journal entry #10: hamsters on a wheel.

growing up, the question of, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” stumped me. at one point i wanted to be a lawyer. when i was a kid, i wrote a contract for my father to sign to ensure that he would always stick to his word. after that, i wanted to be an actor. well i didn’t explicitly say that but i did want to be on television kissing pretty women. in high school, i still didn’t know what my career would be. i just knew i wanted to get paid to be myself. back then i took dancing seriously enough to injure myself trying new moves during my private practice sessions, but i didn’t want to be  considered a dancer. at the time i was sure women weren’t checking for dancers, but it shouldn’t have mattered. after high school, everyone seemed to find their thing and i was still searching for mine. i’ve always had an opinion about the world around me but doesn’t everyone.

i hate calling myself a creative, so i don’t. i consider myself an artist and writing is my craft. i’m not sure when i discovered that i had a connection with writing. i didn’t enjoy writing until i completed my first screenplay. it was such an emotionally liberating experience that i knew i couldn’t stop. for the first time, it felt like i found the thing i was meant to do. some people can separate their career from creative interests, but i can’t. its difficult working for a company that cares about their bottom line above everything because i could never be more to a number to that company. no matter how high i climb in management, my worth is directly correlated to the amount of money that i can make said company. that’s how capitalism operates but i’d rather bust my ass for my own brand or career instead. there’s no incentive to be excellent and even when there is incentive, the reward is rarely what you truly deserve.

its hard to find time to write. silence and solitude are key components to my writing process. if its a screenplay, i’ll need to write with music blasting the whole time, but i still have to be alone. the process of “kicking it” is so exhaustive. i still enjoy a great party with great music and endless libations but its too distracting. i’ve been standing on a couch with a drink in my hand thinking about my protagonists’ fatal flaw forgetting that i’m there to be social. quiet time is my busiest time. you’re better off texting me at work or during a class. i’ve missed countless calls and texts in the name of writing. there are things that i would never say to the people closest to me but i can put it in a story. 

i don’t know where writing will take me and it makes me nervous. i’m a bit of a control freak so everything about life makes me anxious because there’s no way to control it all. i literally have dreams about being successful. i recently had a dream that i was dating amber rose. i have screenplays that force me to jot down notes anywhere i am. i believe in myself but i have some days full of doubt. like today, i realized that i haven’t worked on enough film sets and i haven’t directed enough shit. i haven’t acted enough either. i don’t have the time to write like i used to. i tell myself that these are merely obstacles. i’ve given up on finding joy through meaningful relationships with other humans (damn that sounds sad). i experience joy from creating things that will speak for me long after i’m here. on days i feel like a hamster on a wheel, i keep going because quitting is no longer an option.

journal entry #9: i used to go to church a lot. now i don't.

i grew up in church. In fact, i’ve only been a member of one church. at one point i was at church for at least 3 days a week. i had practice on fridays and church services on sunday and wednesday. its been about 3 years since I’ve gone to that church or any church for that matter. my beef isn’t with God its with institutions built by men. i have a problem with the pretenders that fill the pews. obviously most people are there with pure intentions. i’m not judging anyone because i was also guilty. i went to church partly because women were there. i went to an all male high school and my social life was nonexistent. i was 14, sue me. i had a new crush every month. life was good.

i was oblivious to some of the weird shit going on there. now looking back at it with adult eyes, my stomach becomes uneasy. I was involved in church heavily but I never included myself in the politics. i’m not into drama so I excluded myself from certain conversations. its funny to see some people now. their energy is different and usually its at a location with multiple vices going around. the person i was then is the same person you see now. what about you?

the last time i was at church, i had to deal with drama. i wasn’t there for that. i had only the purest intentions. i skipped the whole love triangle storyline that plagued people in high school. at howard, i was just another dude on campus. i was new to this. i never had someone wanting to fight me over a girl for real. i was too low and i stay away from women that are unavailable, for the most part. it happened in church. my pure intentions didn’t allow me to enter that space. why would i box a nigga for his girl? she wants to be with you, man. she only came to me for a night. all jokes aside, i felt betrayed. some people are pretenders. some pretend to be happy or in love while others pretend that they’re the gold standard for morality. 

in the future i’ll be at someone’s church. i’ll be too old to care that parts of this institution are a sham. maybe i’ll be a father or a husband. things would be different then. these days i can’t escape the fact that so many people that run and fill churches are full of shit. i wouldn’t hang around these people in any other context so why would i hang around them there. i can talk to God wherever i go so i don’t need to sit uncomfortably in a place built upon broken promises. the lights are kept on by dirty money and not the kind touched by drug dealers but the kind touched by politicians. i’m good so you can take me off your phone tree.

journal entry #8: another year in the books.

wow, its my birthday again. my last birthday was a lot less memorable than others but it was one of my most important. i didn’t have control over my own life and it was a huge problem for me. i prayed for peace and clarity on my birthday last year. that was all i wanted. as i get older, i get a little less selfish. i remember when i was younger i went to a friend’s b-day party. we share the same b-day so of course my parent’s thought it would be a good idea to go to this party instead of throwing one. they were right but, they didn’t expect me to have a small temper tantrum because in my mind it was my birthday too.

i used to care a lot about today because of the attention i was used to receiving. if you were the kid that supplied cake and ice cream to the classroom, you were a star for the day. in high school, i wanted pretty girls on my wall wishing me a happy birthday. i guess i still wanted to be a star for the day. my first year at howard university changed things. people were wishing me a happy birthday on facebook but not in person. this girl from new york, named latoya, quietly wished me a happy birthday as she walked past me on campus. i was on the way to mcdonald’s to celebrate my day. i’m still very grateful for toya because it was a tough day. i was in washington d.c, away from my family and childhood friends. 

i try not to get too caught up on my own birthday. these days i’m just happy to be here. we've lost so many peers this year. i've also lost some family recently. sometimes its hard to find the time to properly mourn. i've been listening to a lot of amy winehouse recently. i realize that i’m entering that club. mac miller left us before he could reach it. i’m still affected by his death for unknown reasons. maybe its because i saw so much of myself in him or maybe its because he really tried to leave dope and important work behind. amy left us some amazing art too. i want to leave amazing work behind too. i don’t wanna be gone t0o soon but i want the world to feel me when i’m gone, mourned in the streets. i hope i’m like 103 and propped up by handlers and technology.

this year i want to thank my friends and family for being there for me. i mean without y’all would i have really made it this far? thank you to my past and future lovers, i learn a lot from you and i hope you learn a lot for me. our time together will always mean something. bro, thanks to all the maugs(mogs) who have negative shit to say about me. you suck and i don’t. i got enough time and words to teach you the difference between you and i. this year i want to pray for “financial increase”. *ask the saints about that one* its a bag out here with my name on it and i’m chasing it. its more gigs and more art to create for sure but i ain’t sign up to be broke.

journal entry #6: 2017

its 2017 and i’ve never been so sad before. i haven’t had enough good things happen to me this year. maybe i have and i’m too much in my own head to see it. i’m not feeling like myself anymore and i hope i’m the only one that notices. there doesn’t seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel and it scares me. the switch in my brain responsible for positive thoughts is broken so i can’t fight back. its going to be a long year.

its 2017 but i think about you still. i haven’t seen you since the day we decided to no longer be together. certain television shows and movies remind me of you. i avoid places that you might go to. we don’t have anything to talk about so i don’t need to see you again. i’m still bitter. you no longer saw a future with me. your change in behavior is obvious. your schedule is busy and you don’t care to  fit me in your day anymore. subtly was never your thing. its ok that you had to off me because i would’ve done the same but you handed me the rope to do it myself. i blocked you on everything and deleted your number. i blocked some of your friends too because why wouldn’t i? they’re your friends not mine. 

its 2017 and one of my closest friends just hung up on me. she’s tired of my shit too. this year has been tough. i was so close to graduating. my dreams of being a filmmaker will never come true. the jobs i qualify for don’t believe i qualify because of my resume. they don’t  even think enough of me to call back or send email rejections, they just ignore me. i’ve been working in the music industry since 2012 but do they believe that? who’s going to vouch for me? in the industry where everyone knows somebody that knows somebody, my contact list is too short. all that hard work down the drain without anything to show for it. not a check, just a pat on the back and a heartfelt ‘thank you’. i’m just another nigga with potential. 

its 2017, my friends’ patience is running thin and so is mine. i’m unreliable but i’m always around. i don’t put on enough but i do what i can. they never complain but i try not to give them reason to. they invite me out because they know i need it. melo got me a gig to dj at harold’s. my skills are a bit rusty but i have to be there. its been so long since i’ve had my own turntables and i miss ‘em so much. my contact lens kept falling out of my eye so i’m late for the train. the gates lower and the ding starts dinging as i run towards the tracks. without thinking i run in front of the train as it arrives to the station. i have young legs so i make it. the conductor is pissed when he asks for the train fare. “its a fine when people run in front of the train.” i said, “sorry about that but i had to make it.” i don’t think its because he’s a father or because he’s white, but he pressed me. “Can’t go anywhere if you get killed by the train.” i don’t handle it well. “I don’t care, I had to make it. You don’t know what i had to go through to get on this train!” i really didn’t care about getting hit. i’d never been so unafraid to die before. 

its 2017 so i should try dating again. i’m reaching for women out of my league and they can smell my desperation. i’m wandering into inboxes of women from my past, surely they’d show me mercy. some of them fell for it and most of them didn’t. women i’m with think i’m passionate in bed but really i’m just angry. my energy is off but i keep pushing because if i spend all my time alone i’ll eventually break. they have to know i’m fragile but as long as i deliver on the goods i can keep myself hidden. i lose my purpose when i can no longer do my job.

its 2017 and here i am, hovering over the toilet dry heaving. liquor hurts in the morning. i've been going out too much. i've stood on underground's couches so much recently, the bouncers dap me when they see me. its not love, i just know where the money is. i'm too small and i don't  eat enough to drink as much as i do. i'm good at holding it together. i hate when i'm no longer in control but that doesn't stop me. my college style binge drinking is draining life from my body but i'll be back because i love the way it makes me feel. 

its 2017 and i’m up writing because i can’t sleep. i listen to sometimes it snows in april by prince every night before i begin to stir up emotions. i’ve ignored several facetimes and phone calls today. this script is coming together and i’m nervous. some of the scenes feel too real. i’m being too honest but i keep writing anyway. i want to share it but its too soon. its been a hell of a year and at some points i thought i wouldn’t make it. some days i really believed that i should just quit and become a panhandler in west hollywood. if i lose all expectations then there will be no disappointment. my friends support me when i can’t support myself.

its 2018 and 2017 me was wild pussy. life is often unfair and i seem to forgot that. love from others is optional but i have to demand it from myself. i didn't like myself that year because i couldn't find my worth. if she don't love me anymore, i ain't shit? if they don't fuck with me over there then i'm worthless? love for myself was conditional. i had to prove to myself that i was worth my eyes opening each day. i was hella sad that year and i'm glad about it now was because it helped me understand that happiness can also be hard work.