Let today be sufficient for itself is what I was told.
So, okay.
I will let that happen and let today be different from the day before
There is an amazing way the city moves. I swear.
The City moves in different phases and then of course, the fashions sway from one extreme to another. And all this depends upon the time of day or your location, of course.
I was always told New York City is the melting pot, or at least I was told this long ago when I was young.
I was told this before the words diversity, equity, and inclusion became the buzzwords that they are today.
I can agree that my City has different places with different vibes and to me, the vibrations and the neighborhoods all have a different significance to me.
All of them own different stations in my heart. And so do you, by the way.
Nevertheless, there are all kinds of people and different versions of beauty here. There is every culture and all kinds of people who come in all shapes and sizes.
We are all a beautiful sort.
Or so I believe.
Everyone has their own grace or style and their own ways of perfection. No one has the market cornered and no one can tell me theirs is the only kind of beauty that reigns in existence.
I know beauty. I know the most beautiful one in this world.
No one tops this. No one measures closely.
No one beats this and to me; I am the one who dreams of this kind of beauty.
I am the one who stores this dream in my heart and I am the one who finds himself in humble prayers at night, seeking redemption and hoping for a chance at the great almighty turnaround.
I have been fooled more than once and like many others, I have been tricked, and I have been drawn in and dragged down by the imposters of beauty.
I have been blinded and misguided as well by those who wore a pretty exterior. But in fairness to them and ou truths, their ugliness only served to make their beauty average at best.
Then again, one could argue that I have conned and scammed and swindled and one could accuse that I am ugly too.
and I would not argue this.
One could say that my ugliness took hold and once I was found out, I was like the others, heinous and shameful.
I have no excuse nor do I have the right to say who is good or bad or right or wrong.
All I can do is attest to the fact that most people would fail their own sniff-test, if that makes sense. Most are as guilty as the people who they condemn and same as Henry David Theroux said, I have lent myself to the evils which i condemned.
But I am just another addition and another person and hopefully, I am another soul, looking to change my stars and improve my path.
I swear thought . . .
my City knows how to amaze, always.
I was born here at least in some regard and I have died here as well.
I have died many times over. I swear . . .
I swear because we live and die countless times, at least from a figurative perspective
I was most alive when I was younger and as a result; all that living nearly killed me, again and again.
I have lived and died in more ways than one, at least, so I believe.
So much has changed and still, much of my love is the same as always.
Much of my fascination for the City still exists, such as my affection for Central Park and the ideas of romance of a horse and carriage ride with the best person of all people.
I think we often waste our best experiences and try too hard to make pieces fit with the wrong people. I consider this when I think about the attempts we make to find or feel or to be “in love.”
There’s nothing wrong with trying and learning and looking to see.
However, there is something wrong and nothing good when we hold someone and settle down with them and meanwhile, our heart and soul is elsewhere or with someone else.
I am still turned on by the thoughts and ideas of say, an evening dance at Lincoln Center.
You know?
This is when the mid-summer orchestra plays at sunset. And they play so loud inside Lincoln Center that the music escapes the building and causes an opportunity to be romantic and dance slow with somebody special.
I think I have to do this before I die.
My City:
I make my way down the street and whether I am Uptown or Downtown, or on the Eastside or West, I have this feeling.
I have this joy and sense of ownership. I am a prince in this kingdom. I am sometimes banished and often enough, I took the road, just like the Prodigal Son before squandering his wealth.
And, too, I know what it means to be bled dry and be left empty and have to come home or “come to Jesus,” as they say and plead for forgiveness.
I know what it means to have nothing and be hungry.
I think my Baptist was somehow mistaken of his powers and misusing of his abilities because regardless of his dues and fees, no bathing, no cleaning, and no washing in the blood of the lamb took place.
My hands are still dirty and my soul remains uncleansed.
I know because I see the dirt in my mental mirrors
or . . .
maybe . . .
this is just another trick the Devil pulls.
I have an understanding which is the same as knowing where my home is and yes, I know this is where I belong.
I know me personally.
I know me well too because the Devil and I sit for lunch often enough that even he tries to persuade me to reach my potential. He often urges me by saying, “Good God, son. You got to get yourself together because even I don’t want your soul!”
I used to hear a song that went, “If you can’t be with the one you love, honey, love the one you’re with.”
But no.
This doesn’t work.
Believe me. I know
I’ve tried
And I’ve failed enough to realize that “this is this” and “that is that” and as for my dreams, there is no such thing as anything in-between.
I know that my love and my roots and my history have a New York City feel. And of course, I am well aware that I have an accent.
I know that the way I speak accentuates the style of the so-called “dems and dose” which explains how my “th” sounds; whereas mother sounds closer to muddah or the word bathroom loses the “h” and sounds more like ba-troom.
I have matured with my language and there are times, like, say, when I have to be somewhat professional or present somewhere.
I slow my speech and focus on my patterns to settle the fears that perhaps my accent makes me sound uneducated or unintelligent.
At this point, all walks of life have passed me in the street and so, I see myself as one who has the right to be me and therefore, I refuse the motto that I have to change or be someone else anymore.
And yes . . .
I have seen all things. I have seen the freakish and the far-out sights.
I have seen things like a woman walking her man around with a leash on his neck. She was somewhat pretty too and he was old, perhaps a financial wizard or something and yet, the two had their special sexual agreement that worked best for them.
So, who am I to judge.
I have seen the rich and poor and I have been both the tired, the weak, and the sick.
However . . .
I am not the only one who has succumbed to the sickness that caused people to go crazy or forfeit their freedoms and sacrifice their souls.
I have seen my share of those who made their beds and forced someone else t sleep in it.
I have been there to see people make their deals with the demons, just to get by and settle for a spot in Hell while serving their devils here on Earth.
Hell comes quickly though and most often, the devils are always unexpected but either way, a signature on the dotted line is all legally binding.
I am not the only one who lost myself to a certain nod or a substance that leaves us nowhere but on the ground and takes the mind to be elsewhere and weightless.
I remember reading a quote from William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. This comes from Act 1, Scene 2, I believe
The spirit Ariel said, “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
I can understand this line from a much different perspective.
Or at least, I can understand this from my own perspective.
Hell is empty and all the devils are alive and well and living in different spots in New York City.
It’s here though, all of it.
All of the sins and all of the temptation; and all the saviors and saints have been sent out as sheep amidst the wolves.
I have seen the mad and the grown and the weak. I have watched the meek lose their position in line and I have watched the pigs in silken dresses or tuxedoes and top hats and I have witnessed the mix of lowly, modest fools who seemed fashionable to the status whores.
And so blessed were the meek until someone else came along to trick the system and pretended to be meeker and slicker to grab a spot in Heaven.
And yes, all the weak, the worried, and all the sick are here, waiting for someone or something to come along and offer a better God or a better fix, which comes in one form or another.
It is all here
All of it, and all of this is in all of us somehow.
Each of us, as in everyone, has something inside of them.
We are all a mix of a unique brand that splits us down the center between good and evil.
Hell is empty.
All are up here . . .
We all have something to us that needs a break or something that needs relief. We all want to find that perfect sweet spot. We want to find that perfect balance, as if to numb us; or at minimum, everyone has gone through severe and intense pain, enough so that at the time, we wished to be solved or euthanized and taste the sweet anesthesia that dulls the pain.
No one gets out of life alive.
No one.
We all want to be at peace or released and to have some kind of freedom from the common bondage of our own so-called existence.
I know there are people who look to sell tickets for salvation and redemption. I have seen this in different places and most recently; I saw this somewhere down by the church on Vesey street and sometimes Uptown at the church by 43rd and Lex
I am reminded of the prayer in which it says, “relieve me from the bandage of self,” to which I admit that I looked for this relief too
I have taken the doses that robbed me of myself. I have dabbled in the mind altering substances and as I grew and aged, I took to the testosterone replacements and performance enhancers, which did wonders for me – but then again, I admit to my vanity and my insecurity and my porcelain ego
And who am I?
What am I?
I’m just another man
I’m just a guy
I’m seeking my own redemption and more than anything; I am seeking my person and forever partner for life and longer..
My old friend Lester used to preach to me about his Supreme Mathematics
He used to teach me about knowledge, wisdom, and understanding.
It’s not enough to know something
It’s not enough to be wise about what we know.
We have to have knowledge, wisdom, and understanding to make our plans come together and pull off the greatest comeback of them all!
I know what needs to change
I have wisdom of how to use what I know
I have to have the understanding on how to tie these things together and make all three things work together as one
And that right there . . .
is peace
The Written Addiction 