Aye, man. How old is this damn plane?
There isn't enough time in the world to do one thing right. Ambition is a disease that preys on the waking. Fall asleep reciting all the things you didn't do. That's pillow talk.
Aye, man. How old is this damn plane?
Another year, another app at #sxsw. #austin360, @janrain.
I’m just trying to get through a weekend. These people are speaking like they know me. They don’t know me. I’m a stranger and my species is endangered. Populations declined in the city centers and our skin grew lighter in the suburbs where we are renters. Not home owners. Suburban roamers looking for a dream two steps ahead of us. It got on the bus and moved back downtown to a condo on the waterfront.
We worship broken systems. Lottery tickets and college degrees have become synonymous. I got a masters degree and became anonymous. You can’t buy pedigree, but you can buy me. A little cash is exchanged and suddenly, oh so suddenly, we can see. Invisible men don’t tell tales, but they buy on sale trying to get what you got for half price. Half of a life, the rest spent shopping, eating and pill popping. The price of pains ease.
Isolation is the key to epiphany. “Stand tall and walk alone” they told me. Be a man. Be pro-Black. Be a democrat. But it’s lonely at the top and white. And they don’t sound like you and you don’t sound like the show they saw on TV. Like the real me got censored so as not to corrupt younger viewers. We were at the bar and dude said, “You’re the whitest Black man I know.” Outwardly I laughed. Inside I said “Shut the fuck up, sit down. I have a story to tell. I didn’t climb this ladder and leave my people behind to get minimized by your colonial bullshit. You don’t know me. You don’t even know you. You are the shadow of a racism that proved both lethal and inept. You shouldn’t be proud of what you are. You should work hard to be better everyday. Like I do. Like the rest of us do. I’m the whitest black man you know because you don’t live in a world that believes we are essentially equal. To be your equal or your better you surmise that I somehow escaped from my genetic trap. That I am an anomaly. The one and only. And you believe this because the truth is terrifying. The fear that your privilege might become distributed. That others might gain on you. The race tightens like the noose we escaped. Lesser beings beget greater freedoms and we all benefit. We all benefit from these trials.”
And I’m just trying to get through a weekend.
att throttled my unlimited data down to 2009 speeds. They also misspelled “smartphone.” #fuckitall
Walked into a random office at work and saw this on the wall. #tweetabeer
Started from the bottom, now we here … (at Samsung America Inc.)
Now I know where I’m having lunch! (at Pioneers)
Only in NYC: ass to ass urinals.
Had I known that three hundred and sixty-four days after the last time we saw each other, you would be gone, I might have done things differently. Three hundred and sixty-five nights ago I might have answered the phone when you called me. I was pretty sure you were drunk and I was drunk. I didn’t answer. I never called you back.
I might have wrote you a letter to let you know that I’m not mad anymore. I would have told you that the kid is killing it in Chicago and that I had not one, but two of my own, one high yellow and the other like sweet caramel.
If I had called you back we might have joked about how I finally did get that Coke money and how I still refuse to define myself by my greatest skill. I would have asked about your family and your health and you would have given me platitudes revealing absolutely nothing.
I’m trying to cope with my own regrets. I know that if you were here wearing those ridiculous jeans with the whole in the knee, a t-shirt from some obscure band and your hands thrust deep into your pockets you’d just shrug and say “Fuck it. What are you gonna do?”
To the Mother:
They call on Sunday like clockwork. And they claim that you don’t understand them, to which, I laugh, as you have been, and always will be, mirrors for each other. Teasing and pushing each other like sisters. Inspiring and protecting each other like mother and daughters.
Feel free to live through them. Feel free to wear their dreams like a warm coat of accomplishments. Feel free to cry with them when they should be strong and be there for them when they feel like they’re alone.
To the Firstborn Daughter, the Forgotten Child, the Daughter of Ambition. You live to be wild, deep in your mothers blood, tempered ever so slightly by your father’s caution. You were the first time my heart was an unbroken circle. The first smile uninterrupted by doubt.
Know that your story has not been written. Your expectations have not been set. Remember that we are not engineers, we are delivery men. We cannot make you who you are. We simply brought you to the world and filled your heart’s home with things we hope you find useful.
Feel free to keep what you like. Feel free to move on.
To the baby girl. Keep us together. Life will be like the wind and your smile will be like the glue. Keep us together. The things that happen to us will be like the story and what you have to say will be like the narration. We need you to tell us who we’re going to be. Who we are. To remind us who we’ve been and what we could be.
Tell us what love looks like to a family inventing a way to be together. A new kind of algebra for those impaired by harsh numbers. A new kind of love for those who came up with hearts broken.
We wanted you. You were the magnificent accident that made our family complete. Three girls, one man. A home full of miracles, a plan.
I’m so tired. Everyday I grow older. Everyday I see signs that you three one day won’t need me. That I could work my way toward obsolescence the way an old man works towards retirement. And I’m cool with that. As long as you three live to see the sunset after I’m gone. Together.