Today, as I was walking by a man sitting on the ground with a sign asking for change, I looked down and was debating whether or not I should give him money, and as he looked up at me, he said, "Remember that you are mortal..."
Over the last two months or so (that I haven't been writing), I've been busy trying to find a cohesive narrative and cinematic parallel between what I'm going through and what the rest of the world is going through. My original goal was to try to create a situation where I would/could serve as a poetic mediator between the lines on the paper (that space where life happens). The whole dilemma of identity is rather restraining - like a straitjacket in a sense. Then I thought.... what if there were no rebillions against constraints, and all our metaphors were the exact same?
The idea of "Identity" has a built in death element. But in this scenario, the death is the liberation, so without it, the possibility of a new self (of growth) is an impossibility.
So I sat, pondering the idea of freedom - of escaping the fixed "self." Is it possible? If it is possible, should it be?
I'm so far from heaven, at times I feel my sins are a way of getting back at G.d for... for my perceived "talent." I don't know if I'd call what I have a talent though. Not in that sense. I still find it hard to believe that people would actually pay to hear my voice talking about whatever.
Imagine making a grilled cheese sandwich for you and your friends. Imagine it was one of those summer days when you come home a bit earlier than normal only to find that there's nothing in your house but old milk, bread, and some of that good ol' government cheese. So it's you and your boys in Granny's kitchen, and you're like "fuck it! I'm bout to make this food'." So you get out the bread and the cheese and start putting your Chef-Boy-R-D thing down. You make everyone a sandwich, and get out a few glasses for the water because the milk is in chunk form at this point. You all sit down at that little ass table, and begin making soul business with the grub. Your boy looks up and says, "Jesus man, this is fucking delicious!" And your other boy is agreeing saying, "Homie, G.d blessed this sandwich."
They finish, and leave you sitting there feeling like you just got played. You comment to yourself, "Corny ass niggas. Come over, eat my shit, and bounce!" Only the next day, that group of 3 has grown to 8, then 15 the day after that, then 50. You think to yourself, "Man, this is crazy." Your boys are eating, they happy, you're happy, but you starting to get tired. You gotta keep feeding them though, because for a lot of them, this is all they got. It's cheaply made, and the ingredients aren't that good, but they love it. You know you aren't a chef deep down, and even try to tell them, but they aint having it. To them, you are the greatest thing since.... well sliced bread. You go to sleep because you're exhausted. You been making grilled cheese non-stop for months now.
You fall asleep accidently, wake up, and its 2008. This same group of friends has grown to an absurd number of people. Some of your original friends are still down, but they kind of resent you now like, "Fuck that nigga. He act like he too good for grilled cheese." SOme of those friends actually hate you now like, "dude is corny. My grilled cheese is way better than his. I used that good cheese from where the white people shop." You still got a few people who legitimately love your sandwiches, and it feels good, but now you're on call and have to try to anticipate when they'll want it, and how exactly they'll want it. Everyone has an opinion on your sandwiches now, and in your mind, you're like "It's just grilled cheese!"
You never asked this. You were just trying to give a little of what you had. A band-aid for a gun shot wound. Now you're both hated and love (more hated) for trying to help. People who don't even know you go out of their way to sabotage you because they don't/can't understand that you were only trying to fill a void. Your sincerest attempt to provide the people you cared about most with means to help justify their END(troduction) have become the primary reason why they and other hate you.
People, it's just grilled cheese. I made the best I could with what I had. Hate it or love it, a few ate, which is always better than anyone going hungry.
Or so I thought....
AJS
