On Things We Should Never Forget

Sundays at the beach:I read articles, blog, and write.

She meets random people who invite her to do Acroyoga. 

I am both astonished at the beauty of life and because today is 9/11, I am also disgustingly aware of my privilege. 

I hope as people change their profile pictures to reflect on how we will Never Forget that they’re not smiling. Idk, there’s something that just doesn’t sit well with my soul every time something terrible happens and the Internet becomes flooded with smiling profile pictures, boobs up, hats cocked, teeth shining with banners across the bottom talking about how they stand with Paris, Syria, New York. 

I reflect on how the same people who can understand that 9/11 should be remembered yearly can get angered about the fact that people of color in this country are still being killed over misdemeanors and demanding (begging) to have fair treatment. (I.E if my brother is accused of a crime please just take him to jail, don’t kill him before her gets to see a judge, and don’t sentence him to a thousand years of prison labor for stealing a swisher sweet.)

Even though We The People are supposed to have the right to a fair trial. And since we don’t Colin, and whoever else should (can) do whatever they can/want to draw attention to the injustices that their people are still facing. I mean isn’t that the purpose of changing your profile pic in solidarity. To draw attention? Or is that something else that’s only reserved for certain people? 

And since I’m on the beach thinking of priviliges that are reserved for certain people I’m reminded that 63 years ago I couldn’t have even come to this beach
I’m reminded of all of the many reasons we still have so much further to go and I hope that we get a lot further a lot faster. And I pray that too many people don’t lose too much to get us there. 

Sundays on the beach. I’m privileged. I watch random men throw my wife around acrobatically. I enjoy the breeze. I listen to Sean sang about how One Man Can Change The  World. And I hope that one man can. Or one woman can. And I hope that they do it soon.

Damn Joe, We Were All Depending on You: I Hated The Fireman

This week I completed Joe Hill’s The Fireman.


I hated it. I hated the characters and how weak they were. How stupid they were. How mean and evil they were. The writing is good because: Joe Hill aka Stephen King is his daddy. How could he write bad. But uh…



If I hadn’t read some of his other stuff like:


which was AMAZING, I would never read him again.

That’s how pissed off these characters made me.I read this book in full on yell at the book mode. Some of the things that happened in this book were Straight up lets have sex while Jason is at the window, stupid.


Like: No, don’t go that way. Don’t drink that!! Hurry up!!! Why are you staying there they’re going to kill your baby??!




If this book were a movie I would tell Lisa Puckett ( my peach biffle) that her people needed to sue because of they way that they were portrayed in it.

I gave it:


Very generous stars.
Read at your own risk because I definitely threw this book in the corner.

Oh yeah; I know he’s getting rave reviews and this book just made the New York Times Bestsellers List *shrugs*

Dear America Please Educate Your Children

Reasons why you can’t solely depend on the education system (public or private) to educate your children:
People think the Black Panthers were an anti-white, racist, cop killing organization. 
People are unaware that there is proof that the government was found guilty in civil court for the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

People still think that Africa is a country. 

#Get #In #Formation Google is practically free. 
S/N: Black, white, or otherwise do your research and don’t comment craziness on my post.  


The Doll Maker Book 1/100

Last year I challenged myself to read 150 books. I had no idea that I would decide to chase my dreams, change my major, start multiple new businesses, or just be all around ridiculously awesome. This year I’ve taken that fact into account and am challenging myself to read 100 books.   
Book 1: The Doll Maker by Richard Montanari which I gave 3 *** 

It’s a decent book with a good plot line. Sometimes authors go really far to prove to you that their characters are super smart. If you do that you have to make sure that they don’t make really stupid mistakes. If you don’t your audience spends too much time annoyed that someone so smart would do something so out of character. 


I found out that this book is number 8 in a series. I wasn’t inspired to go and find the others. 
#JustMyTwoCents #AmReading #GoodReads

Don’t Let Me Go- Yay For Diverse Books

Mrs. Hyde crafted a remarkably realistic novel. 

The characters were well developed and relatable. I cared about every single character and all of their nuisances and I could barely stand to be away from their apartment building until the story was over. 

The diversity of the cast was so realistic. I get really tired of reading books where the characters don’t reflect the community that they live in. This is not the case with this book. I can’t recall another book with such a diverse cast of characters who were so thoroughly researched and represented. 

The plot line kept me interested and invested from beginning to end. 
 She handled such sensitive subjects as suicide, drug abuse, racism, and advanced age with such grace. 

I’d recommend this book to anyone who feels alone. There is always a community waiting to accept you. 

Cancer Fucking Sucks

An aquantiance of mine passed away this morning after losing her battle with cancer. Her mother told me over the phone because I was supposed to be meeting up with her to give her the donations the community collected at Oral Fixation. She says to me, after I tell her that I’ll bring it Saturday, “At that point all that I can do with it is get flowers or something.” And of course I say the stupid shit that people say “I’m sorry for your loss.” Like my apologies or money  for flowers will make up for the fact that tomorrow is Christmas and she has to prepare to bury her child. Like my apologies can make up for the fact that her grandson is now without a mother. 

That’s the part that gets me. The reason I just walked back out of work and sat down in my car; her son. I bonded with Shawna over that fact that we were both raising preteen boys. I admired the strength with which she excelled at this. Something so many people seem to struggle with, raising boys, black boys, in today’s climate. I admired her and I wanted to be more like her. Now I think of how quickly something can come in and turn your entire world upside down. I think of all of the many children who would give back all of the gifts in the world to have five more minutes with their mothers. And I weep. Knowing that my tears mean absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

I’m angry. At cancer. At the thing that keeps taking loved ones as if it will never get its fill and I say Fuck Cancer, knowing that that too means nothing. 

3 Reasons Why Kelsey Grammer and his shirt are “immoral” and stupid. 

1: Using the horrendous massacres of American Citizens to further your antiabortion platform isn’t just immoral, it’s massively insensitive.

2: Doctors performing medical procedures whether for choice, convenience, or to save a mothers life is not equal to or greater than gun violence. 

3: If he’s not willing to support these embryos

  •  (by putting his estimated 60-100million net worth where his big fat cheating mouth is)
  • his wife isn’t the birther of these embryos, or he hasn’t slipped up and got caught out there (by getting another woman pregnant)(but wait he’s done that! OH THE MORALITY)  his opinion is just that; opinion. 

Even if any of these cases were true his voice is still low man on the totem pole i.e. No uterus no talky out against.


Taking Flight

It’s 8:09am and my flight just boarded to my first official writers conference.

 The fact that it’s LGBTQ centered makes me think of intersections, a topic I’ve been pondering quite a lot lately. I am so many things that intersect at  so many intersections.

I bumped into Sheree at the airport. She has been dragging me along for the last couple of years, urging me to write, urging me to publish, urging me to realize that there is power in words, that my words have power. 

She helped me to understand that this writer’s life is not easy and that if I wanted it I would have to actually do the work. 

So I’ve been doing the work. Unlocking myself. Gaining a sense of self confidence that is required to embark upon this journey. And I’m on it. 

 So it’s 8:14am and I’m sitting on this plane feeling like my life, my #writerslife is finally taking flight. 

Did you think this all the way through?

Sometimes I see something online and in my head I hear a flurry of expletives. Something along the line of 

Are you effing kidding me? 

You can’t be effing serious.

Who the eff thought this was a good idea?

For instance:

This? This is how someone thought we would solve gun violence?

Let me guess… It was probably created by someone who denies that we have a home grown terrorism issue. Even though it’s a fact that since 9/11 we have had twice as many domestic terrorism attacks than foreign attacks in The US.

Or maybe it’s one of those people who assumes that every other country is doing far worse than we are and makes statements such as “OMG do you know that they have to have police escorts to go to school in Rwanda… Afghanistan… Seria.”

Either way it’s idiotic. There is no way that having four armed people in schools is a good idea. 

1: We have a major mental health issue in our country.

2: A large amount of our veterans have mental health issues. Ever hear of PTSD or someone being shell shocked. I have. I treat these people.

Don’t get me wrong  I’m not saying that all veterans suffer from mental illness I’m simply saying that this meme is not the cure to our gun violence issue.

Nothing about it screams SAFETY.

I don’t want it in my son’s school and I don’t want it on my college campus.

Having to walk through four armed guards to get to class is not my idea of fun. Armed guards in my mind equate to the polar opposite of warm and fuzzy. No matter who is holding them.