Shoulda Meant

/All you need is L.O.V.E.

we fell near the fruit but far from the tree

so why is it only now I see

What you shoulda meant to me/ x2

/Haters say stay in my lane

I say hoe stay on that brain

medicine bottle says might make you go insane

cause I just might go off the chain–/

/–saw down those mighty oaks

or go down-under like Aussie Blokes

wonder who comes up with these naughty jokes

bitch said I got game, but get off them ropes/

/She throw it back and take it like a champ

beat it up so bad no stairs bitch gon’ need a ramp

I love hard like diamonds and she stay damp

It’s the genie coming out the lamp/

/Or from under the hood as the case may be

fuck her til she love you I’m gon fuck her til she hate me

you the blossom I’m the bumblebee

can’t tell no lie but I’ll chop down that cherry tree/

/Washington, all you need is L.O.V.E.

we fell near the fruit but far from the tree

so why is it only now I see

What you shoulda meant to me/ x2

/So tell me were you passed over at Easter

She call me daddy where her moms I better meet her

stopping short on them hoes but I ain’t no Derek Jeter

3:18 in the morning still on my feet, sir/

/killer cops cowardly like the Lion before Oz

I hunt em for a bounty or a reward, Nas

said it best sleep is the cousin of death that means you Eeyore, odd

I don’t recall working this hard to make shit rhyme bending backwards like Neo, Lord/

/Satan put me in a bowtie

so I won’t be confused with other lowlifes

Like Waldo I’m everywhere I go I

wear sunglasses at night so people won’t know I/

/am blinded by their ignorance

self-taught guided by my inner sense

I wield my creativity like a katana through the smoke and incense

close my eyes feel my opponent’s intent/

/All you need is L.O.V.E.

we fell near the fruit but far from the tree

so why is it only now I see

What you shoulda meant to me/ x3

At times I was selfish, took advantage

Want to turn back the calendar, March was savage

hold you one more time man I can’t manage

to hold back these tears, babe the greater the love, the greater the damage

I always loved you no conditions

but then I lost you like my religion

mad like I just caught the stool pigeon

part of my mind and heart are in a prison

empty and cold, dusty and old, concrete and rebar

another brother dead in the street by these stinkin police yeah that’s why we march

Black blood pouring off my screens I don’t always dream but I got desires no streetcar

to see justice, flip the script on these murderous pricks, break up the cliques take it back to third grade make a seat chart

Everyone wants to know what I’m cooking up in my lair

brain is fried deeper than food at the county fair

fingers stroke keys and I get jiggy with it like the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air

have you seen Heaven? I can’t find the stairs

All you need is L.O.V.E.

we fell near the fruit but far from the tree

so why is it only now I see

What you shoulda meant to me

Treasure of the Islands, a Review of The Descendants

Nearly ten years ago, I dragged myself into a theater hoping to see something entertaining. In less than two hours I had both laughed out loud and cried silently and left with the satisfaction of having seen one of my favorite movies ever. I never would’ve guessed as a blue-collar, single young man that I would be touched by the struggles of a very wealthy husband and father. The film tackles issues usually avoided or abbreviated by other lesser movies with the poise and frankness generally only found in novels.

Not Just Another Well-Adapted Screenplay

The Descendants is an adaptation of an author’s first novel, making it a more original plot, however it is the acting that truly breathes life into the story. George Clooney plays the protagonist and his use of thoughtful pauses and his mannerisms in the moments when he has no dialogue really serve to show the character’s point of view–perhaps even better than the voice-over narration segments. The young women who play his daughters make convincing performances of children dealing with such heavy life events. Even the smallest of roles in the film are well-casted.

In these trying times when people need a mental and emotional escape, actors and actresses provide a public service when they give convincing performances. When an actor or actress can make a person question how they would feel in a certain set of circumstances, and that person begins to forget about their own life’s problems for a while, they have momentarily eased the some of the burdens people carry through life. If you need a break from everything and you have the chance to sit down for a couple of hours and just be, put The Descendants on and enjoy the journey.


“And she literally didn’t care?” Riley inquired. Knowing people desperate for cash was one thing, but knowing those who actually had something valuable to offer in exchange was another and really saved their bacon in this case.

“She just said no drug labs or Johns coming at all hours.”

Riley opened the trunk of the gold sedan to a terrible shriek. He slammed it back closed. “Let’s try this again. Remember what I said about being quiet or else?” He spoke to the closed trunk and it responded as inanimate objects often do. Its occupant, a 14 year-old young lady did however agree not to scream if Smith removed the hood from her head.

Riley and young Natalie emerged through the sliding door from the alley and the engine of the Camaro rumbled as it left. Riley held his family jewels tenderly.

“What happened to you?” Rita wondered.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Riley groaned.

“Mmph MMPH mmphmpher,” The now gagged Natalie managed to mumble.

“Okay, let me guess. Smith had you untie her legs? So she could walk in?”

“He didn’t like the symbolism of me carrying her across the threshold.”

“Well he was fuckin A right on there. I mighta shotchya for pullin some shit like that.” Natalie did the universal “I have to pee” dance and whined.

“Fuck,” Riley complained.

“That’s right. And we’ll have to feed her too! dumbass” She whispered the last word.

“There were rice krispies in the trunk and I think maybe even a caprisun or two.” Rita shot him a look.

“But she had the fucking hood on…” He remembered. Rita raised an eyebrow.

“Okay well you take her to the bathroom and I’ll fix some ants on a log for her.”

“You do that,” Rita commanded then thought, God I hope this wasn’t a mistake

Sheila unplugged Mark’s headphones. “What are you listening to?” The phone answered with its tiny speaker:

Still smokin’ on some ‘dro/ duckin the popo/ sippin’ on some merlot/ kicking in yo do’/ comin in and takin alla yo hoes

“Wow, Mark. I always thought you listened to garbage music, but this…this is a new low.”

“Wow miss critical. Hold up this next bit is my favorite part, just give it a chance, please?”

“Fine. But after that you listen to one of my songs!”

“Dealio. Now listen,” he turned the music back up.

…people feelings get hurt/ when they figure out what I’m worth/ more than you could imagine/ Bill Gates whats happenin/ when i see you lets get a pound of purp and get higher than Aladdin/ call up some bitches/ hit a couple switches/ then write an $8 million check and send it over to Chris Bridges/ I spend it all on cars/ get a lifetime supply of cigars/ or rent out a spaceship and spend it all on Mars–

Sheila cut off the song and said, well I guess it’s okaaay but listen to this!

Well the truth well it hurts to say I’m gonna pack up my bags and i’m gonna go away I’m gon split I can’t stand it I’m gonna give it up and quit ain’t never coming back Girl but before I get to goin I got to say I know you used to love me but that was yesterday…

“What…are you trying to say something with this song choice?” Sheila gave him a look saying she wouldn’t dignify that question with an answer.

Whoa lover, lover lover you don’t treat me no good no more

Mark grabbed the cigarette out of Sheila’s mouth, took a drag and French inhaled it, and stuffed it out in the glass ashtray on top of the speaker.

Un elefante balanceabe ya sobre la tela de una arana y como veia no se caia va a llamar otro elefantes

Turns of the calendar page earlier, Ben was on the sideline of his daughter’s soccer game. The sun was shining weather was sweet he had brought orange slices and Graham crackers for the girls at halftime. Linda was one of the quicker girls on the field but her best asset was her powerful leg. As a defender she could set up her forwards with one of her booming kicks at any moment.  She was one of the gals who is fast enough that she could both press up to force an offsides penalty and then even if she got beat by the through-ball she could catch up in time to save the goal. Normally Cassandra didn’t bother him when they were both present at the games however this time he felt her signature tap on his left shoulder. their divorce hadn’t been pretty and he’d just as soon never talk to her again. “Benjamin.”

“What is it?” He said tersely, but in his mind he pictured her giving him head in his Jeep in the parking lot. The thought caught him by surprise and he tried to collect himself. He was grateful that she hadn’t turned state’s witness on him like she had threatened to do once or twice in the heat of passion.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry about… about what happened to Dana.” Ben hadn’t gotten laid since his late fiancée had died a month earlier.

“Thanks,” Ben replied more gently. . . 15 minutes later, Ben zipped his slacks back up and Cassandra wiped her mouth, tonguing her lips. She promised him if there was a next time, which there wouldn’t be, he’d have to satisfy her needs as well.

Little Linda jogged over to Ben on the east sideline, her somewhat oversized red jersey and shorts flapping in the wind. “Daddy! Did you see it? Hunter got two of the goals!” Hunter was Linda’s bestie.

“Yeah, baby, you ladies were great.” Linda didn’t really understand what the loss of Dana had done to her father, but she tried to be considerate and especially helpful around the house where she could be. They got in the car and Ben stared at the photo of Dana he had taped to the dash. He began to tear up, but promptly started the gas engine, a rarity these days, and headed for the parkway.

“Dad?” Linda offered. “Were you talking to Cassandra?”

“What?  Who?” He played possum.

“Dad,” she continued, “I recommend you don’t get involved with that woman.”

He noticed her register was elevated—a nine year old doesn’t use multi-syllable words very often.


“I’m serious. She hurt you once and you don’t need that right now.”

“Okay. You’re right. You’re usually right, honey.”

“I’m always right,” she giggled.


Jump into my stream, will you? A hundred pearly black coffins. Ten thousand black and navy umbrellas. All floating with torches and paper lanterns in the lazy river of my thoughts. Tattoos and curves and perfume intoxicate me. My head starts swimming, despite the pool being shallow. I can see auras now. Through the vapor I consume everything in my path. Lettuce or Jujubes, it makes no difference to me. Purple, yellow, red, green yet a grayness pervades all. I run and jump off the wall. There goes my phone guess I’m getting a call. I ran before I crawled. I danced before I walked. I cried before I smiled, then I made you laugh. Fly fishing time. Gotta make that fly jump a little. What if I laid down in the stream face down and blew out all my air? I’m going to throw up into that hat. Oh was it The Cat’s? I’m truly worry, but it’s such a large hat, and thus doubles purrfectly as a vomit receptacle. I was simply trying to use language the cat will understand, ya know? I’m bouncin back but this ain’t easy, I’m spinning like whoa, but I ain’t queasy. In astronaut shape or Milky Way shape? I’m smoking but I ain’t wheezing, that grape ape got me teasing, shorty with a puff, I wait til she say enough is enough and make her move. What more do I gotta prove? Man I’m so depressed I don’t wanna move. I’m feeling blue, I’m feeling low, If you never lost no one, then shut up and there’s the do’ but if ya know ya know. Maybe the ocean and its salty sea breezes will stir me back to an ambition less blind and more active.


Ben ran his fingers through his acorn-hued hair then began stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Well!?”

“What the fuck do we do with the body?” Peter begged. Ben didn’t respond, but rather paced the garage, nearly slipping in a puddle of some fluid or other. A rat scurried by, knocking over an empty Sprite can on its haphazard way. Peter was all white now. Looked like he might bolt if Ben didn’t reassure him.

“Just shut up and take a moment. There’s no one coming after us here.” Ben still wasn’t sure that Peter wasn’t a rat as well.  Why was he always wearing a necktie all of the sudden? Did he think it helped cover up the microphone taped to his chest? Or was Ben just becoming paranoid. “Grab his feet, now.” They lifted the body and began shuffling towards the doorway.

The moonlight glinted off the bottom of the auburn beer bottle as Tomas swigged his suds. He always just sat at the bar and either watched basketball or the other patrons play pool as he drank himself silly. He knew he had a problem, but on some level he just didn’t care. It wasn’t that he felt invincible, he just embraced his mortality at this point in his life, now that he was over half a century in. Someone was playing his second favorite song in the jukebox, Otis Redding’s Lover’s Prayer. It took him back to better times. When he had friends and family to bust his chops and encourage him to do something with himself. Now the only family he had was in this bar and they were estranged because he rarely spoke to anyone–even the regulars. He slumped off his stool and headed for the restroom. All that beer had to go somewhere. When he came out of the dingey gray tiled restroom, drying his hands on his jeans, everyone was gone. All five people had apparently left, though Tomas heard no indication of why from the bathroom because the fan in there was too loud. Tomas took advantage and poured himself another beer from the tap.

Pourin up

Ian snatched the bottle of vodka from Mark’s hand. “This,” he said, “is for Tawnya.” He proceeded to slowly tip the bottle and pour it onto the rust hued wooden deck.

Mark demanded, “Okay. That’s enough, man. Let’s drink!”

Ian looked at Mark like he was a fly he was tempted to swat out of the air, and he continued pouring.

“Hey, man what the fuck!” Mark complained. “I fuggin bought that shit and it wasn’t cheap neither!”

Ian tipped the bottle upright and shook out the last few drops.

“You’re gonna regret that, bro,” Mark challenged.”

“Hmm. What the fuck did you say to me?” Ian looked genuinely perplexed and glanced off his right shoulder. Smash!

Ian broke the thick glass bottle over Mark’s head with a crushing blow. Mark dropped to his knees. “Well, sorry, bitch, but this dick is only for the ladies,” Ian chuckled and he kicked Mark in the chest, such that he tumbled backwards into the patio table. He was bleeding profusely from his head and stammering and crying. Ian fished his keys out of his pocket and said, “Oh shit, I’m gonna be late to return my videos.” And strode out of the house with the posture of a king.

In Memoriam, an Obituary

Tabitha Bennett, born October 31st, 1982 in New Orleans, Louisiana, passed away in her sleep last Saturday at the much too young age of 38. Her personality and her spirit were infectious in the best of ways. Tabitha was a veteran of the US Army and mother of two beautiful children, Jasmine and Seth, who she is survived by. Her sense of humor was as delightful as it was unique. She loved music, dancing, and of course, writing. Tabitha’s graceful manner and gorgeous smile lit up the room. She was a lady and a scholar–she attended Metropolitan State University of Denver, majoring in Creative Writing. She was also an actress in the Romero Troupe. Tabitha was above all, a compassionate and thoughtful woman who will be missed greatly. For those that knew her and love her, she will remain in our hearts forever.









truly lovely

assertive, anti-selfish

beautiful, bold, black

ill, ingenious

tremendous, tenacious


argumentative, amazing

Fuck the world and “Fuck off.” You don’t have the slightest idea. Me falta la habibti mucho. My little lady. Always. Rest in Peace.

At a Loss


all work and no play makes Jill a dull girl

all the “at leasts” and the “we never’s”

salt and iodine for the wounds

all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy

Pouring it out

into my hands can’t hold on

slips right through my fingers

All work and go fuck yourself

all play and die another day

what does honor mean?

pain in the reflecting pool runs deep

in my eyes I




boa constricted

life can’t get you low as this

all blank and no blank makes gender fluid blank feel blanky

oblivion seems promising

don’t eat the words or the tears, it’s not faire

compassion love is all you need

forget all the rest. Now.

Do it.

Say it.

Mean it.

This ain’t America