Sensual Philosophy …

I wanna write a song … but the melody seems to elude me.

I find myself unable to complete my mental combing. Trying to put the movements in order, replaying scenes over and over … just to find the right sequence. The memories being dragged to the forefront of my brain, are too much for me to take. I couldn’t even do it for too long, without needing a break. I thought it would be easier than it has been, but it’s not. I find myself stopping, more often than continuing. Fourteen pages long, and I’m only up to the age of four. I’ve been through so much shit, and this … reminiscing … though productive … has me losing it.

Imagine living 23 years of almost constant pain, in less than a week. Where even the moments which were sweet, still had a bitter taste. Heartbreak wasn’t even the theme, a child who had nothing … yet, kept striving for and because of something … unseen. In this life of mine, I’ve literally died three times. The last one being the most extreme, didn’t end … but started … with me laying dead in a hospital bed. I’ve written that story in some of my poetry. One of the lines reads, “clinically dead, is what the doctors said.” Yet, most believe that to be fictitious even though it was real.

The first time I was hanging from the ceiling by my neck. I was weak back then … and just wanted to escape the chaos of this life, using an easy method. However, she wouldn’t let me. It was the first time I met her. I didn’t know who she was. I couldn’t even recall what she looked like. All I could remember was what was done and said. In an abyss with souls passing through and by me, her’s stood there in front of me crying. I could feel her pain. She screamed, “don’t leave me … don’t ever leave me … I won’t let you leave.” Her screams were deafening, the abyss flashed a bright white … but I will not tell the details of the story, just yet. Let’s just say that was the day that I became an empath … and she has brought me back from death, each time.

The first time … I was six years old.

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I wanna do the dance of dreams … but I seem to have forgotten the steps.

My ex Barbara (arcoiris479) came up from Florida to see me two weeks ago. She wanted to come over on Friday (Aug. 27th). Without getting too deep into detail … due to her obligations, and my situation I told her no. She didn’t like that one bit, and I understood … but I wasn’t going to change my mind. I told her why, and she said something along the line of, “you’re always wanting to be understood, but you aren’t trying to understand.” I told her a story about an old co-worker of mine named Rhonda. I won’t tell that story now, but afterwards I said to Barbara something along the line of, “I was a child that didn’t know what happiness was. I believed that I wasn’t meant to be happy. Not wanting other’s to feel what I felt, I started focusing on their happiness. However, everything comes with a price, and I paid that price in full. I would do it at any cost, and I never wanted them to know what it cost me. For if they understood the price of their happiness, their happiness would end.”

I said that I wasn’t telling her those things because I wanted her to feel guilty … nor was I trying to get credit for what I’ve gone through. In fact, that was another reason why I never shared certain things with people in general. After saying that, in my conversation with her I came to the conclusion … that I wasn’t going to post my mental combing in this LJ after all. I shared with her my reasons. I don’t think I told her that I wasn’t even going to complete my mental combing at all. I don’t think she’d like that … me giving up … but I don’t see a point anymore.

The trip wasn’t a waste, cause we saw each other on Saturday … she came over, and left on Sunday. However, that Friday night after getting off the phone with her … I thought about her statement. I’ve repeated myself to others so many times, yet people do not listen. I tell them what I mean, but they interpret it another way. They do not hear me. People hear and see what they want to. The only time where to them it is clear, is if I’m either being logical … or screaming. The absence of emotion is never good, nor is the screaming. It frustrates me that it is this way, but what can be done? I realized after replaying her statement in my brain for awhile … that there is a problem. No one knows the truth.

It’s no wonder why people don’t understand when I’m speaking from the heart, my words are often muffled by my limits. I limited myself because I didn’t want my pain, to cause others pain. I try to give the PG-13 version all the time. I was selfish with myself. How can they understand someone they don’t truly know? How can they understand someone who doesn’t speak clearly, someone who avoids punch lines of pain? My logic makes sense, so it’s understandable … but my feelings often contradict that logic. My passion understood through writings, but the stories hidden in single sentences … aren’t clear. I used to think that if people knew, they would feel guilty … or even pity me. Where even though they’d appreciate it after knowing what I went through to do the things I did for them, I didn’t want them to appreciate it / me that way.

“He walked 17 miles in subzero weather, through the snow with holey shoes … just because you wanted it.” I wanted the gift to be appreciated, not the pain. “He got it for me, I wanted it and he got it.” I just wanted what I did to be appreciated, not what I went through. I thought that me telling them what I went through, was me seeking credit. I felt that it would devalue the action. “I climbed to the top of the world to get this for you” … versus … “I got this for you.” Why can’t people appreciate the action? I find it ironic that maybe I am not appreciated, because of my own actions. Does only the pain matter? Yet, it’s ironic that when I don’t feel appreciated … through my frustration the pain comes leaking out. “I went through such and such … blar blar blar.” Yet, I wonder why they don’t understand, and only understand when I scream … when I am leaking from the seams. Damn. I will tell the story … soon.

I try to dance anyway … but my feet move like lead.

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They say, two wrongs don’t make a right.

I used to listen to people make that statement all the time. Being the smart ass that I was … I would say, “two wrongs don’t, but four do.” I used an example of driving to prove my point. Where if you are supposed to make a right turn at the corner, and you don’t … wrong direction #1 … but instead make three additional wrong left turns, you’ll end up in the right direction. I remember getting beat, from saying that to my father.

My godbrother was by the house at the time. He asked me if I was crazy, as I was bleeding from the locations on my body where I had been whipped. I said to him, “when you’ve experienced pain as often as I have, you no longer hear it.” He said, “but one day your dad will kill you.” I said, “when you’ve faced death as much as I have, you no longer fear it.” “You don’t need to give him any reasons to do it.” “Sometimes I think I am looking for a way out, I embrace death.”

I was seven years old at the time.

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They say, turn the other cheek.

Sometimes I feel like, people expect me to be flawless. The reality is I am far from flawless. Some of yall view me as the man who always does what he says. Others view me as the man who never does what he says. One day while at Rutgers University, I went to see my ex Esther. She and I were still together at the time. Rafael, Jossette, and Muhammad … were doing something while she and I were spending quality time. I was supposed to meet them later on, but when the time came for me to meet up with them … Esther didn’t want me to leave. “I barely see you, why do you have to go?” “I made a promise, I must stand by it.” “But what about me?” “If you don’t want me to go, I won’t go.” Saying those words were very hard. I wanted to at least call them to tell them I wasn’t coming … a lot of people were expecting me. She didn’t want me to even call them. I think she was testing me.

When they called repeatedly, she asked me to not answer the phone. She turned off my cell phone. Later on when I saw them Rafael told me what happened. While he laughed he said, “you broke Muhammad’s heart today.” I asked, “how so?” “Your child realized that daddy wasn’t superman.” “How so?” “We waited for you at Muhammad’s dorm, and when you didn’t show up I said let’s go. But Muhammad didn’t want to leave. I told him that you weren’t coming, he didn’t want to believe that. He said that you have never broken a promise. I laughed at him and said, ‘love is kryptonite.’ I wouldn’t even have came if I were you. Muhammad didn’t want to believe that, so Jossette tried to break it down to him … and the niggah started crying. He couldn’t believe that even Jossette thought you weren’t coming. Jossette said that if you were coming you would’ve been there by then. Muhammad said maybe you were running late. Jossette said you don’t run late. He kept going on about how we should trust you … we told him that we do, but he didn’t agree. Son, seriously … you need to start being more human. People have such high expectations of you because you’re always trying to be so perfect. That when they see you mess up, you break their heart.”

I felt like shit. I told him that I wasn’t trying to be perfect. He said he knew, but that because I always do what I say I will do … it comes across as if I am. He said, I’m ol’ reliable … and that he thinks I need to start fucking up on purpose. Just to give people a dose of reality. I told him I will never fuck up on purpose, if I fuck up, then I fuck up … but I will never do so deliberately. He said, “see that’s your problem.” I then sat and talked with Muhammad for a bit, and told him what happened. He blamed Esther. I told him no, that I am the one to blame … because it was my choice. Blar blar blar. That’s why Ralph is my niggah, he understands. He was also right.

Just like Emmanuel conveyed a similar message to me when I was a child. My promise to Muhammad was the first promise I had broken in over six years. However, while I was with Esther I broke more promises. So I stopped making promises. Moments like that are etched into my memory … my mistakes, and there are plenty of them. Yet people still perceived me to be making promises. So I had to state on purpose “this is not a promise” … or … “I am not promising this.” The next promise I made happened years later … it was made to Liz (liz_is_gully), when she asked me to go to the Apollo … when I first met her and Tony (uhmebah). I can recall every single promise I’ve ever made.

Those that know I replay mistakes in my mind, ask me why I do that to myself. They wonder if I am punishing myself for those things. I tell them no, but I am just making sure that I don’t forget them. Ralph would say that’s a problem, and that is another reason why people have high expectations. For once I fuck up, I won’t fuck up in the same way again. Yet, I believe that if a person doesn’t learn from their mistakes … then the experience was wasted. I believe it is insane to repeatedly make the same mistakes. Maybe I am trying to be perfect.

Many people come at me like Muhammad. Even when I say over and over, I am not perfect (flawless). Even when I show them my flaws. They merely perceive those things as human errors, and cast it off as nothing. Yet, the moment I make a mistake … that mistake becomes larger than life. People look at it with a magnifying glass. It could be something so small, blown out of proportion. Yes, I make BIG mistakes also. Many of you live in public eye … but because of the fear of being judged, you don’t want people to see certain things.

So your journals are friends only, and those with open journals lock the ones which display the most flaws. Those who don’t lock them, just don’t post certain types of things. Some of you have legitimate reasons as to why you lock your entries, most of you don’t. You go through leaps and bounds, trying to appear better than you are. Most of you show me your faults, because I won’t condemn you for them. So I KNOW why you hide your entries … you tell me yourselves. Yet, you turn around and condemn me when I clearly say I am wrong.

The problem is when I make mistakes, I wear those mistakes in public eye … for everyone to see. I do not try to hide my cracks … and faults. The problem is when I’m trying to not forget, as I repeat them … those mistakes also repeat in yout minds. Yall aren’t without faults. Yet, yall ridicule me for the mistakes that I make. What makes it worse … is you ridicule me while making the same mistakes you are ridiculing me for. Many of you experience pain, knowing and feeling that it is wrong. Yet, because of your malicious natures … you turn around and do the same to them. I’ve listened to some of you actually conspire and plot. Maybe you’re using my four wrongs make a right logic.

Truthfully, I coined that statement because I knew that with most people … “getting even” isn’t enough. So when you cause that person the pain that
you felt … you try to grind it in deeper, while at the same time belittling what they feel, as if it doesn’t even compare. Are you serious? You ridicule not just me, but other people … for doing the things you are doing. I watch this as it happens, and laugh to myself. However, I don’t bring those things to your attention … I’d rather not condemn you for being human. Does only the pain matter? Here’s an example that will hit home for many of you.

It seems as though everyone and their momma has been picking up Bobby’s (rivenagares) “intention means nothing” statement. If I were to take a poll that would probably be the second most commonly used phrase (recently), only second to the self contained phrase “blar.” I will tell you why he coined that statement. It was an “anti-Prasand” statement, he has a couple of those. When he and I would converse, I would use the words “perception” and “intention” all the time in our conversations. Yes, his thoughts applied to life in general … and yes, he applied it to everything. However, because of me literally stating the word … he would get irked … so the statement was coined. Yet, here’s the irony. Just because you don’t use the word “intention” doesn’t mean you aren’t speaking about intentions.

When I became public with my recent mistake, and was going to people for their thoughts … trying to finally listen. As I said, “it wasn’t my intention to blar blar blar.” Almost all of you responded with the “intention means nothing.” Then in the same conversation, when I ask you why didn’t you “blar blar blar.” You say, “I meant to do that but such and such happened.” You say, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like that, I wanted to … blar blar blar.” “I didn’t mean to … blar blar blar.” “I am not trying to … blar blar blar” You condemn me for the shit that you do, the only difference is I make it more obvious. Where because you now have a perfect retort designed for me, you spit it. How many times have I waited places for you? How many times did you spit to me what should’ve could’ve would’ve happened? Even Bobby has had me standing outside of Penn Station waiting for him for literally 12 hours. He’s stood me up more times than any of you, but I still wait for him.

Are you not spitting intentions? Am I seeking credit? Yes, because credit surely isn’t given where it’s due. However, this isn’t credit for things that I never spoke on … these are things you know. Things in plain view, that you don’t even acknowledge. Does only the pain matter? It’s easier for people to point out other’s flaws, than to see their own.

[04:25:35 PM] Jessica: whats easier, having one person to blame it on or holding up a mirror and taking responsibility?

So … I accept the blame that people dish out to me. While, even though I lost by waiting … I try to focus on the fact that you at least tried. I try to focus on that you at least desired to do it. I convinced myself that is what matters, because to me what you feel matters. After all … intentions are what you feel. Yet I get slapped in the face, even after doing that. Telling me intention means nothing, is saying “your feelings mean nothing.” Do you not even understand what intentions truly are? You are like the pot calling the kettle black, and I take the punishment.

You spit intentions all day long, and sadly some of you are nothing but spit. Maybe I shouldn’t have my flaws in public view. Yet, if I don’t you become Muhammad. So I put them out in the open saying that I’m human, but you poke and prod your fingers in my open wounds. A catch 22. Does only the pain matter? The funny thing is … I’m not even angry right now. I’m not even upset. I didn’t even curse at anyone. Yet, because some of you are automatically programmed to get defensive you will put unneeded tone to my words. Will you hear me, or will you spend time getting defensive reacting to what I am saying … to much to even listen?

I ran out of cheeks.

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It seems like I can’t even dream anymore.

Many people think, that I believe I’m always right. No, this is different from the previous flawless section. People think I believe my logic is always right. The reality is, I’m constantly thinking I am wrong … and am always searching for justification. I trust myself when it comes to myself, however … I’m constantly asking for feedback when it comes to others. A person who thinks they are always right, never asks for constructive feedback. Even when I was making my mistakes, I asked people what they thought. No one said a thing. Yet, you think that I think I’m always right. Even when I clearly saying I am probably wrong. Yet, when people see that I am wrong … they jump on the bandwagon telling me they told me so. Does only the pain matter? I check and re-check myself. The problem is, I do this in private. Only recently have I ever made it public. Where it was that public checking and re-checking, which made the mistakes repeat in your minds. Would you believe that I do that mentally all the time? This is one of the reasons why my hazardous documents were never seen. Most of you have no idea who I am.

Yet, I close my eyes thinking of you anyway.

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