intimidating, is in it's very essence, liberating and impactful. I have grown to cherish the strike of a guitar string just as much as I can reverence the sight of wind. Look hard. Close your eyes. The soundtrack has now moved on to Pink Floyd's "Shine On You Crazy Diamond". And with a twist of fate, and a touch of God's hand, I can witness augmentation within my own soul. The elegance of tears is complimentary to the enchantment of laughter, and neither should be overlooked when contemplating the truth of life. Our expressions define us as much as our experiences do. Our view of living is shaped by our mindset, and our personal beliefs. Our love is molded with the caring fingertips of destiny, and the meticulous eye of eternity. The force that runs through you, runs through me too; hence, I mean it when I say, "yeah, I feel you". They say strength is overrated, but that's because "they" are strong. But when it comes to us, we have to do everything we can to hold on. And so, we must never overlook the aspects of life that make it worth living. The grace of our very being is found in the interstices of our wandering mind.

coming up for air

post-august...

really, post september i suppose. thanks for the people that STILL come by the blog, despite that the nature of the beast has swallowed me whole over the last two months. don't get too comfortable though, i'm not back on land yet, i'm just up for a breath of air before diving back down to the depths.

a few things i have been meaning to write on here:

1) a few months ago, a friend (t.barham shoutout) asked me what i liked best about NYC. i, not giving real thought to the question, said it's carefree sense of PDA (public display of affection). however, since i gave that answer, i realize that i am very wrong. my favorite thing about new york is the sky. and i don't know if it's because i walk/bus/train here, verses drive in atlanta, or if it's because of our location on the earth's surface...but i love the new york sky. it's indescribably beautiful.

2) there's something to be said about organization and planning. for most of my life, i have relied soley on my wits and instincts to bring me through. and it has worked. but as an adult, i have practiced planning and organization as a means of executing actions exactly as i want them exectuted, give or take a degree. it's a beautiful thing. in hindsight though, it may just simply be a move of maturity.

3) lost fans: these writers better start stepping up the backstory flashbacks, or they're gonna lose the audience and the show. period. in regard to the last three episodes, they aren't relative to the real-time decisions of the characters as they once were, and they aren't even providing a sense of closure as they should. but alas, i could rant about this for hours.

i think that's enough for now. nothing monumental here, just something yknow.

goodnight.

please save the baby

so, once again, i am the youngest person at my job. not just the youngest teacher, but the youngest out of everybody, including custodians, paraprofessionals, and cafeteria staff. i thought that, maybe, just maybe, turning 23 this year would grant the opportunity for some poor 21 or 22 year old to skate in and take the position, but alas, all of our new teachers are older and have more experience.

at this point, i am affectionately known as "the baby" among some of my co-workers.

don't get me wrong though, it has it's perks. i get hugs and kisses from all of the lady teachers, some of which ain't really THAT much older than me. hence, when we go to the bars and clubs, i'm grown enough to cut it close on the dance floor with them, but still young enough to not really take it that seriously. so the husbands are cool see.

(except for this one time at this spanish joint. but we were drunk and had already psuedo kissed a cherry between our mouths. consequently, her husband let me know, quite discreetly, that he could whip my ass. but that's another blog altogether.)

and so, with one year of teaching under my belt, i set off for year 2 at Hogwarts. there are bound to be new challenges, new friends, new enemies, and new adventures. and around every corner and beneath every rock, lurks the ever looming threat of he-who-must-not-be-named.

or not.

special sauce

I just called Papa Johns to order a pizza, and they told me they didn't have any garlic sauce.

Now, I'm not one to complain. Yet, even if I were the type to complain, I would still probably begin by saying that I was the type that wasn't. And with all things considered, I reckon that this could even fall under the category of not being a complaint, or vice versa. In any case, I feel as though it must be stated that the garlic sauce at Papa Johns is one of the very components that defines the restaurant as an establishment of quality, and hence, the lack thereof must, in some degree, obstruct the progress that any and all companies hope to attain and fulfill. There can be no growth without the sauce.

This brings me to the very intricacies of vitality that people seem to overlook. What minute details define us in such a way that we are nothing without it? What idiosyncrasies and characteristics identify us to the point that we are tolerable, or intolerable? These quirks may be the very mannerisms that make us likeable or fun to be around some, while simultaneously being the very traits that make others not stand us at all.

I tend to flush the toilet half-piss.

The details of self are often taken for granted until they are gone. How the hell does Papa Johns NOT have garlic sauce. Without it, I don't even want the pizza. And yet with it, it never tends to be quite enough. Amongst each other, I doubt seriously that anyone has the defining attribute of always having an italian condiment handy, but there are indeed others. It could easily be someone's smile, or laughter. It could be the way someone holds your hand or the way they squint their nose. It could be the way they carry themselves, or the way they speak their mind. It could be the way they talk, or listen.

Take time today to comment on someone's behavior that you find uniquely tied to them; one that you could not bear them without. Tell them how you treasure it, or even despise it. Tell them what you think. One day it will be gone. You will come to them and find that they have lost their garlic sauce, never to find it again. Or, in some instances, there won't be any pizza at all. Tell that person today what about them means the most to you. That way, they'll always have it in stock.




and cut! thank you! that was my take at inspirational writing. throw a bible verse in there and you may find this sitting on your grandma's bathroom counter, in a small booklet like "daily bread", or "everyday meditation". have a nice day, i'm going to eat my stupid pizza.

screenplay

i've always considered myself to be a movie buff, and as such, people have often asked why i haven't pursued something in entertainment. possibly a film critic, or acting. the truth is, i don't watch every movie that comes out, and i tried the acting thing - let's just say that it's not really for me.

yet, at 3 in the morning, i think i have settled on a career i may take up if i were to fancy the idea of the film industry. i would soley want to be a writer. be it a television show, movie, whatever. if i were to go my own path and venture off into tinseltown, i would have 3 scripts in my hand and $20 in my back pocket. hell, i moved to new york city with less.

that only leaves me to ponder how many people may actually be in hollywood with scripts galore in their pocket. that worries me. yet, at the same time, it doesn't. all anyone ever needs in this country is an idea. granted, knowing the right people and having a mountain of cash helps speed things up, but in the long run, an idea is an idea. and that's all we need these days.

am i going to work on a script now? of course not. hell, i've yet to buy the guitar i said i was gonna get a year ago. one thing at a time. sheesh. not to mention the book i said i was gonna write. (part of this realization is the admittance that i was only going to write a book so that it could become widely popular and be turned into a movie)...who knows.

each day i become more and more eager to learn what will become of me. i'm eager to learn what will happen when i come across something that will be my life. my entire life. i mean, i am a teacher, and i like being a teacher. and if i become a good teacher, and live to be a teacher forever, then i'm pleased. but i believe there's more. i believe i have some unimaginable gift that i have yet to uncover, that i have yet to fully tap. and the more i search for it, the closer i know i'm getting. i feel it everywhere. in everything i do. in everything i see. in every aspect of my life, i extract some meaning that's not there, some sign that can't possibly be meant for me...and i interpret it as a glowing marker that i'm close now. i'm getting closer and closer to the essense of my life. no, wait, "getting" is not the right word. i'm growing closer. and though that's not what i mean to say, it feels better saying it that way. it feels more appropriate. i'm growing towards my destiny, my fate, my KA. and with that, my anticipation grows, and i may even get excited at random intervals during the day.

how can i even express this?

it's more than just thinking about writing a tv show. that's not it. i don't know what it is. and it's coming in such a way that i know i'm not going to know until it's here. it's pakaged that way. as if i pakaged it myself, and then extracted it from my on damned memory. but i can't shake the feeling. it overcomes me often now. writing the last 8 lines or so, for instance, flowed from my fingers effortlessly, and relentlessly rapid. the words came out from force as if they were pinned up in the palms of my hands for days. not knowing what it was they were to write about, but just the notion of writing about that which my very soul craves - the being which i am to become. that which i am to be delivered to. it's...it's...i know what to describe it as, but i'm hesitant to say.

about a year ago, i had a dream that i was slowly walking up a staircase of fire. and with every step i took the fire followed me. it grew. and it consumed everything that lay in the path behind. i did not look back. nor did i look up. i just looked directly ahead, at each step as it came to me. but even then, i wasn't looking at the step. i was distant, as if my mind were elsewhere, thinking. and as i thought, i walked. slowly. deliberately. with the wild, red flames blzing on both sides of me. i walked and walked, and though i was going nowhere i could see, i felt extremely pleased walking. it felt like it was what i was supposed to be doing. it felt like it had purpose. it felt like it had meaning. it was powerful.

and once again, i start talking about one thing, and it leads to another. so, i guess, saying all this to say, um...i should buy that guitar.

laz

sadly, it's 3:30 in the morning, and the only reason i'm still awake is becasue i don't feel like taking out my contact lenses.

i felt the need to write that down somewhere.

bloom

how does a person grow?

how does a person evolve?

how does a person, consciously or not, postively or not, progressively or not, develop? over the years that we are to call our life, we find ourselves in a state of constant change. this change is a product of both externa and internal factors; yet, where those external factors may be more comprehensible, the internal factors are the very enigmas that construct the essence of our constant state of trasformation. our metamorphose. old folks back home used to call it something in your genes, or something you got form your momma or your pappy. they would be the ones that would blame my nephew's recklessness on the fact that his father was, and is, and will probably always be, a hard-head. yet, i look at babes now and see only innocence, i see purity. i see a young domincan infant in the arms of his grandfather on 147th and broadway, not crying, not laughing, not sleeping or fussing or playing or trying to talk. no, this infant, in a baggy diaper and navy blue shirt with a puppy on the front, is simply looking around. first he looks at me, then he looks away, then back to the place where i was 4 seconds before, only to find that i have walked on. it takes him a second to find me again, then once he does, with his head only half full of curly black hair, he looks away again, paying me no attention whatsoever. but for 2 seconds, allowing me to be the only thing that existed to him at that point and time. some may say that i'm trying to hard or even thinking too deep. but it's real. over the course of years we refer to as reality, we gain consciousness. and with that knowledge, comes change. and with that change, comes more change. and soon, we die, only a summation of all of the change we have obtained, and all of the knowledge we will ever possess on this earth. a culmination of growth and adaptations. which brings me back to my original question. how does a person grow? how does a person evolve? when does a man look up to find that his priorities have changed? undewr what circumstances does a woman realize that her goals are different?

when did we change the course of our lives?

more importantly, when did we ever set it? i am led to believe that we, we are no different than that which we study. ever. and anything. we study words, animals, history, food, chemicals, clouds, metals, energy, atoms, plants, each other. we study it all, as if we are in a posaition to study. like a fly caught in a spider web, observing the squirrel in the tree. or rather like a baby, beholding an adult. in any sense, collectively, we are lost - and are found only by creating our own makeshift map, of the place we know not how to survey. a realm we don't know how to study. reality is unfamiliar to us, because we are born in it. because, it's what we are. because we only define things based on what it is not, and collecitvely agree that it is not anything else. a chair, for instance, is defined as a chair because it is not a sofa, or a dog. the present, is defined as the present only because it is not the past or the future. these things we know. yet, we cannot define reality, because we don't know what un-reality is. and so, we grow much like plants grow toward the sun, without the knowledge we so seek, but in the direction of the only sure things we know. be it love, or faith, or pain. we hold on to that which is most real to us, that which represents reality; we grow in search of a definition. thus, we alter our lives as that growth takes place, for our evolution is dependent on our internal manifestation of what we hold true, and that which we believe is real.

another type of dude

today i had the strongest urge to holla at a woman as she was crossing the street. and by that, i do not mean a holla like that of subtly asking for her phone number, or giving her an "excuse me miss, what's your name..." no. by a holla, i mean that i was down the block as she was crossing the street, and i genuinely wanted to shout at her. i actually had to refrain myself from simply yelling at her whatever came to mind. and "excuse me" cannot be yelled. or if it could, i couldn't bring myself to yell it in that setting. on the contrary, i had the intense passion to yell, at the very least "hey!" to this woman. but even then, truth be told, i would have added on a "yo", "shawty", or a simple "come here".

i KNOW why i didn't do it. but what i don't know is why i wanted to do it in the first place. true, she was fine as a silk thread and was wearing a dress that was fucking drawn on. and she had something of a glisten because she was walking near a broken fire hydrant where kids were romping on Play Street. now that i think about it, i didn't even want her. i wouldn't know what to do with a woman like that. or, and this is probably moreso the case, had i met her up close and gotten to know her personally, she would turn out to be nothing like the mirage i saw shining in the fire hydrant dew. in hindsight, my urge to yell was simply a desire for her to turn around. hell, she could've kept walking - and after someone yelling at her on the street, i'm sure she would have. but, for one second, she would have turned toward me just enough for her to be disgusted and would venture on her way. and that would have been enough. would have been just fine.

granted, i may be giving her too much credit. looking the way she did, she had to have gotten her fair amount of street hollas by now and has learned the art of entertaining the holla. she would have been just as likely to turn in disgust as she would have been to give a faint smile and a graceful turn. and then there's always the slim chance that she actually come over to me and see what i want.

i dunno. in a sense i may just be changing. over the past year ive been getting a little more in touch with...with...damn, what would you call it, the street? i dunno. for instance, songa i wouldn't have given a shit about in atlanta, i feel the dire urge to get crunk to in the club. it's like an obligation up here. when i'm at a party and i see japanese girls "leanin and rockin" with it better than i am, or latina girls quoting every word to T.I. congs where i only know the verse - there's something wrong. hell, i'm FROM atlanta! they dont even know what the TRAP is!! for another instance, i talk a little different. i mean, people up here have often told me i have a southern drawl; but it seems that every time i come back from atlanta, i come back a little more hood than i left. living in spanish harlem doesn't amke things any easier as i get in touch a little more with my puerto rican roots. i tend to find that possessiveness a little stronger than before, and my sexual nature a little more aggressive than in the past. am i sharing more about myself than i should right now? probably so. but it's cool though. because as i type this, i think it's a way of me admitting to myself that i'm growing into another type of dude.

maybe.

this may all be a joke. a phase that every 22-year-old man goes through as he recognizes his adulthood. or, this could be a by-product of me working out a little more, kind of an arrogance that comes with the knowledge that you can bench-press X number of pounds. who knows...hell, that girl would've known had she turned around without me hollering at her, that's for damn sure. not to mention that i was carrying an air conditioner on my shoulder at the time.

but that's neither here nor there. if you hear me on the street, you'll know it. and if you do, rate my holla. let me know what you liked and what you didn't. i'm open to suggestions and comments as i tinker with the artform.

other than that, have a nice day.

good morning professor

on my first day of grad school this quarter, i left my bookbag in the classroom by mistake. realizing that "something's missing" feeling, i walked back to class, confident that it was still there. it was only a few minutes after class, and no other class was coming in behind us, so sure it had to be there. yet, as i entered the room, i found that my professor was going through my bag in an attempt to find out who's it was. unfortunately, and unknowingly to myself, all that was in my bag was a pair of boxer briefs.

i don't know how they got in there. my guess is either i changed one day at the beach a few weeks back and forgot them in there. or they are leftovers from when i used the bag to do laundry. so, with those being the options, either they were really really clean, or really really dirty. in either case, you'd be surprised how you would act when you discover your teacher has discovered your draws in her classroom. it actually went quite smooth. she blushed. i smiled. she handed be the bag and told me have a nice day.

anti-climactic?

sure it is. this is reality. far-fetched stuff only happens on wednesdays. yet, since then, i believe i have a special bond with my professor. for instance, using me in an example the other day (after i came in late), she described that people that lack time management skills actually have a "disability", one that should be embraced and catered to. i felt good about that. she also used me in some other example that i wasn't paying attention to. truth is, i think i can get at her. just maybe. if i were to play my cards right. the way she looks at me is very similiar to my sixth grade teacher that used to play in my hair. and i STILL think i can get at that sixth grade teacher, especially now that i'm practically her peer.

in any sense, i'm saying all this to say that i have to keep my imagination running strong as i sit through class every morning because it's boring and i can't find rope during the lectures to hang myself. next week, i think i'm going to leave a condom around my desk. just to jump-start things.

then class will be much more interesting.

ellipses

you know. i was surfing blogger. and...i came across this picture of two babies. these two babies. and, well, i mean, they're real babies, there were alot of pictures of them. man, i pray to God the mother or anybody doesn't come by my blogsite. i mean, i took the picture off of their site, because...well...because...cuz they're babies. and...um...like, all babies are cute. and, well, ok, bye.

my problem with dating

i just figured it out. my idea of an ideal night is a large pizza, a movie, and my pajamas. yet, it's difficult finding the women into that because all of them are at home with large pizzas, watching movies in their pajamas.

does that make me fat and lazy? i think not. in a world were most mid-20 year olds are out partying and getting sloppy drunk, grinding on strangers and passing out on 13th street - i'd like to call my ideal night innovative and unique. no, not fat and lazy, but against the grain. genius is what i call it. and if i really want to get things poppin, i'd go find some sticks - pop some marshmellows on em, and old them over the open flame stovetop. yep, that's livin.

or...maybe i'm a teacher on his first summer break.

tomato.

play street

yeah, another thing i've never herad of before coming up here is the Play Street. MY street happens to be the Play Street this year. not that i'm sure if it's the play street every year or not, but it's just funny that i came home one day and saw that parking and traffic were prohibited for the sole purpose of letting kids play in the street. it's an excellent idea really. granted, the crooked drug-dealing cops down the block are responsible for it, but doens't that make it all the better?

not that water is expensive, sarcastically speaking, but one must wonder if this will indeed be the highlight of these kids summer. wearing their bathing suits and sandals, these kids are really treating this as the pool, or amusement park, or beach (as i've seen one kid with his plasitc pail and shovel). and though i could understand if they had no way to get to coney island, or long peach, or robert moses park, that is not the case. many of my students take two trips to the domincan republic a year, but can't affor pencils...how the fuck does that happen?! how can they walk in with the latest in electronic gear and games, but not be able to afford a $3 notebook? "mr. wilborn, can i take notes on my Sony PSP?" no! you can't!!

but i digress. the truth is that it's quite nice coming home and finding that all the children in a 5 block radius are on your street at the same time playing wiffle-ball and playing in the cities water exploding from the emergency hydrants with such glee and joy. protected. watched out for. it's kinda like when my dad gave me money to take girls to motels because he didn't want me fooling around in empty parking lots in his brand new minivan. i was young then too. and i did appreiciate that added protection, knowing that i could fall asleep without someone mugging me behind the deserted high school. i know how these kids feel, and it's good.

until i go for my mid-day ciesta and hear 10-year-olds fighting over a fucking frisbee.

playstreet, another reason i love and hate new york city.

she's clubbin

on a recent trip to a "dancehall", i found myself amongst a trio of sorts. it was actually something of a methodical orgy. this young woman had successfully interwoven three gentleman to her fancy, switching them betwen genres of dance as she saw fit. needless to say, i was one of them. but the most peculiar thing, was that either none of us were aware, OR all of us were aware. and in hindsight, i lean to believe it was the latter of those two choices.

the first guy was given Time. this dude was a handsome, tall, and well-dressed. a professional of sorts. he looked as though he just left from work and came to the establishment to take a load off. but on that note, he was definitely in his comfort zone. he knew all of the songs, all of the dances, and all of the moves necessary to have a good time. like how much to drink to get "good", but not "tipsy", and where to put hands on a woman so that it was "seductive" and not "perverted". he was an alright guy, and the woman in focus saw just that. to him, she gave the most of her attention as the majority of the night was spent by his side, smiling and dancing.

the second guy was given Energy. a little more thug-looking than the first, this cat had a bald head and, to my memory, had come out of his tshirt and was strutting around in a wife-beater and jeans. made sense though, the tattoos were much more visible this way. at first, she was approached by him, and the dance turned into one of booty shaking and vibrations. hence, on each song that called for a red bull, she would find him, and they would spend their time together sweating and swinging.

to me, as i see it, she gave Intimacy. which is strange, because after time and energy spent, how could one have anything else to give. yet, it was so. when the track wasn't popular, or high octane, or anything by jay-z, but rather chill and slow...she found me. and we would pull each other close and embrace in such a way that implied that we may have even known each other. as if i had come there with her and was going to leave with her. as if i were there for her. we would sway in the crowd of strangers as if she were not one. we would be in a realm all our own. no one else was there it seemed. nothing else mattered or even existed. we were a bond, of one beat and one flow.

and then the song would change and she would run away to the appropriate man of her choice.

the best part about the entire observation though is that i realize that each of those dudes had to feel the same way when they were with her. she had so maticulously chosen each of us, hadn't she? she had so neatly arranged the order nd priority by which we fell in line, didn't she? weren't we playing to her, just to get a glimpse of that exclusivity, of that notion that we were all that mattered to her? weren't we all just living for the moment, defined only by the premise that it was more?

it was logic.
i mean, it couldn't have been anything else...