The Road Most Travelled

Solo D.M.C.

2006-12-19T23:05:00.000-05:00

a.k.a. The Lack of Run

I've spent a lot of time concentrating on the chemistry of my current state. I know about the smell of desperation and the how I'm repulsed by women who wear it. I know I've worn it for a minute now, though undetectable by my own olfactory, I must be sportin' it helly.

I prided myself on being the cool dude, unfazed and nonchalant. I was that dude when I was at home, though it was a long time coming. That last cool shit I remember doing happened right before I left. I was checkin' this chick out. We went on a couple of dates, but she had a man. She wanted me to promise if she came back to my apartment I wouldn't fuck her, no matter how much she wanted me to.

"How about we skip the part where we go back to my apartment? I mean, we can NOT fuck sittin' right here."

She sat there for a minute in silence. Stunned silence. "You don't want me to come back to your place?" "I don't want you to call me." More silience. "So that's it?" "Yeah, that's it. Finish your drink."

That cat is dead. He was killed dealing with golddigging liars, pseudo-lesbians, faux sincere, moderately attractive fuckbunnies. Lisa Stansfield said it best, "I don't think he's comin' back..."

Well versed in gettin' SONNED by broads during my early years, I can't come close to that shit now. I've been that dude gettin' played, laughed at, thoroughly dissed. A chick from Detroit will crush your fuckin' ego, Bucko. I may get got for a meal or a concert or something these days, but I ask those women who get a little dough outta me: how's your life? I got nothing but the future to look forward to.

KZ

Have At It

2006-11-28T14:21:00.000-05:00

Life is unfair in soooo many facets, you just gotta learn to roll with the punches.

How the fuck do you let a one-eyed man parallel park your car? You see the muthafucka has bad depth perception and yet, you let him parallel park your shit. And then get upset when he hits the cars parked in front and in back of you.

That's how the fuck I feel listening to women complain about some cat. You saw that muthafuckas flaws like you were wearing a jeweler's eyepiece.

But the "limited" never makes way for the "limitless". Never. The limited are always gonna make it bad for the limitless and make one doubt the limitless. The limited is a safe, comfortable choice. So the limited always wins and the limitless is marginalized.

This whole thing (the blog) reads like a broken fuckin' record. Everywhere I look, some cat has stolen some woman's happiness, her ability to see goodness, her ability to recognize the possibility for true fulfillment exists. Her quality meter is shot and she blames the manifestation instead of the shoddy equipment.

So here I sit, curb dweller. Getting subliminals from the sublime. And I wait until the next mistake is made, either the "get-back" or the new mistake. When the next one is still found lacking, I might be here. I'll be here until I'm not here. And I won't be missed, because the limited has become the expected. Who's fault is it when one doesn't expect the unexpected?

This shit makes my fuckin' head hurt.

KZ

Swagger For Sale

2006-11-27T09:56:00.000-05:00

I think it's healthy to admit one's addictions. My biggest one (yes, there are more) has got to be gear, fits, clothes. I'm constantly looking for new wears, especially work clothes. This weekend I bought a new suit, a gray pinstiped number. This store is going out of business so their shit was extra cheap. So for a big dude like me (58 long) to find a suit for $125, I was feeling pretty good about myself.

It's really noteable that I can't stop buying suits when most people know that I hate suits. It's the uniform. I really need to make myself confortable in suits so that I can project my authority in the workplace. I could dress like my boss. I could be in a city logoed oxford shirt with khakis daily. But that shit REALLY looks like a uniform. They say you should dress for the job you want not for the job you have, and I take that to heart. I used to dress like a freelance writer. Now I dress like a corporate asshole, even though I'd rather be a writer. I think the gear helps me think in a more linear, systemic fashion as opposed to my willy nilly actual way of thinking.

I'll keep dressing like a corporate tool, while trying to fend off the mindset. It won't be easy, but I'm trying.

Stupid Dream

2006-11-20T15:14:00.000-05:00

I dreamt about her last night. We were sitting and talking, just like we were Saturday night. I sat looking into her beautiful brown eyes. And I listened to her talk to me. I can't remember anything she said. I was mesmerized by her eyes. And I woke up. It was a pleasant sleep. It disturbed the fuck outta me!

First of all, what the fuck am I doing being all moony for a chick who I think probably doesn't like me? That's the first rule of dating: "Like who likes you".

Second, this is MY DREAM. Why wasn't I fuckin'? I was talking to a chick I dig in a hotel room fully clothed JUST LIKE REAL LIFE! I didn't even get a fuckin' kiss in my dream!

That's all I got. This is some bullshit!

KZ

A Conundrum

2006-11-15T09:31:00.000-05:00

Let's say I suck, which I do, but you weren't sure if I did. And I met you, member of the opposite sex, and I thought you were great. In fact, I thought you were fantastic, extra special and all that good shit. And one day during conversation I let you know I thought you were great, fantastic, extra special, etc.

You, member of the opposite sex, tell me you didn't see what the big deal was about. You're just who you are, you don't see what's supposed to be all that special. Now, here's the conundrum: If you start to give me play, does that mean I'm special or not? Because if I'm special, like I think you are, and like I think I am, this is a good thing. But if you think you're just "whatever" and you give me play, you probably think I'm just "whatever", too, right? I mean, people try to deal at their "level", right?

Just Pondering,
KZ

You Belong To Me

2006-10-30T21:02:00.000-05:00

The memory is savage. I remember the shit like it was yesterday everytime I hear that song. It was 1991 and I was breaking up with my girlfriend. The relationship was rocky and I wanted to pursue other interests. She let me know how she felt in no uncertain terms. It was brutal. We parted ways and I started seeing the chick I wanted to see. It was a short little fling. We weren't compatible and I was done. I wanted back with Janet.

I went back to her and she was done. She started fucking my mortal enemy, this dude named Austin. I couldn't believe it. I was arrogant enough to believe I could just walk back into her life unscathed. Janet made sure I knew she was happier with her new dude. I saw her and Austin at this gig on campus and I punched that cat in the face. I got thrown out of the gig. Stewing at home I was digging through my crates just to listen to samples for this demo I was putting together.

I grabbed this Doobie Brothers album and there it was:

Why'd you tell me this
While you look for my reaction
What do you need to know
Don't you know I'll always be the one
You don't have to prove to me you're beautiful to strangers
I've got lovin' eyes of my own
You belong to me

I hear this song today and I have the same gut-wrenching reaction. Funny.

Working On That Top Tier...

2006-10-05T09:28:00.000-04:00

with an obvious deficiency on the bottom tier.

Peace,
KZ

Weight

2006-09-12T14:36:00.000-04:00

Stakes Is High (excerpt) by De La Soul

I'm sick of bitches shakin' asses
I'm sick of talkin' about blunts,
Sick of Versace glasses,
Sick of slang,
Sick of half-ass awards shows,
Sick of name brand clothes.
Sick of R&B bitches over bullshit tracks,
Cocaine and crack
Which brings sickness to blacks,
Sick of swoll' head rappers
With their sicker-than raps
Clappers and gats
Makin' the whole sick world collapse
The facts are gettin' sick
Even sicker perhaps
Stickabush to make a bundle to escape this synapse.

Whatever You Say (excerpt) by Little Brother

Oh yea I know I'm husky but chicks still love me
3 o'clock still have they ass running to Waffle House fa me
Be feeling on that ass till my name they be callin'
And shit got them so wet they make a Freudian slip and
Fall down into my verbal abyss that's straight Reservoir
Dog style, perfecto served with a kiss
*Muah* baby, it's just like this no need to fight it
Invite it try me out you just might like it
American pie shit try anything out once
Forever stained in memory like white shirts and punch
I get the hunch that a niggas on your menu
Do me a favor girl come check me at the next venue

Thieves In The Night (excerpt) by Blackstar

Stars shine bright, but the light -- rarely stays on
Same song, just remixed, different arrangement
Put you on a yacht but they won't call it a slaveship
Strangeness, you don't control this, you barely hold this
Screamin brand new, when they just sanitized the old shit
Suppose it's, just another clever Jedi mind trick
That they been runnin across stars through all the time with
I find it's distressin, there's never no in-between
We either niggaz or Kings
We either bitches or Queens
The deadly ritual seems immersed, in the perverse
Full of short attention spans, short tempers, and short skirts
Long barrel automatics released in short bursts
The length of black life is treated with short worth
Get yours first, them other niggaz secondary
That type of illin that be fillin up the cemetary
This life is temporary but the soul is eternal
Separate the real from the lie, let me learn you
Not strong, only aggressive, cause the power ain't directed
That's why, we are subjected to the will of the oppressive
Not free, we only licensed
Not live, we just excitin
Cause the captors.. own the masters.. to what we writin
Not compassionate, only polite, we well trained
Our sincerity's rehearsed in stage, it's just a game
Not good, but well behaved cause the ca-me-ra survey
most of the things that we think, do, or say
We chasin after death just to call ourselves brave
But everyday, next man meet with the grave
I give a damn if any fam' recall my legacy
I'm tryin to live life in the sight of God's memory
Like that y'all

Antartic Divorce

2006-09-03T20:48:00.000-04:00

Let's flashback two weeks. Text message from Fiona:
I loved seeing you downtown the other day. I miss you inside me. I really wish that you would accept me as your one and only. I have so much to give. I want you.

Voicemail from yesterday:
Hey Zed, I just wanted to call and say "hi". I know you were in town to see A Tribe Called Quest. I wish you would call me, but I'm sure that text message I sent you scared you off. But you knew how I felt anyway, didn't you? I hope you call me soon. I'd love to see you before you go.

Goodbye, Fiona. It's been swell.

I got back from Detroit this afternoon. It was an emotion filled weekend. I'm sad about leaving the city for what amounts to be the last summer I'll spend any time there.

I have to make amends to the women. All I saw was the trail of heartbreak I left behind. I ran into woman after woman that I fucked over, shitted on, blew off, or otherwise made miserable. It was like a fuckin' parade.

Thelma: I want to set you up with a girl.
KZ: Really?
Thelma: I sure do.
KZ: You're wiling to do that?
Thelma: If we can't be together, why not?

I guess. I'm still fighting my demons, working on being BETTER. That's such a nebulous sentiment, I know, but I want to be better in so many ways. Women are definitely my weakness, but I want to get on with my life. I want to get married and start having shorties. I'm fuckin' getting old. It's that time.

KZ

Truth Be Told

2006-08-31T17:23:00.000-04:00

I don't know if I've ever had as helpless a feeling as I have now. To be so far away from my social circle. To be connected to social activity through this tenous little broadband link between me and the world. To be utterly unable to fulfill what I believe to be my destiny. Where I'm destined to be, who I'm destined to be with. It's disheartening. Actually, it's more than disheartening. It is eating me up.

I have no desire to fuck with time-fillers and broads I don't like. Women I think I'd dig are across the fuckin' country. My whole shit is marginalized because I'm not RIGHT THERE. I can't be taken seriously, because I'm not in their midst. So I'm left with scrapple. The bottom of the muthafuckin' barrel.

This whole thing, this gotdamn Blogger thing has effectively opened up a whole new world to me. This shit is fulla creeps, half asses, geniuses, dullards, no life wanna be's, goddesses, triflin' hoes, broke pimps, and me. You never know what you're gonna get until the conversation gets real.

So I go into this shit extra gangsta, 'cuz honestly I don't give a fuck. I'm speaking my mind and I'm drillin' muthafuckas every chance I get. And then people start feeling me. I'm kind of a live cat, I'm funny. But I'm here, not in the center of anything, not really close to anybody, and I start feelin' different women. Not that they would know, 'cuz I'm flirting with everybody. So I make my approach to one of them. That bitch is unstable. Lesson One: Bitches be unstable. So I step to another one. That broad is gunshy because of my blog persona. Lesson Two: Don't be such an asshole on your blog. The third one is fantastic. I can't help it. I'm amazed that I feel this way. I let it be known. Big fuckin' mistake. She thinks I'm full of shit and there is no way she's giving me any run. Or else she's just not feeling me. I'm not her type or I'm not as cool as she thought I'd be. Whatever. But that shit is the one that hurts my feelings, I mean actually hurt my feelings. I blow off most everything that happens to me emotionally, because most of that shit is infantile, but my feelings are really hurt. You mean I can't get any play? At all? Damn, it sucks to be me.

So anyway this shit has led me to believe that I'm really not built for this shit. I'm not made for this blogging shit. I still have an artistic sensibility. I really like that you like what I write. It validates me. I think I'm funny. I think I'm observant. And so do you. I think you're attractive and funny. Can we talk? We can't? Why not? Oh. O.K.

And that's that.

Ownership Society

2006-06-02T10:07:00.000-04:00

I don't know how it is with other forms of music, but I've noticed how people tend to claim ownership of hip-hop. Every person I know that proclaims to be a hip-hop head relates some special relationship they have with the music. They are the connoisseurs, they know "real" hip-hop, they know what they were doing when they first heard a certain classic.

I have a friend who recently turned 30. He swears up and down that his peer group came of age when hip hop was best. I tend to believe that the "golden age" was when I was in college (approx. 1987-1994), when "Yo MTV Raps" and "Rap City" came on the air, when underground artists got airplay. My brother is 43. He believes hip-hop is his and we fucked it up. I don't know if Rock or Country inspires that type of discussion.

Hip-Hop was so ingrained in my consciousness, I used to dream "remixes". I'd have a beat in my head and apply it to songs other artists made as an alternative version to their hit in my dreams. It used to happen all the time when I was attempting to be an artist. It doesn't happen so much any more.

Hip-hop probably has the largest contingency of "artists" who are basically fans that caught a break. Cats who used to beat on cafeteria tables and freestyle over instrumentals in cars, or stand in cyphers trying to battle the next extraneous dude. We believed this hip-hop shit came out of our pores and grew organically. It was natural to chew on tree bark and wear a hot, knitted kufi on a 90 degree day.

I hear cats talk about hip-hop it's always so serious. It's often about realness and the state of the artform. Dudes would almost come to blows when discussing the merits of one group or the other. Like they were fighting for the integrity of hip-hop. I just don't know if there's other music that inspires that level of discussion or debate nearly 30 years hence.

The Settlers

2006-05-29T23:27:00.000-04:00

I was watching something on T.V. a couple of days ago and they referred to the first white inhabitants of a certain part of America as "settlers", meaning they decided to stay and add "civilization" to that particular piece of real estate.

Of course it's not the first time that I've heard that term used, but for the first time I processed it differently that I have before.

I started to feel sorry for the "settlers". I saw them as settlers, people settling for what life gave them. I began seeing the folks in Satan's Anus as settlers, hoping that I wasn't becoming one.

I hope I'm an "aspirant", but if you're surrounded by "settlers" I think that shit's contagious.

I listen to people, young people, around here discuss their goals and it's so low level. Thinking as if you want to be a high achiever is easy. It's the work that's hard! How much of a slack ass do you have to be to think so low level?

Here's to the settlers. I hope I'm looking at them in the rear view mirror.

Who's Telling Your Story?

2006-05-25T12:23:00.000-04:00

The one thing I worry about constantly is my legacy. I worry about it so much, that I don't work on my current life, which is crazy. How good will be legacy be if I don't work on the present?

Anyway, the reason I'm thinking about this is that I was revising my resume today. I got an offer to do some consulting work in Detroit the other day. It would be on a part-time basis and would help to pad my income a bit. They needed an update resume to include it in their qualifications packet when they bid on projects.

For a dude in my field at my age, my resume is flawless. I've never made a lot of loot, but experience and responsibility wise, my resume is crack. I got to look at some of the choices I made and reflect. I lot of things I did was in response to a renewed interest in my legacy.

I made a choice when I made it out of undergrad in 1994. I wanted to create a personal and professional portfolio that would be able to help any children I had to open doors based on my reputation. This is one of the few things my father couldn't do for me and I wanted this for my children.

In the course of doing this shit, I never had the kids!!! I still volunteer for the right causes, join the right organizations, keep steady contact with the right people all for children I don't have.

The reason I worry so much is that you never know who'll be telling your story. My ex-wife will tell people I'm irresponsible and mercurial. My ex-girlfriend will call me the most driven, motivated and passionate person she knows. My boys think I'm a visionary. My professors (undergrad and grad) would call me a slacker. I keep working to get that story to an agreeable consensus. At least until it's lie I can live (or die)with.

Addict

2006-05-23T09:36:00.000-04:00

I can't stop! I went to the bookstore last night and bought The Covenant with Black America. Everytime I say I'll make due with the books I have, I buy more. I still got a book I bought before I moved to Satan's Anus, The 48 Laws of Power, that I'm smack dab in the middle of. I can't finish it. I've started and finished a gang of books in the interim.

I bought a Bible before I left Detroit, too. Still in the plastic wrapping. I was going to read it in a scholarly fashion, without a preacher's interpretation getting in the way of the words. I haven't gotten to it. I've been reading this blog this dude started on Slate.com where he's doing exactly what I'd planned to do. Read the Bible as a layman would with no external interpretation. Well, you snooze ya lose. I still plan to do my thing though.

I bought this book called The Naked Ape a few months ago that I'm anxious to get to. It's about body language and all the stuff you can deduce from just people watching. I always get sidetracked by another book. Books are like nerd heroin. You just can't turn off curiosity. I wish I could. So many subjects interest me.

The next book I want to get will be on the subject of sociobiology, the study of God and nature (i.e. the natural function of things). The leading light in this field, the originator of the field, is Edward O. Wilson. I'm curious about the craziest shit.

What I really need is a library card. The library in the town where I live (on the outskirts of Satan's Anus) has the same work hours as I do. I can't get a Satan's Anus Library Card without first getting one from my town's library. It's all fucked up and convoluted.

In the meantime, I guess I'll keep buying.

Whatever Happens, Happens

2006-05-22T13:34:00.000-04:00

"Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth." - Mike Tyson

I'm letting the chips fall where they may, because believing I can change the way things are going is making me ill.

Last week when I talked to Thelma and let her know that I needed to get some things done careerwise, it was a thought altering process.

Thelma and I broke up about a year ago this week. The grounds of which were some shaky shit about me not including her as part of my plans to leave Detroit. I did include her, she blew me off, and when it got real and I was packing, she freaked. So she broke up with me.

In the past year it's been on and off, trying to make things work. Frankly, I don't even like her. I think she's kind of dizzy and the lack of deep thoughts bothers me, especially when I think about us raising children. But she is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, bar none. She's drop dead gorgeous and she's mine for the taking.

It kind of makes me look like I think less of myself for my attempts to stick with her for such a shallow reason. Actually, I think pretty highly of myself. But I like the lift I'd get having such an incredible dime attached to my arm. It makes shit so much easier. I've watched people lose their minds just to give her free shit. It's funny to watch. Every time I look at her, I think "Damn, she's dizzy". Then I see a stranger see her, man or woman, and then I remember, "Oh yeah, she's beautiful".

But I told her last week that we needed to think about the future and how we were going to proceed. If we would be together, where we would go from here, etc.

She stalled on me. Told me she didn't want to leave the state. I asked her what she'd do if there were no opportunities left in Michigan, which is built on manufacturing that's drying up. She didn't have a plan. I got furious and started yelling at her "It is inconsiderate not to make plans for your career. This fuckin' state is dying and you wanna stay here for what? You job is portable! My job is portable! What are you staying here for?"

She told me she was staying because her mother was here. That's all I needed to know.

If her mother was ailing or sick or otherwise didn't have a life, I'd kinda understand. But she'll be a jobless ass sitting around with her mother.

I'll fuck her until I get sick of her or meet her replacement. But as far as any serious thought about a future with her, I think otherwise.

Where My Head Is

2006-05-21T20:32:00.000-04:00

Quotes:

"The birds are singing and the sun is shining/It looks like a beautiful morning" - "Beautiful Morning" by Little Brother

"I don't even get that much outta fuckin' no' mo'. Now I fuck just to have something to beat off to later." - Patrice O'Neal

So I finished The World Is Flat yesterday. My synopsis: bullshit.

In a nutshell, this is the book: America, Europe and Asia are getting closer through technology. Some outsourcing is occurring but if America invests in science education we'll be able to maintain solid standing in the world economy. Africa? Yeah, that's fucked up about Africa. Anyway, American, Europe and Asia will be tight. Terrorists are trying to unflatten the world, but fuck them. They're full of sour grapes. America is the shit!

So don't read that shit, it's all laid out for you.

I'll finish Hokum next hopefully. It's an anthology of African American humor compiled by the great Paul Beatty.

I gotta get some mood music up in this piece. It's all beats and rhymes and shit. I can't fuck to N.W.A.

Where I Am Today

2006-05-19T09:08:00.000-04:00

I'm reading four books concurrently right now:
Hokum by Paul Beatty
The World Is Flat by Thomas Friedman
Misquoting Jesus by Bart Ehrman
and Hegemony Or Survival by Noam Chomsky

I gotta finish one of 'em!!! I'm close to the end of The World Is Flat. I don't need to buy another book until I finish the shit I got. I got 3 more books I've bought and haven't had time to read.

In Heavy Rotation:
St. Elsewhere by Gnarls Barkley
Licensed To Ill by The Beastie Boys
That's Them by Artifacts
Labcabincalifornia by Pharcyde

I had to "re-buy" Purple Rain because this chick "borrowed" it we only had a one night hook up. I never saw her ass again and she took the CD to make sure she would. Sucker! It only took $9.99 to get rid of her ass!

To Do:
Call Neeka back so the weekend won't suck (chick I met in February and still haven't hooked up with).
Find something to do for Memorial Day weekend ( I lied to Shelly and told her I'd be in Atlanta).
By a charcoal grill in case Memorial Day is spend at the crib.
Write, for goodness sake!!!
Get on the fuckin' bike and ride.
Breathe.

The fuckin' Satan's Anus Chronicle misquoted me AGAIN!!!! I think these muthafuckas are trying to get me fired. Or at the very least make me look bad to my bosses. Bastards!

My landlord is trying to get me to sign a new lease since my current one ends in July. No haps unless it's got a clause in it releasing me if I find a new job 50+ miles away.

Damn, I've been here 10 MONTHS. Kudos to me. I thought I would have committed suicide by now. It might be the blog that actually saved me. Gave me a connection to a saner, cooler outside world.

This is a test

2006-03-09T15:07:00.000-05:00

Phone check, bitch.