A friend of mine, who is as beautiful as she is intelligent (Not to mention she has a fantastic set of breasts, I mean those things are immaculate.) Told me that she didn’t like a lot of the stuff I’ve been writing recently, and while at first I must admit that I was hurt, I can’t really blame her.
She’s known me for a long. She’s been my friend through out these formative years, the grim months and divine days that shaped me into the person I am today. For better or absolute worse, she’s been around. And in the days when we didn’t share a bed, she was never far away from my thoughts. (I originally wrote heart, but that is far too mushy. And hearts are actually pretty gross. All purple and pulsating and pear shaped. Yucky-Ducky-Fucky.)
And to let her down, to fail to entertain her with my writing, was a cut. But I don’t really blame her (Not that you can actually blame someone for not finding you entertaining. That’s like getting mad at a shoe for not fitting right when it’s your own foot that’s grown.) My writing recently has been bullshit, especially on this (or That, I’m not sure where I wanna post this yet.) shit-hole blog of mine. It bullshit because it’s me trying to do a literary impression of someone who is much smarter (or whinier) than me.
And while writers do experiment, especially young writers, (Cut me a break sweetheart, I’m only 22.) It’s still little reason to pump out pages soulless, un-funny, boo-boo trash.
So to redeem myself. I’m going to HONESTLY, and with SOUL write about something that I sort of don’t feel comfortable talking about. The following well be UN-EDITED stream of consciousness essay. You’re probably saying; ‘Adam, your spelling, grammar and syntax are terrible. You never edit anything.’ You’d be half right. I edit word choice and sentence flow, but never mechanics of things, if I linger on my own words to much they kinda get stale. So the next passage will have no, back spaces or rewrites. I’ll just keep on going. No covering my tracks, no ego stroking. 100% real starting now;
As a child, I grew up in an all black neighborhood. Playing with black children having the, well not ‘the’ there is no ‘the’. I had ‘a’ black experience. And with having that South-side Chicago experience you get introduced to things. Like, hmmm, I guess ‘ebonics’ is the term.
Although that’s an extremely, Anglo, accusatory, derogatory word.
On the south side of Chicago, people talk like niggas. Slow down Adam, aim your words.
Hmmm….
In the 2 grade, I told my mom I was ‘finna’ go outside. She looked at me, stone faced, and said;
“You’re going to do what?”
I looked at her, as if she was some sort of deaf fool and full of conviction I repeated;
“I’m finna go outside.” Pleased with myself, I begin to walk toward the door to go outside and play with my friends, who were all talking in forms of English, so mutilated and wrong the very utter of them sound like some sort of underground poetry.
My mother stopped me again and said;
“You’re fixing to outside?” She gave me a little le-way. ‘Fixing to’ people a southern term, meaning ‘preparing to’.
“No. I’m Finna go outside and play.” Fed up, I twisted the knob to the door but my mother stopped me once more.
“Finna?” She asked.
“Yeah. Finna.” What didn’t this woman understand, I thought. It’s a simple concept. I’m finna eat breakfest. I’m finna ride my bike. I’m finna go outside and smash some bugs. It was a simple concept to me.
“I don’t think ‘Finna’ is a word, Adam.” My mother said. She got out of her chair and walked over to the dining room where she kept a davenport cabinet full of books.
“Yes it is.” I said to her, but I think I was already folding. It sounded forced in my mouth. Like a bad mimic. My father has a stretched out croaky voice, militaristic in nature. and my mother, while she doesn’t speak the queen’s English (She grew up in Cabrini Green) isn’t slack jawed and slang spewing. So speaking in the way my friends spoke wasn’t genetically adhering to me.
She mad me find ‘Finna’ in the dictionary. And, of course I couldn’t. She then, in her
OPPS, ITALICS WAS STILL ON
FUCK, CAPS IS ON.
Gotta learn how to type without looking down
Italics is still on
She eventlully let me go outside, and when my friends greeted me with their ‘Yo’s and I replied’
‘Good Morrow peers. I bid you hello. Say, who is up for a rousing game of stick balls. I do so enjoy the feel of the bark on my palms. Or, mayhaps, you should fancy a good smashing of bugs with rocks. What fun, to crush insects with mineral deposits.’
