Wednesday, May 28, 2008

I'm an artist and I'm sensitive about my SHIT!!!

Sometimes, I struggle with being a artist. When it comes to art, one must be able to discern when to give of themselves, honestly and wholeheartedly, as well as know when not to do either. For me its like letting the monsta inside of me loose upon the world. Speaking my truth, whether Tom, Dick or Sherry likes it, cause it's my truth. I spoke once before about my affinity for the good brotha Tupac Shakur, because he was a strong black man, who at one moment could have an uncontrollable passion for his fellow brethren and with a swift shake of a machete he could sing a of song of sin, croonin' his thug passion to the females inquiring, "How do you want it...?
So for me, this has always been my dilemma, do I give it to 'em raw or should I put some cut on it. I step back and say to myself, I want to give my reader some emotion, I want my reader to feel me where I am comin' from, if they not feelin' nothing good nor bad...I am not doing my job to bring the conviction which I am striving as a artist/poet for. In this process I must remain true to myself, first. Then I think about my audience...and I ask in a soft suddle voice, "How do you want it...?"

Theme music- Fleetwood Mac "Dreams"

Monday, May 12, 2008

I am a Certified Computer Technician....BABY!!!!!

I guess they thought I was servin' spam instead of spaghetti!!! I told 'em, it may have taken me a extra 5 months to get the job done, but I did it. So yes, you can say that Lannie Ross, 1 year later from being released from San Quentin State Prison, after doing 8 years, stepped out from that cage, enrolled in a computer tech school and got certified. Something can't nobody take away from you is a they say. Hang that on yo' wall, you haters!

Now I went in to take my test, with a friend of mine who had started the class in S. F. with me. He was there early and started his exam. I came in about 10 minutes after. I left about 15 minutes before he finished. Nothing unusual, throughout our course I have always finished before him, sometimes placing higher, sometimes placing lower. Today I smashed and got a 880 and walked out, way before he finished. (Thats 880 out of a 900, the questions were weighted so you figure I missed 1-2 questions.) Well 15 minutes later his results came, he got a 885. I wasn't mad...I was happy. I wanted to get a higher score but I really wasn't tripping, the thing of it is although he passed, got certified and all that, his demeanor seemed to be on a haterist mode. Why, because I came with a fat ass diamond in my ear and I was dressed up...but I usually am if I am not at work. It's funny how some cats can pump each other up and others can just do the opposite. Yeah I looked good, but he scored higher, has all the opportunity to get a good job, find a good woman and have some kids someday, just like me, but no....he wants to focus on the here and now. I guess it's like my big brah Carl always tells me, sometimes I am just too real, and you know what they did to Malcolm and Martin....for being too real!

So I am going to continue to work at becoming humble. If not, my "Friends" are gonna KILL me.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Practice makes perfect

I visited a friend this weekend and ended up helping her and her family paint their kitchen. I like visiting and find it a good escape from my normal life out in the city. Due to the fact that most of their fathers' are basically absent, I look forward in spending quality time with them. Not as a father figure, but more as a positive male role model. It is a shame how hard it is on single women now a days. Can't get a man to help change a light bulb let a carton of milk. The whole family structure has deteriorated so low that it is much needed breath of fresh air when a man steps in, even if it is for only a weekend. I am not sure on how the impact of my actions truly effect her or her family, but all I can try to do is my best, to be a stand up brotha...can you dig it?

Thursday, May 1, 2008


I try to mind my own bidness, but when I seen that girl get smacked up side her head, I had to get my voyeurism on. Me and my co-worker Carl were minding our own business, painting some old rusted doors in the "Outta Control" projects. Me being as observant as I am, I began to notice a group of girls congregating by a car. Nothing out of the normal, so me and Carl continued to paint and shoot the breeze. Then all of a sudden I began to feel that same tension I use to get on the yard when something was about to go down. The female wolfpack was creeping towards the neighborhood hang out. I watched intently. Voices began to rise like the tide at Stinson Beach. Hands started to stray from their sides, eyebrows arched, top lips scratched the corner of noses, oh it was getting ready to go down. I knew one of the ladies from back in the days "Rosy". She was one of my potnahs girlfriend. But what was she doing out here, with these youngstas actin' hyphy for? Wouldn't you know it, when the sixteen year old girl turned to the right, Rosy hit her hard with a right. The police began to come down Larch alleyway, people scattered, the sixteen year old girl began to cry, pout, see she is on the Queen Latifah side, (kinda chunky for a sixteen year old) and usually she is the one who does the beating up, I guess today she got a taste of her own medicine...but from a 40 year old.

As me and Carl continued painting I received a call from John my boss, said he needed me to help Clay with moving some furniture. First of all, Clay is a lazy bum. He tries to fake the role of being a good guy, but I know better. He aint all that bad, but he aint all that good either. But now who is...anyway we are taking a table into the commu nity room and then there is a boom-boom!
I barely hear it and it doesn't sound too out of the ordinary, maybe its some construction going on down the street. Then I turn around and see one of the residents running with her hands in the air, "They shootin', they shootin'!"
Clay isn't moving, I look to him as he stands in the doorway, I inquire as to why he aint movin' his fat ass in the community room. He replies that, "You got your table leg caught on that chair and I can't move." I said, "If you don't move your fat ass out the way." I push the leg and basically scoot Clay inside. We wait a minute, see if the coast is clear and then I began to head for the office. Good ole Clay does what, heads straight towards the gunfire.
Although all the shooting had stopped, it just showed me the differences in culture that black folks have that other cultures don't. The biggest thing which I wish we could unadapt is the killing one another. Wake up brothaman/systagurl and stop the violence.