I know that maybe I say this too much. Or maybe I say too much period, and this is what causes distance between me and those who I wished were closer.
I know that I often talk about going back to the beginning.
But this is where I am . . .
I talk about the beginning so that I can turn back and start.
Or maybe this is the only way I can clear my history and hit the reset button.

Perhaps this is why I was told memories are not always my friend.
or memory is a liar.
I was told that too.

Blades from the ceiling fan spun beneath lights and flickered in shadows against the white cinder-block walls.
I’ve had this dream before…
I know exactly where I am.
But I don’t know why and I’m not sure how I got there.

The sound dulled into low volumes of electricity.
All l heard was a buzzing sound..
I heard the sound of a soft metallic hum given off by the overhead fluorescent lighting.
And if you don’t know, then I guess you wouldn’t know what the sound of fluorescent lighting sounds like.
But I know.

I saw the lightning bugs for the first time this season.
I saw them the other night and then last night too.
I love this,

I view the lighting bugs as a sign that summer is about to begin. I also view them as a kind memory from my youth, which meant the school year was coming to an end.
This meant the days would be longer and greater and like the old saying went, this meant, “no more teachers, no more books.”
And ah, relief.

In retrospect, I find myself in the contrast of my past and wondering what happened.
What went wrong, and how the hell did I end up where I am?
Is this an accident or just a moment of clarity.
Perhaps, this means I can wake up now . . .
and start over
I say this not to say that where I am is so terrible or dark because of course, we have all been in much darker places and lived through darker times.

I cannot say exactly what I said or what I wrote but I do recall my first “goodbye” letter.
I say this without the intention of this sounding desperate, like a final measure or an ultimate farewell.
This was not a case of me saying goodbye to the world.
No, In fact, this letter was quite the opposite.

I can recall the time when I realized one of my most valuable facts.
No, really. This is true.
Perhaps this was caused by a moment or calm in the storm.

Or maybe this was a realization that there is no lifeboat on its way. And, so, if I am to win or at minimum, if I am to survive then the way I survive is up to me.
Whether I pull myself from the swamps or how I gather myself and escape the emotional quicksand is up to me.

I remember when I heard Saul Williams record in one of his spoken word moments:
“If it is up to me, then it is up to me.”
And, so, I agree,
It is up to me.
Thank you, sir.

And here we are again. 
I guess. I find myself in full-circle and back to where I was.
I see this time of year and find myself needing to vent and needing to qualify and speak out to those who are about to embark on this journey we call life.

The summer is about to unfold too and my mind will automatically be elsewhere.
I suppose this is because I never had much of a youth or a youth that was worth speaking about.
I never had the summer vacations or the so-called times of my life after graduation. 
I never had this in my youth and now that I am grown, I realize that I delayed too often and temporary remedies became some kind of permanent solution.

There has to be something said about the need and the ability to go absolutely crazy.
Love this idea.
There has to be something said about the freedom to lose oneself and to lose your mind and go safely insane.
If there is such a thing.
Even if this is not safe, then . . .
Oh well. So be it.
There has to be a way.
is there?
I don’t know

I only know that there is a purpose.
I know that no matter how old we are, there has to be a part of us that yearns for more and to be younger and stronger than the heart of a lion

America, 
I need to address you like this again, hopeful and hopeless and frustrated with those who wave their fist and scream for justice and anarchy or for whatever else comes in-between.
I see them often too, those who call themselves the political justice warriors, and I see how they scream for our government to do their job.
I think about this.
I think about this the same way I thought about how the dog peed on the floor and rather than clean it, I pretended not to see it so Mom would notice and clean it up herself.
I see much of the world does the same thing, even if they don’t have a dog!

I wanted to put yesterday into perspective. Or better yet, I wanted to add color so that I could find contrast in the shadows of this thing I called my youth.
And, so, I had to count backwards to make this possible. Of course, counting the years that went back was enough to make me shake my head. This is crazy for me to realize that, including yesterday,  38 Father’s Days have passed since The Old Man, my Father, was around.

37 years have gone by. This means I have made 37 trips around the sun since the month of December in the year 1989.