The Tired Queens of Working My Nerves!!!!!

Let me start off by saying to those that are visiting my page for the first time. This is sort of my scratch sheet for ideas and what’s going on in my life. This is not a reflection of my “specialized” writing. So the prettiness that you’re used to seeing on a professional blog isn’t going to be found here. There are going to be errors and jump-off-the-rail running thoughts going on here considering that I find myself typing at the speed of thought. I really do try really hard to break you in slowly. Don’t say I didn’t warn you…



It has taken me many years to get to a place on the outer walls of nirvana. To find that sparkle of peace, that though, life isn’t where I want it to be right now I am moving in that direction. That if I hold steadfast to that dream that I would soon be there, that I am almost there, at least. So why is it that the devil is trying so hard to knock me off my course?

I know, I know what you’re thinking. To the strangers that might read this, I am not of the religious kind, so to speak. I am not apart of no church or mosque or synagogue. I am however a spiritual person not confined the hypocrisies of most religion but try and respect anyone and everyone that is…or so I would like to think. I can hear in my head those that know me so well, near and far, laughing there heads off and asking “since when?” And to that I say I could sprinkle in a few expletives right off the bat but I figured it is way too early in this blog entry to use them right now.

Where was I? I was at peace…searching for peace…you get the gist. Well, in my quest to get three manuscripts and a board game ready for next year: two for two promising small press publishers (under my pseudonyms) and another for commercial press publisher (under my own name) (after finish writing it, proofreading it, querying an agent, proofread it again, hopefully have the money to hire a professional proofreader and obtain a literary agent, publisher, etc.), and, of course, the board game. If that wasn’t enough stuff not to get paid for, I decided to take on the additional task on top of other additional tasks that I am not getting paid for to help out a friend in need. Or so I thought.

And before I go any further, I thought I should state that money isn’t a factor in my work. It would be nice, extremely nice, but it isn’t a factor because I hope in the end it would be like planting seeds and picking a bountiful harvest.

I’m reading Napoleon Hill, and hence I why I call this my liberated journal because I type what come to mind, so excuse the errors and whatnot.

So I get the assignment that isn’t really specific in what I need to do per se, in regards to writing style and submission format. To know my friend is to know that he is not only one of the sweetest men you’ll meet he has a very high standard of what he wants. When I emailed him about the change, he informed me that it wasn’t his project. He just told us it was to get enough people on board to help out a struggling friend unable to secure writers for his upcoming anthology project that he proposed to show to some publishing company that he was starting or his friend was starting, whatever.

I can’t speak for the eighteen or so writers that signed on the project, but I can say that I wasn’t too upset because I’m really trying instill book that I’m reading The Master-Key to Riches by Napoleon Hill into my life. And I’m in the zone about going the extra mile, so it wasn’t that big of a deal to me. I began to open dialogue with this person, trying to get where his head at. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take but a minute via a couple of emails to figure out that he wants the world and hopes that everything falls into to place but has no means of making that happen. Which in my book is sort of alright, I give people leeway especially if they are just getting their footing in.

But here’s when my leeway ends.

When you got eighteen plus people operating on instructions that you’ve given them and they’ve done exactly what you’ve said, and all of a sudden all of them are wrong and you’re not. Something is wrong.

Okay. Remember I am at peace. I am at the outer wall of nirvana until I received this nasty email over something very minute, something that could’ve been corrected in like less than fifty seconds. No big deal. It wasn’t even something to get nasty or upset over. I don’t even let that get to me. But when I get word that I’m not the only one that got it, then it becomes a major problem for me. We didn’t know dude from shit, and we had no obligation to help him whatsoever and could’ve left his happy-ass without any writers to help him. And, again, we were acting on his instructions to the letter. So why in the hell are you going to show your appreciation by disrespecting people that are trying to help make your project a success?

I won’t go into what the email said because it was too short, and I would have to give you the verbatim of the back and forth responses to really get it. All I will say is that it was short, but had that sort of nasty, messy stereotypical “queen” element that automatically puts anyone off.

And I start to question why is that?

Why is that when you’re trying to help people like that and things don’t go their way for one reason or another that they think they can talk to you (or email you in my case) like any old thing? Like, they feel like they can walk around and say stuff without any repercussions? Or rather, are offended when their mud pie is dished back at them?

I am not saying “kiss my ass” in appreciation for what I’ve done for you—though I’m not above telling them to kiss my ass and let a fat one rip now—but I can only do what you ask since you perpetrate that you’re all that and you’re not better than the dog bootyhole you hailed from.

I guess all of this is fresh in mind because of what I saw about three weeks ago.

People who know me know that I am late. I mean really late, in regards to watching such and such show on television show, considering I’m not much of a televisions watcher or a radio listener being that I’m pretty much chained to my tablet, and now that I got a new computer, to it too. So I was at my brother’s house using his computers in between my computers at the time, and I happened to catch this show called College Hill: South Beach running some sort of mid-season marathon, I think. Obviously, or most likely, most of you are more familiar with it than I am. Anyway, most of those folks were childish and trifling (from what I saw I didn’t see it from beginning to end to make a definite conclusion, so I can’t speak full on that, because to know me is to know I like to know things that I talk about well) for a bunch of college students. And I was highly disturbed—not really surprised—by this character named Kyle. I won’t talk too bad about the brotha because I hope, either during the following episodes or at least after the show that he has developed and grown far better than what he was on that show.

If you saw what I saw I don’t really think I have to really explain why I was disturbed. Don’t get me wrong, I got his story, and am empathetic to his pain from the bits and pieces that I heard. And maybe I got a better perspective of things after going through counseling myself a few years ago, but there comes a point that you cannot make people that have nothing to do with your pain pay for something that someone else has done to you. Shit, you can’t even make those that done you wrong pay for what they’ve done because nine times out of ten they probably don’t even know that they’ve done it. And even that one that did, he or she would never know the severity of the mark that they left on that person.

Which is why for the life of me I never understood why so many people give their power to another person when it comes to a relationship? Oh my good! She hurt me! He cheated on me! They both put me through the wringer! Boo-hoo, I’m going to make every motherfucker pay for what that person ever did to me! I won’t let anybody get close! I’m sorry, I have yet to met the person that could put it down like that that I would happily fork over my power to so that they can control the rest of my life without knowing it. The best lovers in the world are broke men and crazy women, and like I said, I have yet to meet the one!

But going back to poor Kyle, like I said, I was disturbed by this image, particularly, when it is the only a one-side portrayal that no one can rebut in offering even more diversity into the community. Unfortunately, I can’t say that I was all that surprised by it, though. (Though, I have to admit that even with him, I was glad that the showed a realness behind the “show.” Which in large part to me explained the “show.”) And I wasn’t surprised because of the stereotypical-ness that is often portrayed when it come to gay characters in television (my mind automatically shoots back to the short-lived show Second Time Around when the gay character Omar (I think?) in the first episode went from being a man that happened to be gay (because I was so proud for anyone to buck stereotypes) to a cookie-cutter typecast (Florida Evans’ Damn! Damn! Damn!)). I wasn’t all that surprise because I know that character. Unfortunately, I’ve seen that character too many times in my life to want to remember.

Now, I’m not one for uniforming people to act a certain way, or even to treat everybody equally and whatnot. (And what I mean by that is that you’re going to treat certain people certain ways because of your personal relationship with them.) But I am a staunch believer that everyone regardless of whatever (See the EOE handbook for specifics) should offer everyone a degree of decency and respect.

Again, again, again, when I am trying to help you.

I can feel myself rambling. If you feel it too, I am truly sorry. This is a truly a sore spot for me because my mind reverts back to a memorial service of a great friend of mine that I attended about six years ago.

Let me explain.

While I have been spared the full wrath of these self-loathers, which is what many of them are in a nutshell, I’ve seen enough of their destruction in their messiness and trifling ways not to be impressed. And because I never sought their approval, I never was on their radar so to speak. But for a number of my friends, coming into the life, it was almost like these people were the gatekeepers. Their appeal was that, in spite of being filthy and nasty, they were open about what they did. So for someone that spent a great amount of their lives being suppress, oppressed, etcetera, etcetera, it was like they met someone that understood them and their plight and they were willing to forgo anything just to be accepted by people like them.

Which is why (sadly) as I sit here and write all of this out that maybe a large part of why I “fell in love” with certain people was because they offered the total opposite in few and selective droves? Revelations. Wow! I just now caught that.

Okay, I’ve enlightened and you’re probably want me to make my point already. I promise you that it is coming. Well, in watching some of my friends trying to become accepted by people like them, I watched too many of them do some crazy ass shit just to be accepted. I mean fucked up shit that could be wrapped up in just calling it risky behavior, be it sexual or criminal or whatever.

But the queen bee was this fat slob of a queen that had the tongue of all tongues. It could be the nastiest of nastiness to the lowest of low. Even thought I didn’t like this person based on the attributes that began me to write this thing, I always made a point to extend a kind word to them. They may never had one for me, but it was okay. Fine, whatever. That is until my very good friend ended up dying before his time, and they decided at the memorial service, after this person idolized them and thought they had built some kind of friendship with them, to get up in front of the audience and tell them that they weren’t friends and that basically they didn’t understand why we were there when our attention could’ve been focused elsewhere. Now mind you, he wasn’t asked to speak as much as volunteered to do so, to say this kind of mess.

I know what you’re probably thinking that was one person.

True. You’re absolutely correct.

However, that person, even in that moment never shied away from their nastiness and their filth. They were trifling when I met them and they showed their trifling ways even during a memorial service to someone that thought highly of them, and had nothing but kind words for them even thought they weren’t even deserving of it or made some kind of lame excuse for their nastiness.

That is how he is. That is how he was.

Fuck that!

It is bad enough that everybody else wants to oppress someone else just because. It is bad enough that they already got to fight the world, so why strap some more weight on a person’s back? And for what? Just so they can be big in their own minds? Make someone as unhappy as they?

So when I see or hear or read people going out of their way to be nasty to another human it makes me extremely mad. And it has nothing to do with the political aspect of what it looks like on the community, as much, if not more, than it has to do with the social aspect of it all, the human aspect.

Usually, I am the kind of man that can take a deep breath, chalk up any negativity to a bad day and move on. I don’t know about you, but I am sick of this shit.

Why is it that I have to get “niggerish” with another human being?

Why?

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Why is it that I have to get “niggerish” with these bitch-ass queens to put them in check?

Really? Why?

…and do it in such a way that they don’t realize they’ve been cut until after they start to walk away and fall apart.

I am so freaking sick of these bitchy-ass queens that act like the world has only done them wrong. And that they feel like they have a right to take it out on someone else.

Life is tough shit! Shit!

I want to tell them to suck a dick for protein or suck a banana for potassium, same difference. Either way let your jaws get tired so that you don’t work my nerves any more!

My logic wants to come in place of my emotion, and the writer in me wants to tell you how I tied in a simple spat with these stories. For those that have lived in the frustration, I hope that the answer is simplistic, right in front of you.

But if not, I will spell it out. And apologize if I was so caught up in feeling that I failed to put the connecting words down for it to make sense:

I am sick of these tired queens!

Everything is so fucking dramatic!

Don’t cock an attitude with me because you didn’t articulate something.

Why is the itty bitty shit such a big deal? All the motherfucker had to do was tell me what he wanted and it could’ve been taken care of in less than fifty seconds!

…y’all motherfuckers thought I lost it! Ha! I’m just getting older and a bit more vocal (well at least on (virtual) paper) about it.