Blackhumouristpress's Blog

April 2, 2020

6 Feet From Insanity

The Uber man drives around in a Toyota, carrying a sandwich.  People
are afraid of public places now. Can you blame them?  I often thought
about what was on my hands long before others gave thought to the
things that they could not see… A thin foreigner who thought a better
life would be to drive around the mean streets of Detroit making sure
that people get a sandwich.  Are you hungry, sir?  I have a sandwich
for you.  Something to take your mind off of your stomach.  Perhaps
your stomach is turning, sir… Have a sandwich.  How bad does a country
need to be before you run away to deliver food in Detroit?  A
rhetorical question not meant to be answered.

It makes People feel safe to know that when they queue up behind
someone at the Wal-Mart, they have a mask for their protection.
Picture Disneyland with no fun but we’re all being taken for a ride.
We all wear masks metaphorically speaking, don’t we?  But what comes
next?  Meanwhile somewhere in our nation’s capital, the Ubermensch
faces the press to discuss this invisible menace that kills minute by
minute.  The numbers of dead world wide.  The Italians, the Spaniards,
Koreans and in China the eel chases the weasel in the wet market while
the market on Wall Street fluctuates.   The pollution must be better
in China now with nobody working. We worry about that and climate
change.  Boy didn’t the climate change fast in these United States in
a matter of speaking. A sunny day and then just clouds of ominous
disaster in hours… It’s 2pm…  Time for a set of push-ups and the Ab
Roller.  A new commercial… Say, did you know that you could get life
insurance right now for $9.00 a month even if you’re over sixty?  Yup…
Fat, smoker, diabetes taking a cocktail of medicine?  No problem and
on top of this all, you might get this virus…  virus… I’m  going to go
play the stand up bass.  I’m playing scales while reciting homemade
poetry as if it were a Psalm.  This one was entitled Federal Form XIV
in Triplicate
The wind and the rain
Inner storm, inner pain
Distain for it all and after all
It goes where it will and against your
Will and you won’t be able to open that door
The only door given that day you were born
You have the key with all your brilliance
Strength and resilience but in the end…

I love that riff in G.  Nice and deep.  Goes well with my voice.
Wearing a Fedora and a Wife Beater with shorts and Doc Marten Boots.
What a sight I must be that see in the mirror…
Looks like rain but I think I should go for a run before I have to
hop on Zoom and discuss with 18 year olds what they think they know
about truth.  It is truly exhausting as it is amusing.  If they get
high enough, I can say things that lead them to think and then forget
that they are even thinking.   Something like this…
If Every word becomes a concept not intended to remind of an original
experience to which it owes its birth, but must at the same time fit
innumerable, more or less similar cases—which means, strictly
speaking, never equal—in other words, a lot of unequal cases. Every
concept originates through our equating what is unequal.
Stuff like this is imbedded in my memory like my own poetry or a
Psalm.  Semester after semester the same young minds of mush have to
take philosophy 101 on their way to manage a Jimmy John’s or possibly
a shoe store wearing a referee’s jersey.  I will be spewing these
things out but my mind will be in Cape Verde…  The trip I took back
when all was fine.  The drinks, the food, the woman with the large
breasts singing in Portuguese… Quêl mudjêr cú quêm m’ encôntra…
Will the truth matter?  Is the lie more important?

I open the door and my Detroit is as rural as Kansas.  No homes
around.  All were torn down after being torched on Halloweens.  I run
along the roads and there are driveways to cement pads where homes
once stood. I’m working on an 8 minute mile just south of 8 Mile…
Looks a bit like Dresden after World War II.  I don’t mind the peace
and solitude.  I don’t mind the serenity. On days when the world is
functional, I navigate my way down Woodward to Wayne State.  Well not
right now.  I am social distancing within a two-mile radius.  I have
my provisions. Wild salmon, chicken without hormones… Hopefully.
Peanuts, peanut butter, eggs, rice and the vegetable and fruit frozen
so that I can throw them in the Ninja and try to protect myself
naturally.  Fight the invisible foe with things that should save you
and your colon.

A scary thought came to me.  I’m old enough to remember back two weeks
ago when we had the freedom to go anywhere and do anything and then we
were told we couldn’t go anywhere or do anything… Just like that. How
harrowing it was to navigate the aisles and to stand in line at the
Meijer.  I was behind a man in a motorized scooter next to a woman who
needed a motorized scooter.  Their cart filled with processed shit
sure to ensure further unhappiness and inflammation.  They moved at
the pace that would make a sloth impatient.  I calculated that they
might have been gathering like hunters in the Meijer all day.  They
were in no rush to get home to watch mindless fluff just to pass the
time until it’s time to eat or sleep or shit.  And they were not
alone.  There were many more just like them.

I’m back home now… Another commercial.  Time to do more pushups and
roll out my abs.  Things are not getting better but I am trying to
improve myself and if everyone improved themselves, we might improve
things.  The commercial… A very Semitic young lawyer in a smart suit
is leaning over a good looking young thing at a desk as if they are
discussing something important while a voice tells me that he is in my
corner if I used talcum powered, had a mesh implant put in for a
hernia or was corn holed by a scoutmaster back in the 1960’s.  He is
there to get justice…  For a small percentage.  The sixties…  I miss
the sixties really.  Good music, a lot of fucking and nothing hurt on
my body back then…  We did turn the world upside down, didn’t we?
Sure… We told old people that they fucked things up and that we would
fix them.  Guys like me went on to teach while others found Jesus and
Amway.  You got Nixon and then Ford and then Carter…  Well I don’t
need to tell you. Today a bunch of young people want to go down to
South Beach for spring break and my generation shakes their fists- You
fucking kids are gonna kill me with the virus!  Quit drinking and
fornicating and get indoors and watch CNN!  Sure, pops…  Whatever you
say.
It’s been 14 days since I’ve seen a live human.  My mail goes to the
university.  I have to say that for all the disdain and annoyance by
humanity there is a chance that I might need them the way you need to
hear sound.  If you go without sound the sound of no sound gets so
loud that you think you might go deaf…  Fuck! My thoughts are
scattered from something deep to mindless dribble.  I was born alone,
I will die alone…  What a nice view… A room with a view of things
outside.  I’m inside for protection from the outside but the outside
appears so pretty from here.  A room with no windows forces one to
look within.  I listen to Cal Tjader loudly on my Bose while the noise
of the day inaudible like a silent movie.  Think of the Aurora
Borealis with a sound track.  A beautiful mess turned down low. The
apocalypse is coming to Detroit and I’m sad that I will miss it live
in real time.
…  27,000 steps by 4pm and really what does that matter?  I’m more
than six feet away from everyone.  At what point will I risk death to
be by them again?

March 29, 2020

Missing You

Filed under: poem,relationships,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 12:04 am
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I feel like I’m running along the shore

I don’t see the ship that you’re on anymore

Can’t catch my breath as I fall to the sand

As hard as I hold each grain slips from my hand

My watch has stopped and time stands still

From the windowsill I can see myself pensively reflecting from the glass out at the rain knowing it’s gone and won’t ever be the same

Wishing for an alternate ending like from a movie

I change it all and I am home again

Your voice, your smile, your scent, your touch

I took it for granted then and now I miss it so much

March 13, 2020

Common Sense

Paint this Trump’s Chernobyl

Watching stocks tumble Tesla, Amazon and Exxon/Mobil

This like everything else was made in China

By mistake or design to create a mob reaction causing the economy’s fast contraction

This has ruined my NCAA bracket- is this serious or just a racket?

Some hope its half-life lasts until November kill the economy and lead us to wonder if a geriatric with dementia could save us from the latest cable news crisis

If you’re old, fat and have type 2, ride around scooters at the stores, have trouble climbing stairs to second floors, use your fingers at the Chinese buffet and those exercise by scrolling through their phones eating garbage all day

There are things that are common and things that make sense. It’s not so common to have intelligence.

 

July 17, 2019

America- 2020 Poor Vision

America 2020- two visions one schism.

One part Racism one part socialism and stir to a boil.

 

Bubble gum bubble gum in a dish which candidate do you pick? Attack the president and hope it sticks before the electorate gets too sick.

 

Some salute the flag and some kneel… this is a free country do what you feel… Unless you don’t think or look like me. In that case you’re the enemy.

 

Children, I have to warn you

Because I’ve been to California.

Needles is not just a city and there’s a reason the parks are so shitty.

 

The woke spoke and want to build moats along Nevada and near Philly. Those fly over red states are just dang silly. Gun loving hicks chasing queers in big trucks.   I just can’t believe those xenophobic fucks. They don’t even like Starbucks.

 

There’s no reason for a border

Things will work out and we’ll keep order.

We are making preparations, free college and reparations. How could the middle class have reservations?

 

AOC- can you see? We’re on the cusp of anarchy. All the people you might reach are in favor to impeach the president, undocumented residents, in an unprecedented age devoid of decorum a la Jerry Springer. It’s okay to shout when they speak and give them all the finger.

 

24-hour news propaganda that overloads the subliminal. At a minimal it looks like a mushroom cloud that covers the sun. Nowhere near where we once begun. Where do we begin?

June 21, 2019

Game Face

Filed under: divorce,poem,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 6:27 am
Tags: , , , , ,

I got a secret. Maybe you can see it in my eyes

I can’t you let you know there’s nobody on the other side of that wall. Ask me how she is and how’s it going. Can you see it in my eyes that it’s gone? Doing this crazy thing alone. Fool them when they ask. Make them think it’s like it should be. The way it is everywhere they go. Are you alone? What do you mean exactly. Sorry, no not at all. She’s beyond that wall and the kids are upstairs where you remembered them when they were young. How are you? How is it going? I’m not offended even though you don’t care. I look at you and know I can take the pain a lot longer than you. I’m stronger than you and can tighten up in the face of pain knowing that it won’t last forever. Somewhere over there where the sun tries to hide. Never bring down the flag. It’s a matter of pride. “Give my best to the kids and bride…” I’m on the island and I do not see a ship at sea. You’re out there too maybe a bit like me.

June 5, 2019

From Canada to England

Tell my secretary to call Pierre. Tell her that I am going up there. I want to be courtside like Jack Nicholson to watch some hoops and rip the president.

 

“I want to apologize for everything…”

Pierre stopped Barack

as the woman began to sing, Oh Canada for the first time at an NBA final.

“Our people know all the words be it French or English.”

 

Speaking of English- Across the pond, carrying tariffs like a well armed sheriff.

“I like what you’ve done with this place, your majesty… You want to see a real palace? Come visit me… Nah, not that place in DC.”

 

The people on the streets stressed with the thought of Brexit. The British Trump looks poised to fix it. The mayor and various MP’s joined in with protest of the modern anxiety of this right winged Wehrmacht rolling across Europe from over seas.

 

Somewhere today on a beach far way, old men remember a truly hard day. They secured freedom and democracy. Nobody thinks to ask the elderly what they think of where we were and where we are today. And maybe it will always be that way.

May 29, 2019

Hold The Phone…

Filed under: america,cell phones,humor,humour,poem,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:34 am
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I’ll take a picture of my food in exchange for validation. It’s make believe and I want you to believe everything is good and we’re happy. Ask any friend you’ve never met via the Internet.

 

Smile goddamit! This cost a fuck load and we’ve been on the road for ten hours passing Wall Drug, the Badlands just to see those presidents on a wall. And what’s it all for?

 

To feel as though there is purpose and direction as you jog on that treadmill of life to nowhere. Study hard and you’ll get somewhere you cannot stand to be with your jaded family. Your wife’s not listening, she’s on Instagram and the kids got the phone cam pointed towards them making duck lips and the peace symbol.

 

It’s all a symbol of misdirection in the age of technology and your phone knows the way. Your phone is your friend, the entertainment for the evening. You on the couch, her in the bed and when you sleep you can clear your head of all things you saw and all the things you read. There is so much out there for you to discover in life. Luckily it’s all on your phone.

January 31, 2019

To Be or Not to Be

I’m really worried about baby turtles on the beach

Wringing hands hoping they’ll reach shore… TURN OFF THOSE LIGHTS! and there’s more

I want a salad with no meat, no cheese… Are you aware the animals are raised with disease? in pens… Those poor hens

Spotted owls, alligator boots and those that become fur coats

 

I’ll stand at the gates while some poor soul waits to be executed for what he did on bad days…Anyways murder is wrong and I wrote this song about the travesty of ending a human life.

 

Don’t call it abortion, that’s a contortion of every woman’s right. Speaking of right, we have the right to stop the right to re-write Roe when we lose Ruth Bader. There will once come a day when you have the say to arrest on a birthday to prevent the fat, red headed, special needs or gay.

 

It will be like 23 and me for what’s growing in me so don’t call it infanticide. I thank Albany for thinking of me and standing for all that’s right.

 

Speaking of right we need to fight those evil Nazi misogynists. The racist, Russian loving wall builders who separate immigrants from their children… Yes that’s the key… the children, right?

June 23, 2018

Mommy and Daddy Voted For Trump- A Kid Book

Children I know you heard that once upon a time that momma and daddy voted for Obama back in 2008. Things then were not so great. Back when you were just a tadpole in dad’s bag and we were trying to secure Baghdad. Eight years of hope. Eight more? Nope.
Along came a man with a strange tan down an escalator. He told your parents that life could be better. Against all odds, against all predictions at 10pm eastern came the revelation. The American Brexit was born.
Now Aunt Tilly, the one married to Milly, both believe in freedom of speech and democracy as long as they agree. They told your parents that they were stupid and silly and yelled, “you are dumb… Racist, sexist and straight up deplorable.” For your parents the thought was unbearable the idea of Hillary as president. No borders and permanent illegal immigrants. Free college and a government job for all and no need for borders, passports, fences or walls. North Korean bombs headed for Guam, Syria feeling little like Vietnam with no hope or plan for ISIS or the return of the Tailban.
They probably would never admit this out loud but they are proud that as a boy, you wear blue and like firetrucks and they quietly believe it sucks that their values are the enemy of Hollywood, the press and talk show TV.
Russian collusion, Mueller commission fishing for obstruction and mom and dad are just so glad about the economy and their 401K and the prospect that Korean missles might go away. What do they do? What do they say? Nothing out of fear of being yelled at, belittled, attacked and driven away. Oh and by the way… You better hide this book today. Aunt Tilly is on her way. I shudder to think what she’ll think or what she’ll say and that’s just how it is everyday.

May 11, 2018

Forward

Filed under: poem,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:32 pm
Tags: ,

He wakes and sees himself in the mirror, squints like Clint
“I’m the boy I’ve always been… am I too old? I still feel young.”
Life’s a curious thing, miles of road in the rear view mirror and a
dead end up ahead.  It’s not what you heard or what I said. You’ll
soon forget the lunch bags and red roses. The mundane day-to-day
measured in minutes He kissed her lips on a sunny day drove the baby
to where she had to go.  Just trying to get it right.  He wakes when
they’re sleeping, says nothing.  I’m not leaving; it’s just a walk and
a quiet talk to the relatives gone before him letting them know others
are coming.  Fading, fading into a deeper fog of a mind stuck on
reset.  Life’s cruelty is to forget and lose comprehension of where,
what and why.   Life’s a struggle; life is tough but better than the
man with the cup by the freeway.  He’s lived a bunch of years, does he
get more? He thinks the deepest thing might be love.   Memories of
homes and hearts searching for the light switch in the dark.  It’s
there.  You will find it.

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