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September 24, 2016
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Lifelong Politicians are the enemy

Photo credit Chicago tribune This is the election of the stubborn incumbents versus the fresh voice of  millennial. Micheal Jordan needed another team before he realized that he had lost his step despite Kobe Bryant ushering in a new era. No one will ever take away the flame that was “His Airness”. The G.O.A.T.! The man built a dynasty twice over. Kobe Bryant studied Jordan, even stuck at his tongue at times. I have never read where Bryant stated that he was better. These stubborn politicians refuse to pass the torch. They refuse to relinquish their portion of “The Machine”. These old politicians have become so comfortable in the quasi-position of power that they truly believe nobody can do the job better than them. It’s time for these old, self-serving people to go. Your voice was needed at the time that you were elected. No credit is being taken from you, but as you continue to travel this journey your legacy is tarnished. Most of you are eligible for social ...
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Bye 2017!

I don’t know about you, but this year kicked my ass! I went through real-life, adult-type shit. From losing a relationship to questioning my whole existence. I experienced the entire kaleidoscope of human emotions and the happy moments were fleeting. I know a few people that feel the same way. I also heard stories of complete triumph, engagements celebrations, babies being born and graduations. My little brother even pledged Alpha Phi Alpha. I don’t discount these tales, but I’ve heard more stories of emotional discontent, depression, identity crisis and the desire for acceptance. This is for these people. Breathe. Inhale while counting to 10. Hold counting to five. Release while counting to five. Repeat in cycles as many times as you need. You made it; albeit tattered and worn; bruised and bent; battled tested while holding on to what’s left of your fractured psyche. You made it nonetheless. Now it’s time to re-frame the story. You were tested...
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Good to the last drop

I remember when I used to drink Maxwell House coffee with grandma and granddad early in the morning as the birds chirped and the sun licked its rays over the skies of the ghetto known as Austin. Grandma’s long black hair tucked under a scarf, granddad in pajamas and a holey-white T-shirt, sitting at the brown kitchen table with a scruffy beard reading the Chicago Sun Times and me in some shorts and a T-shirt. Sometimes we would go outside to the orange-painted back porch and sit in silence. I treasured those mornings when nothing said was everything understood. I sipped from a mug and not a cup. They made me feel as if I mattered. I had enough cream in my coffee to turn it a pecan complexion and sweet enough to tint the bitter taste. It was those mornings that led me to fall in love with the quaint hues of day overlapping night, absent from gunshots, from the arguing of my parents’ post-divorce. It’s why I enjoy sitting in silence and watching people at the local café. My sense of pe...
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