Simplicity at its Best

Two kids walking each other home from school, a boy and a girl.

Takin' a trip back then reminds me how those times were some of the best spent in the world.

No worries about broken hearts, false words, or the potential of things going wrong.

And even though the times have changed, the desire remains to write a familiar type of song.

...it's just about finding the right muse.

11/7/09 @ 3:09 A.M.

Is That a Friend of Yours? Nah, Just Somebody I Know.

There's a line in Devil in a Blue Dress that's so simple, yet it packs a punch. Easy was choppin' it up with Joppy, when a dude walks into Joppy's bar to chop it up with the both of 'em. When the dude leaves, Easy (played by Denzel) and Joppy (played by Mel Winkler) share a brief, but unforgettable exchange:

Easy: "Who's that, Joppy? A friend of yours?"

Joppy: "Just somebody I know."

Now, some people may look at that, and ask why I make such a huge deal about those simple words. My answer: because it's true. Joppy didn't mean it in a bad way; he just meant that ol buddy is someone who knows his name, and vice-versa. They're not friends, and that's cool.

I've been fortunate to have people I can call friends, and I've also been fortunate enough to have people I know; at this stage of living, it's easy for me to decipher the two. However, the common thread is this: they all get equal respect from me. I don't respect a friend more than I respect someone I know. Now, I will give a friend more time than just someone I know, but that's because friendship is earned, while you can just know a motherfucker, ya know? I don't see that as constituting a lack of respect. Respect isn't something that's a tangible (see/touch/taste/smell/hear) quality. That's just me; it's how I was raised (parents), how I've been bred (Willie McCullough), and how I choose to live my life. I'll do other fucked-up shit from now til I die, but I can find peace in knowing I respect everyone fully, from jump.

Now things can transpire during interaction with people, and that's the part I'm working on correcting; tryna be less of an asshole when things don't go my way, and be more humble instead; tryna watch the urge to cuss a motherfucker out, and instead listen to where they're coming from, respect it, digest it, and if things continue down an undesirable road, then depart peacefully (whether the departure is us hanging up the phone, leaving each other's presence for a short time, or even for good). Even if we disagree, then at least we're doing it in peace. I'm all for confrontation, but I don't wanna do that all the time. Lord knows it's been a test, but it's one thing to say it, and another thing to do it...and right now, I'm doin' it.

I don't know; maybe this shit isn't making any sense. Just needed to vent. Wooosah....

Be easy.

"Simpler Times" photo by Clifton Henri

Mitchell and West Street: Appreciation Part Two

The John Legend song just crept up; you know, the one that led to a slow dance on the living room floor still plays vividly in my head. We moved slowly, and whispered along to every single word he said. I never once told you how those several minutes in time kept my entire soul fed, so I'll do it now, and tell you how this tale should always be remembered and read...

There's gonna be some stuff in here that I never intended for you to see. Like how we ran into each other on the yard, not too long after you made 23. Or how, at the time, Chick-Fil-A lemonade was your drink of choice, and how I knew we would be bound for life, from one fateful evening, despite the fact of having yet heard the sound of your voice.

Plenty has passed since then; your first event on 4/21/05, and the excitement that lead up to the night, yet it still goes back to one well before then, which brings all and everything to the light. It consisted of a library, peace and quiet, and two people coming toward each other, crossing paths, with no idea except to move right along. Yet that's when it all began; when you granted me the pleasure of starting an everlasting bond...

11/7/09 @ 3:59 A.M.

Photo by...I Don't Know Who Took Her Picture